Her Lion of Lannister

by QueenOfConsorts

"She is a mystery to the world, an unfathomable, beautiful being." Ezralaya has not graced Westerosi shores since the day she was born. From then on her whole existence became tainted by secrecy. From enduring poverty to founding a wealth beyond her dreams, she has risen from the ashes. Though now the home of her ancestors calls once again and unexpected love and tragedy await her.

5. A Little Dalliance

A/N: Anyone still here? I'm so sorry this took so long – I just really lost my motivation to write for a while. But, this is a really long chapter, so I hope I shall atone. I doubt the next chapter will be as long, so hopefully it'll be up sooner. It always so lovely to hear your thoughts last time, and I do work hard at my stories, so it always encouraging to receive feedback.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

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A Little Dalliance

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Ezralaya

Olenna Tyrell was the sort of woman that Ezralaya discreetly admired, and in an odd way, hoped she'd mature to be like if she was lucky enough to live so long. Her quick wit and sharp tongue made her as prickly as her sobriquet, and yet her wicked humour chortled Ezralaya far more than she'd liked to openly admit.

As Olenna sliced at her roasted mushrooms, with her age speckled hands, she spoke; "So, now that we have discussed the weather, and chewed over pleasantries, tell me; other than your charity, what are your intentions in this great city of ours?"

Ezralaya quickly swallowed a mouthful of syrup-cured bacon, as Olenna wavered her eating utensil before her face.

"My intentions?" her voiced faltered in her haste to speak. She reached forward to retrieve her bronze cup and took a dainty sip of lemon water to ease the discomfort.

"Yes – your intentions." Olenna Tyrell affirmed.

Upon Margaery inviting Ezralaya to breakfast, she had assumed that she'd meant with herself and her many cousins. As the present had shown, that was not the case. The sandstone pavilion, had in fact been bedecked with two tables under a vast canopy of pink blooms. One table for the Tyrell cousins, along with Briar and Theodora, and the other for Ezralaya, The Queen of Thorns, and her granddaughter; Queen Margaery.

The cross examination that she had naively fallen into, was made slightly better by the fact that the day was truly a delightful one; with white sunshine, cloudless celestial skies, and a comforting warmth that ebbed and flowed within the airstream. In the distance yonder, the Black Water simmered in the heat, crashing again the rocks in wades of white froth.

Ezralaya took a breath and spoke her truth; "They are as you said, a means to offer charity; to help the poor, to build orphanages and bathhouses."

"Yes, yes, that's all very well and good." Olenna flapped, her hands wafting about flippantly; "But you have come to Westeros at a rather convenient time, wouldn't you say?" She probed further with an inquisitive gaze, though Ezralaya had nothing more to offer.

"I don't know what you mean." She replied honestly with an uneasy laugh under her breath. Olenna's idiosyncratic wittiness had a way of turning rancid when it became aimed solely in one direction.

Margaery spoke up softly, placing a tender hand upon Olenna's wizened arm; "Grandma, my friend is going to think I have lured her into an interrogation, when I merely only intended to invite her for pleasant breakfast."

Olenna huffed lightly under her breath yet her eyes remained intrusive.

"I'm not trying to interrogate – I am just struggling to fathom, how a girl of such low birth, and of such lowly circumstance, now finds herself dining with a Queen."

"Sufferance, perseverance, resilience…and luck." Ezralaya answered.

"Luck?" Olenna repeated incredulously. "How good the God's saw fit to be to you."

Ezralaya took another sip of her lemon water, attempting to buy herself a moment more of contemplation. "Indeed. I am ever in their debt."

"I didn't know you were religious." Olenna's eyes tapered.

"I'm not." Ezralaya replied curtly. "You're the one who began speaking of Gods. I merely took heed."

As she spoke of the Gods, a soft breeze sifted through the gossamer of her gown. She'd opted to dress in a shade of deep blush, with lightly puffed sleeves and a low-cut neck line tied by a pearled string in honour of the summery morn. Her attire had seemed entirely fitting choice for what she had assumed would be a light-hearted morning of giggles and chitchat. Though now she'd wish she'd worn thicker garments in aid of protecting herself from Olenna's curiosity.

"In truth…" Ezralaya began, "I can understand why you would be wary of me. I am after all a stranger, who has stumbled upon the shores at a time of division and war. I did not seek to come to the Red Keep, I did not bribe my way here nor imagine some ruse. I was invited. That is therefore the only reason as to why I find myself dining with you now. Likewise, you seem to be insinuating that my journey here is borne from something insincere. Yet, it is the home of my ancestors. I know I may not look like you, but Westeros is as much mine as it is yours, and I have every right to see it for myself, even if only once."

Olenna thought for a moment, chewing over Ezralaya's words again and again within her mind. Despite considerable duration of her rumination, Olenna only sought to ask a question in answer.

"So, you truly were born in Westeros? I had always wondered if it was in fact it was just a rumour spread to make you seem less of a threat to us all." Olenna queried with just enough genuine intrigue to diminish any trace of nosiness.

"I was born in the South." she answered.

"Whereabouts?" Olenna continued incessantly.

"Somewhere in Dorne, I was told." Ezralaya answered.

"Who told you that? Your parents?"

"No, I never knew my parents." Margaery reached forward and placed a gentle hand upon her own, offering a consoling smile.

"So, who was it that raised you?" Olenna probed further, remaining unabashed by the talk of delicate matters.

Margaery spoke up first; "Grandma, show some compassion." she spoke lightly in response to her grandmother's lack of empathy.

"I'm only asking." Olenna maintained, pursing her thinned lips in nonchalance.

Ezralaya spoke up, hoping one final truth would conclude her examination, and neaten the frayed edges of their serrated conversing; "A woman named Roseney Cosalario raised me. She is the only mother I have ever known."

"And who was she?" The Queen of Thrones remained relentless, quickly returning to her hell-bent mentality of delving down deep into Ezralaya's incredulity.

People tended to shy away from Ezralaya's past; most too proud or too bashful to care to know. There had been some who had asked about her life's endeavours. Though only a rare few, had ever possessed the nerve to be so bold as to ask about the immorality of which she'd been forced to partake in.

"A Septa from Dorne." Ezralaya answered truthfully, feeling an ethereal wall of self-preservation assemble around her. Olenna's questions were becoming far too personal and Ezralaya could sense that the time for lies was soon to come. After all, she had spun the thread of her past so many times that she had come to be able to weave quite an impeccable yarn. Though too many questions had the ability to entangle the delicate thread and form a knot. All of which could make her tongue tied and susceptible to potential blunders.

"A Septa?" Olenna's eyes widened, and Ezralaya nodded in confirmation. "And how is it you came to be in her care?"

"She was present when my mother died in the childbed and knowing that my father was most likely some drunken bawd, she saw it as her duty to raise me."

Her yesteryears still caused a dull ache to grieve her heart in contemplation, and Olenna seemed to have no consideration to that when poking and prodding at tender welts.

"Did you never think to ask more about your origins? Have you no desire to know where it is you get your beauty from?" with a gaunt thinly fleshed finger, she reached out and stroked the white wisps of hair that framed Ezra's face.

"I don't think Rosney knew herself. She was after all, just another woman whom she had tried to help wager against the perils of child birth. And besides, I was only nine when she passed away – in those nine years, she had been to me, as good a mother as I could have asked for. In my youth I had no reason to ask about some woman I was never to know."

"Where was it you spent your childhood?"

"Salazay." Ezralaya answered and watched as uncertainty coaxed her facial features; "It's an isle a few leagues off the City of Elyria." She supplemented, though Olenna still appeared unsure; "It's near the Valayrian peninsula in Slaver's Bay. Though Salazay is so small that men seldom illustrate it upon the maps."

Olenna humped, her brow quirking in protracted reservation.

"Well I wonder if there is any way to find out who your father could have been – there must be records somewhere in Dorne, especially so if a Septa was present during your birth."

Thankfully, Margaery's melodical voice attempted to appeal to her Grandmothers better nature; "Grandma, you are making her uncomfortable." Her voice cherished an imploring sweetness, of which even her grandmother could not ignore.

Olenna sighed a sigh that went deep into her chest cavity; "I am just curious. That's all. You're quite the enigma."

"Why is you think that?" Ezralaya question.

"You're rather enchanting; you carry mystery upon your bearing. I had thought that if I were to be enlightened about your parentage, you may seem less inexplicable. Alas there lies an even bigger mystery it seems."

"If I can find solace in the fact that I am never to know my parents, then I'm sure you can too. "

Olenna took a moment to align her thoughts; "I only asked as I wondered if your parentage would offer an indication as to whom you would choose to hold allegiance to."

"Do you truly believe that my favour would be based upon the inclinations of people who lie in the ground?"

"In Westeros, blood runs thick when it comes to ancestral vows of fealty." Olenna spoke, holding her gaze with unblinking eyes.

"I may have been born in Westeros, but I am not from here. I am bound by no ties of duty to anyone."

"It is that about you that worries me." Olenna answered swiftly, as though Ezralaya had finally found purchase on the matter of which they had been dancing around the whole time.

"How so?" questioned Ezralaya, Margaery too seemingly enthralled.

"On the morrow, I am leaving the city, to go back to my home in the Reach. Margaery is of course staying here as is her duty as a wife and Queen. And so, I want to ensure that my Granddaughter is left in good stead, surrounded by people of whom share the same beliefs."

"Those being?"

"That she is the one true Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and that Cersei Lannister holds nothing more than the title and limited-power of Queen Mother."

Ezralaya was unsure of how to assimilate Olenna's words. Her motherly protection of her granddaughter against someone with a notorious past was understandable. But it was Olenna's underlying insinuations of conspiracy and threat that were very unsettling to hear.

"I have no cause or desire to dispute that." Ezralaya answered. "I have no interest in politics. I bear her grace nothing but friendship." Ezralaya caught Margaery smiling sweetly in the corner of her eye.

"I think you are naïve child." Spoke Olenna, somewhat unexpectedly, so much so, that Ezralaya felt her muscles spasm in defensive rigidity, as she struggled to deduce what irked her more; the insinuation of naivety, or the patronisation of referring to her as a child.

"Why is it you think that?" Ezralaya questioned through meek and mild timbres, doing all she could to retain composure.

"Because you seem to think you can be friends with my granddaughter and continue to bask in the flatteries of the Lord Commander."

Ezralaya had found the entirety of their conversation to be somewhat of a paradox, with shifts and turns and revelations around each and every corner. Yet nothing Olenna had said, had taken her back as quite as much as latter.

In fact, for a short while, Ezralaya found herself at an utter loss of words. Her mind became a little more than a void plane of empty thoughts, wherein the only thing that was able to take any form of credible formation, was the debilitating sound of her thumping heart. She attempted to speak, but the qualms guilt became to gnaw at the delicate fibres of her voice. I have nothing to feel guilty about she affirmed internally.

Yet, in the end, it was Margaery who came to her aid; "Grandma, there is no harm idle chitchat and dancing." Margaery spoke earnestly, adding; "Surely?" as if doubting her own contention.

"I have never feigned fondness for Tywin Lannister's golden twins, though out of the two, admittedly Ser Jaime is the fairer one." She began. "Nonetheless, he is made out of the same fabric as his royal sister. And his affiliation to her means, that if you truly intend to be loyal to my granddaughter, you cannot be affiliated to him. It simply does not work. You cannot befriend them interchangeably. You'll be branded a traitor on both sides."

Being submitted under Olenna Tyrell's interrogation was like being assailed continually by hail pellets, with no chance of reprieve until the passing of the gale. Ezralaya knew the time had come for which she had to find her voice.

"Jaime has…" The elderly woman was quick to curtail her words.

"Jaime is it? Informality so soon?"

Ezralaya took her best to not take heed, and did her best to withstand the knock that had attempted to accuse her of impropriety.

"Ser Jaime was just another in a room full of people of whom caught my attention for a passing moment."

Olenna seemed to have paid no heed, for she began to hypothesize once again; "Have you ever wondered what his intentions with you are?"

"Who's to say he has any at all?" Olenna, and regrettably, even Margaery shared a subtle look of incredulity between them, though it was not so subtle enough.

"In all my many years coming to Court, I have never seen a Lannister speak to anyone of whom they find no profit in. Jaime Lannister perhaps the least of all. He appears to only trouble himself for conversation when either he is told to do so, or for whatever reason, he decides that a certain person is of value to his own cause. Night after night, he stands beside his King, vigilant in his guarding, unswayed by merriment. And so, it seems highly significant, that he has decided to take such an interest in you."

"One cannot condemn a man for showing vague interest in a foreigner." Ezralaya replied, unsure of how much more of Olenna's examination she could bear to withstand.

Ezralaya had never once doubted Jaime's intentions, she'd never felt the need to. He'd never even mentioned the topics of wealth and war, or allegiance and fealty. Maybe kindness is the key, a weapon that would go unsuspected …. Am I doubting him?

"Don't you ever ask yourself why you were invited here in the first place?" Ezralaya made no attempt to answer, for she was sure Olenna would take great pleasure in being the one to tell her.

"Of course, you do – why would you not?" She began, answering her own question. "In fact, I'd bet you know the answer – it's because you know that you have the kind of gold that can win a war."

"And what makes you think I would just choose to hand over all of my wealth, all of gold, everything that I have worked and suffered so hard to attain, to some House from another Land?"

"Because the game is never a choice. No one ever really wants to play."

"What game?"

"The game of thrones child – and I fear you're merely being groomed for your part to play in all the wars still to come." Olenna spoke under a wistful breath

"Groomed?" Ezralaya felt her brow waver.

A smirk drift over Olenna's face; "As I said, one must either dance with the lions or plant the seeds of roses. I assume you don't see the harm. To you there are innocent friendships, to others, they are signs of devotion, of loyalty. It is that of a child's matrimony that keeps the peace."

Considering the matters, they spoke of were of precarious importance, Olenna showed no attempt to try and quell the volume of her voice. It was only now, as silence grew, that Ezralaya found herself able to comprehend Olenna's tiding. If one were to extract her words into their simplest form; she was merely saying that in the eyes of Court, there was no such thing a friendship. Acquaintanceship led to allegiance. And dual-fealty was a thing of foolish imagination.

After a moment's pause, Olenna once again, spoke up; "Do you know the Lannister song?"

In the background, Ezralaya overheard to Tyrell Cousins and her Ladies giggle together in a bout of girlish hysterics. She longed to be sat beside them and not presented with yet another question, no doubt conjured to trick her and lead her down a path that somehow exposed the treachery of which she never knew she even had.

Ezralaya turned her attention back; "I know it enough to recognize it, though not enough to sing along.'

"Well, you'll know it word for word by the time you leave, that's for sure." Olenna quipped lightly.

"They do seem to play it a lot here." Ezralaya agreed.

"And do you know why that is?" She asked, to which Ezralaya shook her head unknowingly. "It's because it immortalizes Tywin Lannister's second most famous deed. The sack of King's landing arguably taking precedence. Why don't you explain the song Margaery?"

Margaery hesitated, appearing to be saddened at the prospect. "It's a rather sad song." She spoke.

"A sad song perhaps, though a warning indeed." Olenna answered.

"A warning about what?" Ezralaya questioned, trying to recall the lyrics and melody to her mind with no avail. Volantis did not care about the Western Houses or Noble Families, and thus they had no desire to sing their songs.

"The songs about House Reyne's rebellion against the Lannister's. They called it the War of the lions. Robert Reyne was the red lion, and Tywin Lannister was the golden lion. They say Robert Reyne had grown too proud, and desired to replace Tywin's father as the Warden of the West. Alas, Tywin did not let that happen, for he and his many men obliterated the House entirely. House Reyne is…. no more." Margaery's discomfort of the matter was flagrant, she much preferred to talk about sweet summer days, lemon cakes, and the scent of orchids, not tales of slaughter and savagery.

"The song is a play on words you see…" she continued, "as now the rains…" her fingers wiggled up and down in the air simulating the motion of falling raindrops; "Fall over the empty halls of House Reyne, and as they're all dead, there's not a soul to hear."

Ezralaya felt icy fingers caress her back as she envisaged the butchery within her mind.

"It continues to remain an ominous warning to us all." Olenna preached, complimented by a thoughtful sigh of lamentation. "If the Lannister's could so easily do that to the mighty House Reyne, then just think what they could do to some little rich girl from the East. They'd claw you and your pretty little damsels into red shreds."

Ezralaya took a moment to collect her thoughts and realign them back into a fathomable formation. "My Lady, one does become the richest woman in the Known World without a little common-sense. I may be young, but I have seen the worst of men. I am not blind to their schemes and deceits. I know how the world works. And of this moment in time, Jaime Lannister is the least of my worries. His sister however, is another matter entirely, of that I will agree with you on."

"What makes you think he's different from her? He is the Kingslayer after all." Olenna emphasized stringently, with narrowed, importunate eyes.

Ezralaya stared back indifferently, with a glacial poise; "And I am the Whore of the Realm, so I suppose we are both similar in our lack of dignity." A silence ensued as for once, it Olenna was left at a loss for words, visibly taken aback by Ezra's boldness

After a moment of uneasy silence, aside from natterings of the Tyrell cousins at the nearby table, Margaery spoke up; "Ezra, shall we go for a stroll around the Maiden Vault, walk off our breakfast?"

Ezralaya smiled, relived. "I would like that very much." She assented.

"May you excuse us Grandmother?" Margaery asked, despite not need her Grandmother's permission.

The elderly woman voice re-arose. "Of course, my dear." Margaery held her hand out to her grandmother as she rose, and Olenna's wilted, pruned lips pucker into a kiss, which she placed upon her knuckle. Both girls went to take their leave, but Olenna's hoary voice had them halting.

"Child." Ezralaya turned, knowing the words had been directed to her. "Think me not as cruel, but as kind. You've come to a very dangerous place." Ezralaya felt herself mellow slightly seen as Olenna smiled thinly, as though wanting to wish her well, as well as being pacified and content to let them progress on forward.

Together, Margaery and Ezralaya strolled amidst the plush gardens of the Maiden's Vault, arm in arm. They treaded along the white stony path under the blue sky, of which was streaked by a few wisps of cottony cloud. They passed under the blooming shrubberies and by the blossoming berry bushes, progressing on through the beiges arches that were enwrapped by spindly vines. They treaded down a flight of marble steps formed from a mosaic of mineral and gemstone, wherein they arrived within a courtyard. The area was like a suntrap, a basin of sunshine gleaming in radiance.

A large fountain made of carved crème stone was wilted and sculpted to precision stood at the centre, a naked cherub perched atop. The water glisten by the light of the sun, twinkling like a million twirling crystals as the water dispersed out of the cherub's hand and proceeded to tumble down, disturbing the limpid water in the bowl of the fountain.

Pale pink lily-pads with vivid yellow centres, contently floated on the water's surface, swaying by the ever-moving motions of the cascading water. Thick bushes of vibrant green enclosed the courtyard, whilst profuse flowering shrubs looked elegant with their vibrant blooms and buds of cerise and violet as plump bumblebee's suckled upon the nectar.

In the distance Ezralaya could see the abating smoke rising from the ruins that had once been the Tower of the Hand. Though now it was just a hot pile of blackened bricks and charred wood, incrusted by a thick layer of charcoal and dust, with pieces of burning ash floating in the air.

The early mornings sun had turned the shattered shards of the glass into a stratum of fiery diamonds, gleaming with a golden hue. Sometimes the most beautiful things are the most deadly, Ezralaya had thought upon seeing the aftermath of the spectacle.

The whole ordeal had seemed a very odd way to culminate a wedding. Nonetheless, Ezralaya was glad she had been there to behold it, even if only so that she may be able to tell the story again one day.

Margaery's arm tightened against her own, drawing her in; "I pray you'll forgive my Grandmother. Her words were truly spoken from a well-meaning heart I assure you."

"I understand." Ezralaya strained to smile. Olenna's inquires had seemed to delve far deeper into Ezralaya privacy for her own recreation, rather than for the benefit of her Granddaughter. "In fact, she has opened my eyes. I think I have been naïve."

"How come?" Margaery questioned, making no attempt to disagree.

"I spent so long surrounded by the most heinous types of people, that once I was free of it all, I had to force myself to be able see the good. I knew if I didn't, I was destined to live a very bleak and lonely life. And now I wonder if my desperate pursuit to find the good, makes me ignorant of the bad."

"I understand what it is that my Grandmother was trying to say. In Westeros, you are pledged to a cause, and your actions and conduct reflect your allegiance and thus strengthen your honour to a particular house. But as you said, you don't owe any of these houses anything, especially your gold."

Ezralaya found it admirable however Margaery was so easily able to detach herself from the matter. It was almost as though she herself did not belong to any house for she had found no need to bolster any such cause. Margaery had the upper hand if anything, yet she appeared to have no desire to sway or manipulate Ezralaya in such a way of convincing her to declare a side.

"And may I add…." Margaery continued, with a prospering smirk; "For what it's worth…. I think the Lord Commander is smitten with you."

Ezralaya's brow furrowed deeply as she fought the urge to scoff seen as Margaery appeared so sincere.

"Don't be silly." Ezralaya laughed, attempting to alleviate her discomfort. "That's nonsense." Margaery remained resilient with her eye brows raised into perfectly sketched arches, which insinuated otherwise.

Admittedly, Ezralaya took much more delight in the young Queen's suggestion in comparison to Olenna's conjectures of manipulation and forthcoming exploitation.

"I saw the way he looked at you when you weren't looking. With the God's as my witnesses, I swear my words were spoken true." Margaery glanced up to the vast sky above, gazing up into the yellow sunshine and opening her heart for the gods to appraise her.

"Well may the father judge you justly." Ezralaya spoke in mocking custom.

Her lips pressed together in a gentle hint of a smile; "You see, I have been at the Red Keep a fair amount of time now, and not once have I ever seen The Lord Commander dance. You are the first – surely that must mean something?" Magarey spoke eagerly, as though she was trying to instil excitement. Except Ezralaya could still hear Olenna Tyrell in the back of her mind, wittering and condescending in disapproval, offering unwanted counsels.

"Well as lovely as that notion is if it true, your Grandmother has reminded me of my duties; of the reasons why, I came to Westeros. It is not to pursue selfish desires of the heart and mind – but to help the meek and lowly. And perhaps, as your Grandmother said, any potential friendship with Ser Jaime, may contradict all that I stand for. Likewise, I wouldn't want to do anything that could jeopardise our friendship."

"Oh please, be friends with whom you like. My Grandmother was being pedantic."

"I don't want to get myself involved in this war through carelessness." Ezralaya felt her shoulders heave, as an inadvertent sad sigh took her unawares. "I think it would make things much simpler and clearer for us all if I kept my distance, especially from people such as Ser Jaime."

Margaery sighed gently, almost as though she was disheartened; "That seems very hasty. Think on it a little."

"No" Ezralaya affirmed, first the privacy of her mind, and then aloud for all to her; "I have resolved myself upon the matter. I shall tell him tonight when I see him. I'll explain my reasoning in the hope he'll understand.

"How come you're seeing him tonight?" Margaery questioned.

"He said he'd show me the White Sword Tower." They meandered on forward, in a swaying stroll. Margaery's arm once again slipped under her own to keep them appended.

"Well that should be very pleasant - Ask him to show you the dragons if you have time." Margaery beamed, almost as if she was the one going on the venture.

"Dragons?" her voice had sounded unintentionally breathless in wonder.

"Well only their skeletons, but still, it's like looking upon the days of Old Valayria." How wonderful, Ezralaya thought dreamily, envisaging the mighty ancient bones and timeworn carcasses.

"I shall ask him." her whole body tingled at the thought of seeing him, upon realising her giddiness, she quickly ceased her frivolous notions. Stop it, you silly girl, she chided, He's twice your age and a Lannister.

He's a knight, and you're a whore.

After a small luncheon of salmon, stuffed with diced olives and goats cheese, Ezralaya and her Ladies, readied themselves to venture down into the city.

They shed their gowns of Qartheen silks and Myrish Lace, and did away with their jewels and headdresses, in place of tattered grey gowns, fashioned out of roughspun wool and frayed yarn. The gowns were ill-fitted, with a frontward bodice tied together by a strand of reedy cord. The mottled material chafed the skin raw and itched as though thousands of lice were embedded within the fibers, trying to nibble and claw their way free. A cowl of russet burlap encircled around their shoulders and hung heavy to the ground, whilst the adjoining hood rested atop their heads. Their hair was interwoven into a simple three-stand plait, which remained concealed beneath the hood.

A band of eight horses, saddled and ready, were stood awaiting them in the middle bailey. Ezralaya and her seven accompanying Ladies mounted onto horses and proceeded on through the raised portcullis and out into the city, which opened up before them like a rotting rose bud.

Five out of her six guards walked around her modest convoy, lumbered with the extent of the alms.

Finnalay Harstar had stayed behind at the Red Keep, with Lara Dallayny who remained behind to watch over the Moonsky twins.

Lara of the purple harbour of Braavos, was Ezralaya's most recently appointed Lady, she had been working down at Ragman's Harbour; a dirtied, deprived area which welcomed all foreign ships. Lara was an orphan, like nearly all of her Ladies, and had been employed by an elderly man, who paid her a copper a day to gut and debone the fish he caught, to sell them onto the disembarking ships.

It was a sad sight to see, a girl so comely, covered by fish inners, smeared across her face and staining her hands red, whilst drenched by the reeking smell of rotten fish. Something about her diligence had attracted Ezralaya to her, so much so, that she felt it fitting to offer Lara a place aboard her Swan Ship, on their voyage to the Western Land. Ezralaya had paid the fish monger off for his worker and then they had set off on their merry way.

Lilia and Lalia had desperately wanted to come out into the city, but Ezralaya dared not risk it. The young twins were like her own childrenand she could not bear the thought of putting them in jeopardy.

Ezralaya understood that the inhabitants of Flea Bottom would only ever act out of desperation; they were not savages nor animals, they were people; desperate, starving people, with children to feed and the shadow of death lurking over them, but Ezralaya could not abide to sending her goodhearted Ladies out into the pits of peril, to be abused and battered by the gluttonous hands of starvation.

The horses meandered on forward at a steady pace. The descent into depravity was no gradual decline. As within a matter of moments of leaving the Red Keep's walls, the conditions of their surroundings quickly began to deteriorate. No longer were they encompassed by the opulence of the King's castle, with its lavish chambers, gold wrought halls and white marble gardens, now they confronted the true ugly face of war and its appalling consequences. The further they pursued themselves into the heart of Flea Bottom, the more atrocious the conditions became.

All of the residents, even the children, looked haggard by age, grey faced and wrinkled. Their skin was so dehydrated that it looked like dappled, over-boiled leather, which had crinkled and crumpled in surrender to the heat.

The majority of the children's heads were shaved, except those who were obviously orphans and ran around unruly, naked and barefoot, with hair tumbling down to their ankles.

Most people sat in huddles, surrounding a pit-fire, with some sort of vermin cooking atop the striving flames. The ramshackle buildings were slowly collapsing, due to rot and decay, the structures which were supported by wooden slats, were decomposing due to the contamination of fungus, which was slowly eating away at the timbre. Windows were left void of glass in the walls, and most of the shanty housesdidn't even have doors.

Long, thick strips of dirtied cloth hung up in the air, tied between the houses, like homespun awnings in order to offer minimal respite from the burning sun. The cloths used to block out the extremity helped to conceal the true extent of the filth that lay on the floor beneath. Even though the ground was veiled by daytime shadows, the stench remained no less putrid and foul. Flies and wasps hovered above the filth, buzzing and circling zealously.

The odour caused Ezralaya to swallow numerous times in an attempt to reduce the likelihood of her heaving her entrails up and out. The wretches nearby looked up to the sound of hooves and looked away once they saw only girls in tattered rags.

"What are your thoughts Princess?" asked Argo, whose dark brow glistened with sweat. His chestnut hands reach out to hold on to the bridle of Ezralaya's horse to keep it steady as a scurry of children dashed out before them, unshod and splashing through the watery puddles of human waste.

"Nothing seems too chaotic." She spoke softly whilst her eyes continued to wander, assessing the surrounding area. "The people seem rather placid." her horse trotted on forward, down through the maze of narrow allies, though no matter which direction they turned the same sights drifted past her peripheral vision.

"What do you think? Is it safe to begin?"

"I should think so." His Summer Islander accent rippled off his tongue soothingly. He glanced around vigilantly. "They all look too somnolent to cause a riot." Ezralaya agreed, though she knew that whiff of sustenance beneath the noses of the ravenous had the power to invigorate the docile into a hostile mob.

"Elinor Tyrell told me the worst sections are at the bottom of the Hill. She said the waste from Rhaenys's Hill and Aegon's hill flows down into the lowermost point." Ezralaya wasn't sure how close they were to the worst affected areas, though as they had entered Flea Bottom southward and as Rhaenys's hill stood so monstrously tall to their left, she assumed that they were close to the worst of it all.

Could it really get any worse? She wondered bleakly.

"We shall dismount in the courtyard ahead and work our way southward from the centre." Argo nodded in agreement.

The eight horses were wheeled smoothly into the small courtyard, surrounded by rickety pot shops, derelict hovels and what looked like a dilapidated brothel, due to the girls that lingered in the doorway.

Ezralaya instantly pitted them. Except she had never been quite so shameless as to stand with her breasts hanging out like the girls across the Courtyard, nor had she ever uttered the profanities that they heralded in an attempt to lure over a client. If the men can't afford food then they sure as hell can't afford to dabble with you.

Each dismounted their horse and hit the floor with a splat.

"Eugh!" a grunt of disgust, distinctly Theodora's, sounded out louder than any of the others. "There's shit everywhere." She groused with revulsion.

"Theodora!" Boeenna reprimanded, trying to spare the curse from the ears of thirteen-year-old Gracengail.

Thank the Gods we opted to wear boots.

"Ladies." Her voice had them adhering to attention, forgetting the refuse of which they stood in. They gathered in closer, forming a tight cluster. Her guard Caden, an ex-slave of Lys, began to distribute the coins of which he carried upon himself. "We shall work our way downhill. Stay together and don't stray too far out of sight. If trouble arises, we convene back in this Court Yard." They all nodded in agreement and understanding. "Tread carefully, Sweet girls." They took heed of her warning, reading in to its depth.

As normal, Ezralaya, Theodora and Briar grouped off together as a three. Whilst Albany and Maxette formed a pair, leaving Bo, Gracengail and Cecily together as a trio. Callahan and Brenton stayed near Ezralaya's group, whilst Argo shadowed Maxette and Albany, and Monty and Caden charted the other three.

With a small sack of coppers in her grasp, Ezralaya wandered over to the three whores slumped against the splintered door frame, whilst jumping over and side-stepping wades and piles of noxious grime.

The girl most exposed saw her coming first and alerted the other two, both then straightened up into a defensive stance, seemingly ready to fight to the death if needs be.

"Who are you?" the tallest one spoke, reaching for the ties of her bodice to cover herself. Her teeth were black with rot, her face scared by a ravishing of pockmarks and her hair was a nest of lugs and tangles, fit for any bird to lay its eggs.

Ezralaya's fingers unravelled the knot that tied the pouch together, and delved shallowly to retrieve three groats from within. The three girls shot cautious, mistrusting glances to one another as Ezralaya offered them the coppers.

The stout, double-chinned one, who stood in the middle, spoke up; "What you doin' ere'?" despite her broadness, manly features and poor articulation, seen as she spoke like she had sand in her mouth, she was quite possibly the comeliest one of them all.

The third, furthest on the left, was little scrawny thing, with rat like traits and small beady eyes, which twitched every so often, especially when her brow narrowed in suspicion.

"Do you want it or not?" Ezralaya replied, her hand still held out to them, floating mid-air, with the three coins balanced in a cupped palm. Desperation triumphed over their caution, as they each reached out and snatched a coin from Ezralaya's hand, proceeding to tuck it down between their breasts for safekeeping.

Ezralaya's empty hand returned to her side, whilst she awaited their thanks.

"What's this for?" the ratty one asked, with an incredibly shrill voice. "Who are you?" her twitching eye narrowed disbelievingly, staring at the copper as though it was sacred emblem. A groat was worth four pennies, which by the state of themselves and their home, was more than they earnt in a day.

"Just a…. generous stranger." Ezralaya smiled kindly, except the reveal of her perfect teeth palpably irked the girl who was not so fortune in that aspect, due the scowl that serrated her forehead with lines of annoyance.

"What you on about?" The rotten tooth girl snapped. "Who are you? And why are you givin' us coppers?" her tone harboured traces of malice, which caused Callahan, to step closer to Ezralaya's presence, to offer protection if necessary. "Guards?" she added quizzically, rearing up as if to brawl.

"Who are you to have guards followin' ya?"

"Wait a minute." The portly one spoke, a finger as round as a fatty pork sausage pointed out accusingly. "You that one, ain't ya?" Ezralaya remained hesitant to speak. "The one that sailor told us about." She nudged both the girls beside her, in attempt to engage their memories. "He'd said that some rich Volantian whore was comin' over from Braavos, on a big ship. He'd seen er' and er' Ladies dockin', and headin' over to the castle." Her presumptuous eyes flicked back to Ezralaya's. "That's one of you, ain't it?"

"And if we are those you speak of, would it be a problem?" the three girls looked to each other, then shrugged indifferently.

"Spose' not." The little one squeaked.

"They call her the whore of the realm, don't they? Richest woman too, only sixteen…" Her eyes trailed up and down, whilst Ezralaya herself tried not to stare back at the girl's ghastly pockmarks. "It is you?"

Callahan neared as she prepared to disclose her identity. "Yes. It is." Their jaws dropped incredulously, glancing to one another in disbelief.

"Really?" the tubby girl questioned. Again, Ezralaya nodded. "The whore of the realm?" she added, as an extra hurtful slight.

"I do have a name – it's Ezralaya." She spoke, clearly to ensue clarification, that she did have a name other than the one that world loved to call her.

"How fancy." The tall one mocked, with a smile of rotten teeth, and the foul breath the match. "Why don't you come and work with us?" she jeered, and the other two snickered.

"I think not."

"Nah, she dines with King's now. Forgettin' she was one of us."

"If I'd forgotten I would not be stood before you now. I wish to help."

"Help?" one of them scoffed, though as they all had laughed Ezralaya was unsure of whom had said it.

The squeaky one piped up; "We're passed help." She tittered like an amused little mouse, accept her words were not at all laugh worthy. "This place is a bloody ruin. Founded on the shit of the Lannister's. We're a lost cause and living one step away from hell. No amount of bloody coppers is going to change that. Bet you ain't even seen the Sparrows behind the Sept."

"Sparrow? The birds?" she questioned, to which again, they laughed at her apparent stupidity.

"Nah they're so called holy men, sworn to the faith. Yet they're causing havoc. They preach and preach to their God, and still no one comes to save us." spoke the bonny one

"Just some girl wit nice teeth and pert tits." Spoke the one with rotten gums no doubt from her own envy.

'Well I'd like to try." She spoke, ignoring the latter.

They all shrugged indifferently.

"Suppose' it's more than any of them in that big ol' castle are doin'" the tubby girl spoke, and the other two agreed with a side-bobbing nods.

"Anyway, I have other alms to give. I bid you all a good day." She went to turn, but the sound of the tall one's voice brought her to a halt.

"Is that it? Jus' a few coppers."

Ezralaya turned back on her heel. "For now."

"What else are ya gonna do?" the trio no longer stood so cautiously and seemed more willing to accept her.

"I have plans to build bath houses and orphanages, homes for the elderly and the homeless, so long as his Grace the King permits." Ezralaya answered, taking a step closer to try and gage their reactions of her plans. Though a closer inspection was unnecessary, as their disapproval was palpable, even to anyone observing from the other side of the court yard.

She clacked her tongue; "And ow's? any of that supose' to elp' us?" her hands rested upon her wide, blubbery hips, her neck jutted forward incredulously, almost as though she was determined to find fault.

"Well, what would help you?" Ezralaya asked, genuinely curious to know, as she assumed numerous brothels were scattered about Flea Bottom, the occupants all in the same dire circumstance.

The stocky one continued; "Why not set us up wit' one o' them fancy brothel's like you got – we'll work for you. Won't we girls?" again she nudged them with the points of her rounded elbows. Both consented with willing nods.

"Yeah – that sailor said you owned thousands of them." interjected the crater-faced one, whose scowl had finally receded.

"Not thousands. Only eight, and they're all in Volantis. Besides I don't want to open anymore. I want to close them down if anything." Her brothels were not at all for the purpose of exploitation and coinage, there merely acted as a stepping stone, to help the girls who'd found themselves lost in the world, return back onto the path of righteousness. In Ezralaya's darkest days she had not been so fortunate as to be able to find such a place.

"Why not one more? We're good workers."

"I'm sure you are, but I am not here to open brothels." Their faces sunk as the rejection hit, and disappointed ensued. She could feel her throat wanting to clench in regret, wanting to help them but opening a brothel did not seem like the way to do that. "I'm having Ceryneian fruits delivered from my Island of Salazay." They stared at her blankly. "I'll have some sent to you, and if you can think of anything else I can do to help you or girls alike within in reason, then I shall."

They assented, though remained sceptical. Ezralaya went to walk away, but then remembered her manners and turned back.

"What are your names? I never asked."

"Bessy." Spoke the plump one, as eloquent as ever.

The taller one spoke next; "Rhowna"

And lastly the wispy mousy one; "Scully" how fitting.

"Till next time then." She smiled, and then turned and waded carefully across the thick fluid ground beneath.

The remainder of the afternoon was spent in a paralleled fashion, though fortunately the other recipients of Ezralaya's charity had not been quite so confrontational and had merely accepted the coppers with words of thanks and blessings of grace. A crippled woman's eyes had welled up in gratitude, an elderly man felt so indebted that he fell to floor in attempt to kiss her feet, though Ezralaya had helped him back up offering her cheek instead. Children had jumped and cheered in gratefulness, pregnant women had cried with tears of joy, and the men had sighed in relief knowing that their families would be provided for, even if only for a day or two.

Despite the fact that they were stood in the midst of the infested, gaping wound of King's Landing, glints of goodness were shimmering through amongst the squalor. Anywhere Ezralaya looked, signs of humanity, benevolence and appreciation were evident. An internal warmth never failed spread through Ezralaya whenever she watched a desensitized face, come to life with an ounce of hope. Her Ladies were as avid as her, and so they spent timeless hours comforting the peasants of the city, offering them coppers and reassuring words.

Some offered embraces, others a warm, solacing smile. It was a heartening sight, which inspired both optimism and fortitude within them all.

As much as the sights of the encompassing area buoyed Ezralaya spirits, the enormity of the task they were undertaking had suddenly become all the more colossal. The vast extent of paucity spread on for miles and miles, and Ezralaya and her Ladies had not even covered a quarter. The distance was not necessarily the issue, but more so the quantity of people that inhabited the hovels. The shacks looked so small, so compacted and overcrowded down the narrowest of allies that it seemed impossible ten or more could be in occupancy.

The pouches of coppers had not lasted long with sundry coins going per house. Even so, thoughts of restoration were for another day, for at the present Ezralaya was content to watch people become overwhelmed by glee, with tear-washed cheeks and choking on words of thanks.

The sky was coated with streaks and swaths of pewter; abundant with clouds profuse with darkness, as they cantered their horses back up Aegon's high Hill. Theodora mare reared up next to her own, the sound of their iron shod hooves echoed within the vast space of empty shadows.

"Are we going to the Great Hall tonight? I'm told there shall be dancing and singing." She asked, her cowl pulled off her head and bunching around her shoulders. "As well as feasting and drinking of course." Her added commented made herself chortle.

"No. I'm not going to, but you of course all go." Her tongue felt heavy, knowing that a lie was impending. Ezralaya hated lying, admittedly it would only be a little white lie, but that was still no more any truer than a big black lie.

Except, a small untruth felt like it would save her from a condescending earful and having to see frowns of disproval in every direction and that much made the lie seem explicable. Though for a girl who had spent her entire life living enwrapped by secrecy and fabrications, a lie still did not come all that easy to her.

"Why aren't you going?" Theodora asked, as they trotted together side by side, prying the darkness apart.

Here goes, forgive me. "I am meeting with…. Rosenthal Waters." A little weight was alleviated.

Theodora's brow creased in confusion as anticipated; "Who? I've never heard of her." That's because she's not real my dear friend.

"I believe she is a bastard sister of one of the Tyrell Squires. She invited me to walk around the Godswood."

"Tonight? in the darkness?" Theodora questioned sceptically, though her doubt seemed more directed to the intentions of the girl, rather than the authenticity of Ezralaya's words.

"She told me that it's all the more miraculous in the darkness, as the God's wander freely within the shades of night. She told me you can feel the spirits zest with the sap of the trees and within the grains of soil upon the ground."

"She sounds like a fanatic. I thought you didn't believe in the Gods?" Theodora questioned offhandedly, gripping on tight to her horse's reins, to steady her mares as its head began to frisk and frolicked in keenness.

"I don't but I thought I'd try and open my heart to them, even if only for one night."

"Very well. I hope it's an…insightful experience." Ostensibly, Theodora had believed the lie, despite that she could usually smell a falsehood from miles away. Though thankfully she had not seen it necessitous to question Ezralaya's intentions, though why would she?

Upon their return to the Red Keep, the girls stripped off within one of the disused yards in the rear of Maegor's Holdfast. Their filth caked boots were kicked off first never to be worn again, then came off their soiled gowns placed in a pile which would await the flames, leaving them in their underclothes. It was a relief to be spared from the unrelenting itchiness of the roughspun wool, and to feel the warm night time air caresses the irritation.

A young Maid bought them their bed robes, which them slipped on and then pattered barefoot back to their rooms, to change and dress for the night ahead, be it where ever their longings would lead them.

Boeenna and Theodora walked in Ezralaya's room a little while later, just as she was slipping into the dim pink dress that she had worn to breakfast with Queen Margaery upon the morn just passed.

Theodora looked mesmeric in emerald satin, a gown that had been a present from Ezralaya on her last name day. Whereas Boeenna was stilled donned in her bedtime robe, only now she wore a night cap atop her head, tied under her chin.

"Are you not going to the revelry Bo?" Ezralaya questioned, fastening the dangling tie upon her chest.

"No. An early night for me." she answered, seating herself upon the crimson velvet divans, positioned central within the room. "Though Theodora tells me that you are not going either." Theodora took her place beside Boeenna, whilst Ezralaya smoothed out her gown against her body. "And that you're in the search for spiritual nourishment."

"I'm not sure about that." Ezralaya laughed self-consciously, feeling them both staring at her. She treaded down the five black marble steps, from the upper dais of which her bed stood upon.

"Is Argo going with you?" Boeenna questioned, as Ezralaya sat on the opposite divan, drawing a cushion upon her lap.

"No." she answered promptly. "I do not want to take him from the merrymaking."

"Well we all know that he'd rather be by you side." A hint of teasing was evident in the way Theodora's left eyebrow rose as she cocked her head sideways.

"No. I'd rather be alone with my thoughts."

"Are you sure though?" Theodora queried, out of concern. "I've never even heard of this girl."

"She could be dangerous." Boeenna added, trying to instil caution with her wavering tone.

"She's only four and ten." Ezralaya counted softly, trying to put their minds at ease.

"Well as long as you are sure." Boeenna determined, she herself not entirely pacified. Ezralaya smiled conclusively to put an end to the topic of conversation.

"Anyway, Theodora will you re-plait my hair." Ezralaya asked, reaching behind herself to pull out the tie, allowing her hair to flow freely down her back without constraint.

Theodora agreed wordlessly, simply stepping over and sitting upon the opposite divan, seating herself behind Ezralaya. She ran her fingers through the soft golden stands, undulated in coils and curls, formed throughout the day. "I want to wear the headpiece that runs along my parting but droops down either side of my head with golden diamonds that looks like florals."

Boeenna and Theodora shared a wide-eyed glanced between one another and not by happenstance.

And it did not go unnoticed; "What?" Ezralaya queried, perplexed by their glances.

"Such a splendid headpiece for a walk around the Goodwood?" Theodora teased, though a hint of suspicion was present. Ezralaya quickly bit down on her tongue, realising how carelessly she had spoken.

"Yes, perhaps you're right. The gods aren not so vain as us mere mortals. Maybe just fetch the one I wore earlier?"

"Very well. I'll go and get the comb." She pushed herself up and headed over to the vanity table.

Ezralaya turned to Boeenna; "Are you ok?"

"Of course, I am my dear, why'd you ask?"

"Just checking. I mean you're going to bed so early…." Boeenna's loving smile had Ezralaya's words straggling into silence.

"I'm tired." She laughed lightly at her own inaptness. "I'm an old woman compared to you girls I cannot keep up."

"You're hardly old." Theodora scoffed, settling down behind Ezralaya with crossed legs. She began to run the pearl encrusted comb through, finding very few tangles, and so with deft fingers she began to entwine together the four sideward braids.

"I am too old to be dancing the night away." She countered, with wide judicious eyes. "I would much rather read Lilia and Lalia to sleep, and then find that same peace myself." It sounded so delightful that it was hard to argue with. "And so, with that notion. I shall bid you both good night." She pushed herself up and headed over to them.

"Goodnight my darlings." With both hands she tenderly cupped Ezralaya's cheeks, drawing her forward and placing a loving kiss upon her forehead. She took a step to her left, asserting herself before Theodora, and replicated the same loving gesture that she had seconds ago preformed on Ezralaya. "I love you girls, more than life itself." She spoke so delicately that Ezralaya felt a lump form in her throat. Never as long as she lived would she ever tire of hearing Bo say those words.

"We love you too." Together they spoke as one.

Soon after, the girls headed on down to the Small Hall of Maegor's Holdfast, whilst remained behind. Ezralaya paced up and down with her reception room, circling around the fire pit and manoeuvring between the cushioned seats and futons. She lit a few more candles to occupy her mind, at the same time as consuming numerous cups of wine, in an attempt to steady her nerves.

She knew she had to tell him their acquaintance could not continue beyond formal proceedings, yet as the wine began to take her, and as her giddiness grew, she reasoned she could at least enjoy his company for a short while.

Her room was seldom empty and so the unfamiliar silence seemed to amplify the thuds of her heart. A light sweat glazed over her body and so she fanned herself to dampen the sheen. She checked her appearance, doubled checked, rechecked, once, twice, thrice, until finally, a knock heralded a timbered sound from beyond the door.

Jaime. Her heart leapt and her legs trembled beneath the soft fabrics of her skirt. Be still. Be calm. She darted over to one of the futons to perch herself, to look as natural as feasible in all her finery.

She tautened every quivering muscle rigid, and called out, unintentionally coquettishly; "Come in." A little dalliance never killed a man.

She inhaled evenly, bracing herself to for the emergence of golden hair, golden armour, emerald eyes and the dashing smile to match.

"Argo?" Her disappointment was manifest. He stepped forward, his dark features blending into the shadows whilst the whites of his eye glowed in contrast.

"Princess, what are you still doing here?" he questioned, as she rose to a stance and walked to meet him where he stood. "I thought you were going to the God's Wood."

"Yes – Yes I am." He'd thrown her off. His broad chestnut features acted as a literal stark contrast between him and whom she'd been expecting to emerge from behind the door. "Any moment now – What are you doing?" her breath was rickety with unease.

"Theodora wanted her shawl, she believed she left it in your bed chamber. May I have leave to fetch it."

"Yes, of course." She swayed her hand in the direction of her bed chamber, offering him leave to prosper in his entreats. He headed off, his broad shoulders and heavy stride thundered upon the ground.

He reappeared a few moments later, said shawl in hand. "Well you have a nice night then." She rushed over to usher him out. Could I look any guiltier? I'm being as stealthy as a thief. Jaime would be arriving within the minute and Argo's hatred of him was by no means a secret as he wore his expressions as proudly as his armour. He'd never as much voiced his dislike, that was not Argo's character, it was more the way he balked with loathing or recoiled and flinched away entirely whenever his name arose in conversation, which of late had become all the more frequent.

"Is everything Ok Princess?" he asked, in a voice that reminded her of home, of Volantis, still so far away.

"Everything is fine." She answered blithely, throwing a hand on her hip and adding a laidback smile, whilst slowly moseying over to where the door remained open.

"Shall I escort you to meet your…. friend?"

Oncoming footsteps from the exterior prevented an answer from being answered. Her heart fluttered and her stomach filled with a swarm of butterflies. Jaime.

She froze, gawking at him from the other side of the threshold. Her mind was benumbed, contrary to her tongue which vibrated with the necessity to speak.

"My Lord." Formality seemed appropriate. Jaime looked between them, dumbfounded, and Ezralaya glared back equally so. Except neither look as staggered as Argo, who seemed utterly bewildered and partially scandalised.

"May we help you Ser" Argo voiced with evident disfavour, seen as Ser was uttered under a belittling breath. Jaime sauntered into the room, dressed in a long sleeves jerkin of soft fawn leather, collared by maroon partitions. It was the first time she could recall seeing him garbed in something other than armour.

Argo towered above them all, and his added height made his condensation seem all the more disdainful, primarily due to the way he looked down at Jaime.

Ezralaya stepped in, trying to find her footing upon the figurative crumbling foundations beneath her feet, all of which her lies were based upon. "I completely forget." She pressed a flat palm to her forehead, as though remembrance had suddenly struck her. "We were supposed to speak of the King's business tonight, weren't we?" Her eyes urged him to adhere.

His face winced in response, bemused by the situation. She could see his mind ticking behind his eyes like jammed clockwork, as he tried to fathom what to say.

"Yes, Indeed." His answer was sketchy, vague and rather implausible. He himself must had realised this, as he persevered on to fortify his answer; "Urmm…to discuss the arrangements for when your trading ships once they dock." Nicely remedied, she thought with a supressed smile.

"So, perhaps, you Ser, could escort me to my destination, enabling my friend Argo to return to the Small Hall."

A sense of terror seized Argo at the notion, "Princess…truly it's no trouble…."

Jaime spoke louder, and far more imperiously; "I would be honoured to." He shined a smile of arrogance after triumphing in a dispute once of which he was never meant to be a part of. She shot him a warning look to minimize his haughtiness.

Ezralaya turned to Argo, whose nostrils were flaring, and fists were clenched. She placed a calming hand upon the tensed muscles of his arm. "I hope you have a lovely night. I will see you tomorrow." She smiled kindly, with a conclusive nod.

Initially Argo did not move, but remained where he stood, motionless, whilst assessing her shrewdness.

After a moment, he shifted begrudgingly; "Be safe Princess." She couldn't help but smile once again, this time a true, heartfelt smile. His words always had a way of plucking her heartstrings to the tune of Volantis.

Argo took his leave, though not before bestowing a look of pure aversion upon Jaime.

Jaime made light-heartedness of the matter; "Well he does not like me at all." Ezralaya chortled in relief and shook her head hopelessly.

"You're late." Her face was stern, but she knew he'd be able to see the mockery.

"So I am." He teased. He's a virtuous vice

Ezralaya closed the door behind them. They turned a corner, and passed under a sandstone archway, which then flowed into one of the main corridors of Maegor's holdfast.

A water feature occupied the Courtyard that they walked along, separated by towering beige pillars. Night time occupied the world with is shadows and obscurities. Brazier's of stacked burned logs and tall iron brackets held thick tallow candles, both threw off orange luminosities which turned the shingle beneath to a river of fire.

Very quickly, they began to tread across unfamiliar territory. The corridors were a medley of dark woods and dusky reds, all of which seemed to narrow them further. Old relics of pottery, manuscripts and tomes, were scattered down the along the walls, stood atop end tables and within glass cabinets. Warhammers and axes hung framed upon the walls, two crossed spears took precedence with sharpened blades and carved handles, an inscription was written upon them, though Ezralaya didn't had time to read it. They turned down another, thinner passageway.

"So where do they all think you are?" Jaime queried opening a door for them, gesturing for her to pass through. The world around them had become intensified by darkness, since fewer candles were dispersed meaning minimal golden light shone against their skin. The passage they'd entered was so narrow that Ezralaya had to walk in front of him, whilst he followed behind fulfilling the position of her shadow.

"The Godswood." She couldn't help but smirk at him over her shoulder with a tantalising smile. The thought of her lies combined with their amorous ambiances and close proximity, had her feeling incredibly mischievous. She hoped the diamonds graven into her headdress were glistening in the light of the flames, shimmering and sparkling in tiny bursts of radiance.

"I never had you down as a Godly woman." Not even looking, she knew he was smirking.

"I'm not." She assured. "You saw the look Argo gave you, believe me it's not worth the hassle. I'd never here the end of it if they knew the truth."

"So, is our time together limited?" he questioned from behind. His footsteps were pronounced and his voice very slightly gravelly. The feel of his looming presence made her feel giddy and flighty, and to some extent capricious.

She couldn't recall ever feeling so enlivened, an exotic feeling of stimulation was surging through with the capacity to cloud her judgement. Olenna's cautions, Argo's distain and her Ladies words of disproval, were all banished to her minds abyss, only to be re-contemplated within a sober state of mind.

"We have all night." Again, she looked over her shoulder, a slight smoulder rested upon her upper lip, whilst her eyes smiled with seduction. "I'll tell them I became lost in my thoughts. Perchance purified by the Maiden." He laughed behind her.

The walked further down the stone passageway, which was growing darker and darker, the end was not in sight, thick with a daunting blackness. "Turn right through the door" Jaime spoke as they approached.

It was a hefty door, lined with strips of steel and locked by a large bolt of brawny Iron. Jaime reached forward and jerked at the fastening, loosening it and then sliding it open. He pushed at the door which took toil to budge. It opened with a fractious screech, as though it had been awoken from a contented slumber.

A pitch-black void greeted them. Nothing but a condense shadows floated before their eyes, like some sort of enteral abyss. She was so consumed by the darkness that the light thrust before her vision, came as a blinding awakening.

"Take this – I don't know if anyone will have renewed the tallows down there. Men seldom go." Jaime instructed, passing over one of the burning torches that had once hung upon the wall. She received it and held it forward into the awaiting darkness whilst Jaime obtained his own source of light. The light of the torch showed the silhouette of grey-slate stairs descending down into a corkscrew.

"Are we allowed down there?" Ezralaya questioned, daunted by what lay behind the darkness.

"Are you scared?" he goaded, nudging her with the point of his elbow.

"No." she affirmed staunchly. "I just don't want you to get in trouble." She reasoned, with a light shrug.

Though Jaime only laughed, as he always did; "I'm not going to get in any trouble." He resolved. "Go on. I'll be right behind you."

She humphed lightly, readying herself to descend. After a reassuring glare from Jaime, she progressed forward.

No rail encircled the spiral-coiling stairs, and so Ezralaya gripped onto the grooves in the wall, steadying herself so not to fall and tumble, seen as the steps beneath were uneven and some broken.

"Are you ok?" Jaime asked, following behind her. She felt bad for him seen as the wall was to their right, the side of his bad hand, and even so he had no choice but to hold the glowing torch with his functioning left hand, making his descent all the more hazardous. Perhaps that why he wanted to be at the back to save himself the mortification of taking a tumble.

"I'm fine." She had the urge to look back and shine a smile of thanks, but the trek downwards was far too perilous to diverge from concentration. "How much further?" she questioned, feeling herself become dizzy and disorientated, and rather displeased when she realised she'd have to climb them afterward.

"Not much. It's the next door." he answered.

After a few more twists and turns, they came to another door. Ezralaya had assumed that they'd have reached the bottom, however the twisting steps continued on as if forever.

"What's further down?" she questioned, holding her torch forward, and seeing nothing but curling steps.

"I don't know really." Jaime answered, opening the lock with the point of his elbow, and then kicking it ajar with his foot. "Storage maybe."

Ezralaya reached forward and pushed the door forward from where he foot held it in place. Behind the door, the faint glow of welcomed candle light gleamed before their eyes. The room was vast in terms of space, but not necessary in height. The cellar was compact with dense slate, sheathing the walls and floor, most likely making it feel smaller than its actual measurements.

Her breath got caught when she saw the vast array of vestiges that stood in perfect coalition.

Her eyes prickled with tears. "Oh my." She whispered breathlessly.

Together they treaded down the rail-less ten steps that lead to the main floor, so that closer observation could be achieved. She ambled slowly, cautiously, over to the largest one of all. Jaime followed submissively.

Some of the skulls stood bigger than others. Despite that they were only solid chunks of hoary bone, inert and motionless, greyed by lack of natural light, the remains still emitted an almighty ferocity. Ezralaya shivered as she studied the distinct features, from the sharp edges of their teeth, to the crisp curve of their skull, and rounded nostrils that had once showered the world in a rain of fire.

"Can I touch?" she asked him with eyes aglow with vivid wonder. Just like my dreams.

"Well they aren't going to bite." Her face screwed up at his comment, she laughed aloud sarcastically, giving him exactly what he wanted.

She looked up to the mighty beasts, almost as though she was asking permission to lay her hand upon their magnificence. Gingerly, she reached forward, steadying her juttering limb as she did so. She placed her palm along what would have been the mighty beasts jaw bone. It was cold to the touch, ice cold, dead, though she felt it coarse through her; their power, fierceness, wildness, vigour and savagery.

Her eyes fluttered close and she could see them behind her eyelids, in the days of yore, soaring above the world with vast leathery wings, with claws sharper than any man-made sword, metallic scales and dark, demonic eyes, roaring its defiance at a sickle moon upon a black sky sliced by a torrent of orange flame.

The days of Valayria. Ezralaya shivered as she inhaled the essence of the skulls, invigorating her soul, and stimulating her blood.

Her eyes blinked open and a single tear streamed down her cheek, she wiped it away before Jaime could see.

"Have they all got names?" she asked, curious to know what he was thinking as his eyes scanned over the colossal remains that had once ruled the world.

"I believe so. I used to know them, my father brought me to the Red Keep when I was just a boy and forced me to spend the days memorizing their names with the Grand Maester. And then at the end of the day, he'd make me recite them to him, as in those days the skulls were place within the Throne room for all to see. And only when I could name each one did he permit my studies to cease." A sadness coasted his words, be it out of his father's death or out resentment for the lessons.

"Can you remember any of their names?" Ezralaya asked.

Jaime exhaled, searching around the hollow vault as if to inspire his memory. She could see him casting his mind back over years' worth of history, trying to recall obsolete words back to the forefront of his mind.

"There was….Caraxes; the Blood Wyrm, who was ridden by Prince Daemon Targaryen if my memory serves me right and Dreamfyre was ridden by Princess Rhaena." He hummed as his mind strained. "There was Moondancer, Rallora, and Meraces. Vermithor; the Bronze Fury was always Tyrion's favourite." A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips, however the realization of what he'd said quickly diminished any trace.

Words were unnecessary she knew, and so a tender touch said all that a thousand words could. He smiled, gratefully, though said no more with regards to his murderous brother.

He left her side and slowly ambled down the row of skulls. "That was the last Dragon." He spoke knowingly. Ezralaya followed his steps to stand by his side. "The Dragonbane." He informed. Before them stood lay a tiny little misshapen skull, the same size a large dog, and a pile of withered brittle bones by its side.

"They say it was a girl." Jaime continued. "Died during the reign of King Aegon III, and left five eggs, though no one's knows where they are." The little thing looked pitiful, and withered, how she assumed it had been in life. "Have you seen any of the Targaryen's girl's dragons on your travels? They say she has three." He asked her.

"No, she has not yet arrived in Western Essos." She sighed, longingly; "I've only ever seen Dragon's in my dreams."

They clambered the stairs together, laughing as they wearied, and eventually surfaced into familiarity.
A few wandering souls who were not at the Revelry passed them offering courtesy nods as they did so.

The night-time had taken hold of the sky, as swollen, bulging clouds concealed the stars with a thick misty veil. The moon was a half crescent and hazed over by a leaden fog, which dimmed its shine. Ezralaya wondered how late it was. She had lost track of the passing of time, she assumed it was late.

However, the overall darkness, and the fact that she had been underground for a significant amount of time, made it hard to be sure. If she listened carefully she could hear the strumming of fiddles and lutes coming from the Small Hall in the distance, though that gave no indication, as revelries often lasted long into the night. People tended to be so consumed by wine and exuberance that the passing of hours went unnoticed, until the arrival of dawn came as a rude reminder.

Ezralaya and Jaime exited through a side entrance of Maegor's Holdfast in pursuit of the White Sword Tower. The door led out onto a large of balcony, conjoined to serpentine steps which sprouted off in all directions. A few of the terraces were bedecked with cushioned chairs, marble tables and canopies which looked down onto a combat-yard beneath. The terraces acted as a way for people to observe the knights and upcoming boys of nobility, practice their sword wielding skills.

Once they reached bottom of the winding white-stone stairs, they headed on down a small path beneath numerous arches ways, joined together by flowering vines which created an almost mesh like affect. Once the path came to an end the Lower Bailey opened by before them, with the White Sword tower standing impressively yonder, rending the night-time sky in two. Maegor's Holdfast stood robustly to their right, with its crimson bricks turned into opaque grey shadows.

"That's the Barracks of the Gold Cloaks." Jaime informed, swaying his golden hand to the left. The building was nothing special, it was squarely built with the sharp edges. Two guards were manning the door, dressed in all their sparkling finger. Jaime gave them a respectable nod as they passed.

The White Sword Tower approached. It was a slender structure, pointed and chiselled, a four-tiered edifice, with narrow window slits at the base, magnifying to large arching panes at the pinnacle. Tall black iron torches lightened the way over the entrance across a sandstone path, lined by a dumpy rampart.

They entered into a small vestibule like area, with tiled floors of beige and white, dashed by flecks of gold seeping in between the enameled insets. The walls were varnished by a glassy waxen sheen, festooned by pale golden shields, incised with the jagged edges of a King's Crown. On the far wall a statuette of a roaring lion provoking a rearing stag, blazed in gold and crimson, which stood atop a sleek circular topped end-table.

The antechamber was immense, bordered by slender pillars and numerous oaken doors laying upon the walls. Ahead, and central, a set of a coiling step stairs headed aloft, and to the far left, a short-stunted flight of stairs headed downwards to a door overlaid by an iron grate.

"I'll show you the basement." Jaime spoke, offering his arm as they headed down the steps. "It's where we keep the artefacts of Kingsuards member from the past." He added, unbolting the door.

They entered a dim, square room, where four tallow candles burnt feebly. Ezralaya picked up the handle of one of the candles to light her way around. The room was crammed with tables and stocky units, the walls covered by glass-faced breakfronts teeming with relics and antiques. Shelves upon shelves were stacked and rammed full of books, withered by time with broken binders and flaking faces.

A sword, with a golden hilt and an illegible carving was engraved upon the blade, hung upon the wall, steadied by hammered nails. "Who's was that?" Ezralaya asked, noticing how the orange of her candlelight highlighted the traces rust which had tainted the edges of the blade with a ruddy discoloration.

"That was the Sword of Ryam Redwyne. He was considered the greatest Knight of his day. He served as both Lord Commander and Hand of the King." He stepped closer. "If you look very carefully you can still see the engraving of a cluster of grapes, which is still the sigil of the Redwyne's" she squinted slight and focused her eyes steadily, bringing her candle closer, and was able to see the outline of numerous grape-shaped circles, with a leafy stalk keeping them compact.

They moved along, whilst Ezralaya examined carefully all of the artefacts from times passed, waiting for something to catch her eye and demand further questioning.

"Whose was that?" Ezralaya asked, indicating to a helm blazoned with a tripartite of pale blue, red, and green on white, which stood out like no other she'd previously passed.

"Lucamore Strong." Jaime answered with a laugh under his breath, clearly aware of the man's deeds conducted through his life. "Though he's remembered as Lucamore the Lusty"

"Why?" her eyes went wide with intrigue of the evident scandal that had besmirched the noble Knight's name.

"He fathered sixteen children on three women." Jaime informed, with a smirk, knowing her jaw would drop in shock. Which it did.

"No!" she exclaimed aghast. "What happened to him?"

"He got sent to the Night Watch." Jaime answered, amused by her wide-eyed astonishment. "See that scabbard over there with the black winged heart stitched at the top?" He pointed, and Ezralaya followed his gesture. When her eyes found what he'd descried amidst the heaped clutter, she nodded. "That belonged to Terrence Toyne." The way Jaime had spoken the name, so mysteriously, yet contemptuously that her intrigue was heighted, making it palpable that a far more macabre tale shadowed his memory. "Ser Terrence was found abed with the King's mistress. Her name escapes me though."

"Oh gosh." she braced herself; to dally with a King's possessions seemed deadly. "What happened to him?"

"He was er…" he looked to her, wondering if she truly wanted to know the gruesome ending of the licentious man.

"Go on…" She probed, the suspense was maddening.

"He was dismembered piece by piece, before the mistress who was made to watch."

"Oh my God." Her hand came up to cover her jaw-dropped mouth. "How awful – what happened to the woman?" she asked, enthralled by the scandals of times past.

"I don't know exactly but she was executed, her as well as her father I believe."

"Good God." It was dreadful and grotesque, and it evoked a though to mind that she had contemplated early. She laughed lightly to herself in irony; perhaps dalliance can kill a man.

Once Ezralaya was content that she had everything that needed to be seen, they left the basement, and headed up into the armoury.

The under croft was a large room, though smaller than the basement. The windows looked out on the wall of which the tower was angled against. Swords and scabbards lines the walls, with pieces of armour in designated places, raised to a perfect sheen. Polish boots and the folding's of chainmail were placed in large cabinets, as well as shields, helms and breastplates. The room was meticulously organised, with every item designated to a specific place, and ordered in accordance to size and shape.

The second and third floor were the sleeping cells of for the six brothers of the King's Guard, three to a floor. The door was shut and in occupancy, except for Loras Tyrell and Osney Kettleblack, who were both on the nightshift, guarding the King's bed chamber. She poked her head around one of the doors.

The rooms were spacious with a double bed sheeted by a coverlet of white velvet, as well as living space including a table and chairs for two, as well as cabinets and units for their belongings.
After, they headed upward to the next floor, circling around another twist of stairs. They walked partway down a wide beige stoned corridor, with light oak floors and came to halt at a large, hulky door. Paned and sanded.

"This is the Round Room" Jaime spoke, as she entered passed the threshold.

She cooed aloud in approval. "I like this room" this spoke charmingly, as her eyes assessed the grandeur of her surroundings. As its name implied, the room was circular, with whitewashed walls, panelled by patterned wood, segmented in swirls. Huge silken tapestries draped down from the ceiling. Large windows were situated under curved domes, with an array of swords hanging on the wall above, bowing with the arc of the wall. Diamond shaped iron grates lay imbedded within the glass. Bronze sconces hung upon the wall, three stout candles to a tier. A large table took pride-of-place in the pivot of the room. The table was carved out of white weirwood, fashioned into the shape of a shield, with seven tall oval-backed chairs orbiting the feature.

She meandered around the room, her flat palm caressing the smooth surface of the table. Her neck rolled back as she glanced up at the jewel adorned ceiling. "What do you use this room for?"

"A meeting space." Jaime answered. "Wine?" he questioned, as he lifted up a decanter brimming with royally-red liquid.

"Yes please." She smiled, he poured the liquid carefully. She sauntered over to retrieve her golden cup. She waited until he'd poured his own before taking a pit. "Cheers." She offered her cup high in the air for him to chink.

"What shall we drink to?" he asked, holding his cup near hers but not quite yet touching.

"Health and happiness?" she suggested.

"Sounds good to me." their cups joined with a metallic chime, and they both drank to those words. The wine was Dornish, sweet, yet harboured a fiery undertone, which scorched the vessels within her chest, unfurling through her like droplets of wildfire. Eventually the heat lessened, leaving behind a pleasant warmth.

"Mmm…that's nice." She sighed, feeling her taste buds crave for more. They seated themselves side by side at the table, pulling out the chairs to face one another. Once settled she took another large gulp.

"So, tell me…" She continued, with impish eyes, "How was it you came to be on the King's Guard?"

"It's a rather boring tale I'm afraid." Jaime spoke, settling his cup upon the table, the fingers of his left hand, circling idly around the rim.

"I find that hard to believe." She smiled encouragingly, her eyes imploring him to begin.

"Well, I was knighted because I killed the Smiling Knight, during the campaign against the Kingswood Brotherhood. I was only a boy, just five and ten, when Ser Arthur Dayne, placed his swords blade upon my shoulders." His persona had taken on a wistful bearing, one of which Ezralaya had not seem upon him before. "My new-found title boosted me to the top of the marriage market. And so, I soon found out that my father was planning to marry me off to some girl in the Vale. I didn't want that. My father was just planning out my future before my very eyes, and I just didn't want to see it."

"Do you not think you could've found some happiness with the girl from the Vale?" Ezralaya questioned.

"Not know I know who she grew to became." He laughed lightly to himself and Ezralaya's brow crinkled in curiosity, compelling Jaime to expand; "She is a Lady crazed by the thoughts of the mind."

"I see – a lucky escape?"

"The Luckiest." He laughed. "Anyway, my sister found a way for me replace Ser Harlan Grandision on the King's Guard, which would enable to remain in Kings Landing and prevent any marriage." So, she could keep him close, she thought, but did not dare voice it aloud. "A moon's turn later, I was upraised to the Kingsguard by the Lord Commander in a ceremony during the great tourney at Harrenhal." He seemed oddly sad recalling what was a momentous achievement for a boy so young.

"Does it make you melancholy?" Ezralaya questioned, curious about his weighted gaze.

"In a way. I'd never felt such pride within myself at that moment. Though that was all quickly diminished by my father's fury." he sighed, deeply; "Because he knew, before I did, that my rise to chivalrous glory, had not been done as a means to honour me, but rather, as a way to spite him. The Mad King knew it would deny him of his heir, and commissioned it based upon that. My prowess and skill had little, if anything, to do with the matter.

He downed the remaining dregs of his wine, to settle his angst. He then proceeded to pour himself another, and then leant forward to top up Ezralaya's cup. The wine teemed cheerily at the rim. He shook his head, and ran his fingers through his golden hair, trying shake off the invasive feeling of resentment.

"Had you not of been worthy of the position I'm sure one of the other kings would have disbanded of you at some point. But no – here you sit as the Lord Commander." Her consolation had little effect.

"Well, the fact that two of my nephews have sat upon the throne has helped my cause a great deal."

"You have a very cynical outlook. Perhaps you should learn to look at the world a little differently. I often find that by putting matters into perspective, I am able to purge myself of ingratitude." Her change of tone instantly pricked his attention, for it conveyed a sense of apathy. "You see, I went down to into Flea Bottom today – have you been?"

"Not recently." He spoke, shaking his head. Her eyes narrowed in suggestion of incredulity. Too high up in his tower, to behold the poor men below.

"Maybe you should – it may…humble you." This time, it was his eyes who narrowed, trying to find the meaning belying her implication. "Seeing people starved, soiled and housed in slums, quickly would make you realize that there are greater sorrows in the world than a Mad King's slight."

He processed her revile as silently as a hair being plucked. His eyes slightly widened at her effrontery and his tongue was most likely pressed between his teeth to prohibit a biting retort, but still he said nothing. He knows it's true. After all, his childhood had been filled with pomp, pageantry and riches, within the walls of palaces. He'd never seen a man die until he'd come of age, and only then, by choice.

"I really do wish I was more like you." he spoke after taking a moment to pause. "I just don't see the world as you do."

"It's because of how you were raised. You see, where I grew up, the island was inhabited by so few, that our only means to survive was to help one another. To sacrifice, to waiver. Whereas, I'm not sure how great a part selflessness would've played in your childhood."

"Very little. There was no time to think of others when my father's legacy had to be preserved." He was beginning to make much more sense to her. Ezralaya knew how much her own mother, Rosney, had influenced her, and she was sure that if it wasn't for her self-sacrificing nature, she wouldn't have grown up to be the person she was today.

"I wasn't always as I am." She began. "There was time where I hated the world and everyone in it – I wanted no part of it." She rarely talked about her childhood, as it still caused her great sadness, but she saw the moment at present to be a fitting cause for her to undergo temporary woe. "You see, when I was nine, an outbreak of the blister plague broke out upon our island of Salazay. Within days, it wiped out the entirety if the population, including my mother." Jaime appeared utterly dumbfounded, and for a moment, found himself at a loss of words.

"My god – the entire population? How many was that?" he questioned, no doubt unsure if he truly wanted to know the answer.

"It was only a small island – but it was a hundred or more. Entire families."

"How many survived?" Again, he questioned with caution.

"Only I." Even now, Ezralaya couldn't help the sense of shame and sadness that continually encompassed upon contemplation of the notion. Why did the stranger not claim me? She had so often asked herself. "I alone on the island for a nigh on a week before the fisherman from the mainland finally came over."

"That's awful." His face showed the revulsion of which he appeared to feel. "The God's must have plans for you – the luck they saw to grant is unlike any other I have heard."

"That's the thing though." She interjected, now broaching on the core of the point she intended to make; "For a long, long time, I didn't feel lucky at all. I couldn't work out why the Gods had granted me the chance to live a life so miserable that all I did was long for death. In fact, I used to berate the stranger, for not having let me died that day along with my mother."

"That's very sad." Jaime consoled, his cup of wine held at half mast, as though he had frozen in his sorrowful contemplations.

"It is only now that I can see the blessing of it all. Because, even though I could continue to bemoan all of the sadness and misery that befell before me, I instead choose to be thankful for it, because without it all, I would not be sat before you today." Jaime nodded along as she spoke, comprehending her alternate thought process.

She continued; "Now if you were to try – I am sure your privileges came with consequence, but the nonetheless, you still have good in your belly, a place to rest to your head and clothes upon your back. Likewise, although your assent to Knightly glory was not as you wanted, you still sit here as a Lord Commander – so well dwell on your airs? It all about perspective – instead of mourning the loss of you hand, you can choose to be thankful for the one of which you still have."

He laughed lightly to himself at the mere simplicity of it all.

"I like how you see the world." He smiled, and proceeded to take a sip of his wine, emptying the cup once again.

"You should try it. You are blessed with so much. Why not use your fame and fortune to help those who cannot help themselves?"

"It's not that simple." Jaime sighed, reaching forward to pour himself another glassful. He then rose to his feet and wandered over toward a window, gazed into the shadows of the night. "The people despise my family – after all they starve because of this war that my sister started."

Ezralaya raised to a stance and wandered over to where he stood, proceeding to lean against the wall on the other side of the glass pane.

"And you think ignoring their existence is going to make them like you anymore?" She tried her best to gauge his eyeline, but he continued to stare out into the void of the night, perhaps, in his own way, searching for his own sense of understanding. "Be an envoy on the King's behalf."

She reached forward and placed her fingertips upon his upper arm, which quickly granted her the attention of which she sought. His eyes whipped around to her, as though her gentle gesture had instead been a stab to the heart.

"I know there is good in you." She spoke, as he glanced down to where her touch lay upon him and allayed beneath the gesture. Her heart seemed to begin to hastened within her chest at the notion. "You're than just your last name." Her eyes smiled to him. If I made him a dancing man, then surely, I can make him a generous one.

Her carefully placed hand had ceased to move, and his gaze appeared to be wandering over her features.

A silence fell o'er. She quickly became aware of the peculiarity of her breathing and how her heartbeat had suddenly become situated within her temples.

What's happening to me? She thought as her skin began to pickle with a blistering heat. An intensity was rising within her, thriving by the second, strengthened by the way in which she could perceive that rapidity of his own rising and falling chest.

From nowhere, Jaime launched forward, and pressed his lips to hers.

At first, she froze, whilst his frenzied lips toiled against her own.

Her mind at first could not quite fathom the present, she even began to wonder if she amidst some imagined fantasy or within a drunken dream. But her eyes blinked and the world her eyes had left behind, was revealed to her again at their reopening.

It wasn't until the feel of his tongue caressing against her bottom lip, that she began to react to his advances. The union of their lips was fiery and feverish, intensified by the workings of their tongues which stroked and caressed with the precision and passion of a Volta.

Though just as quickly as it had been instigated, it came to an abrupt end.

Jaime wretched his lips a way with a smacking pucker, and propelled himself to the other side of the room, wherein he braced himself against the wall, his head hung low.

Ezralaya could barely catch her breath, her lungs and chest so animated that neither could function. She remained where she stood, attempting to steady herself and re-claim the breath that she had relinquished in the expense of passion. Her lips were tingling with the memory of his. She pressed her fingers to them, and felt the swellings of ardour flaming beneath. Her teeth nipped at a cuticle, as she looked over at Jaime, bowed forward and seemingly repentant.

"Forgive me." he spoke breathlessly, as he pushed himself up. He turned around to face her, but was unable to look upon her. "That was unworthy." he echoed ruefully.

"Jaime." She spoke with bated breath. His fists tightened, ensuing further penance. She pushed herself to a steady stance, and slowly approached him, cautious when nearing his tensed figure. "Will you look at me please?" She spoke again, tentatively reaching forward which a quaking limb to place a palm upon his rigid-drawn shoulder. Though she'd not been cautious enough, as he flinched and balked away. She recoiled at his brusque refutation.

"You need to leave." His straying eyes beheld a concoction of contrition and anger, and bustling lust. "I shall have someone escort you back to your rooms." He was beset with panic and so went to manoeuvre around her to get to the door, however she stepped in his way, and placed an obstinate hand upon his chest prohibiting further movement.

"I am not angry." She spoke, searching for his gaze.

"What are you doing?" he questioned, trying to side-step her once again, though she moved along with him, like a human barricade.

"What are you doing?" she echoed in her refute, panting airlessly, but fiercely. His breath was still uneven, and eyes roamed everywhere but upon her. "Will you look at me please."

With great labour he did as she asked, and she could see how fraught with desire and fear they were.

Eventually, he gained to capacity to utter in gravelly strains; "You need to go. Or else I…."

"Or else what?" she uttered blithely, her arms flailing in pursuit of an answer. "Or else what?!" annoyance was surfacing in response to his taciturnity.

"You know what!" he exclaimed stridently, but she did not scare, she remained steadfast.

They glared at one another, frozen in time, with hot blood surging through their veins. In the stillness, Ezralaya tried to appeal to her conscience to offer her wisdom and guidance in her time of need, however the voice of reason within her mind had abandoned her. She listened but had become deaf to the guidance of her inner integrity.

Gods forgive me.

"I do not intend to tell you to stop." She spoke, just above the pitch of a whisper.

This time, it was her who leaned forward. Carefully she elevated herself upon her tip toes, placing this faces inches apart. Slowly and softly, her lips brushed against his. She felt him shudder in desperation to partake.

After a few moments of hesitancy, she felt him reciprocate. His arm wound around her waist drawing her closer, which caused tingles to spread across her body. Her two arms encircled his neck, urging him closer, as their kisses began to rekindle the passion they had shared only moments ago.

Ezralaya had never been properly kisses, admittedly she'd been kissed a hundred times or more, but she had never been properly kissed. She'd never be held or caressed, like how Jaime was. In fact, the way in which felt his hand stroke up and down her back, made her want to weep.

The heat was increasing, and their embraces were becoming messy, which somehow added to the frenzy. A throbbing sensation that she had not felt for a long time, and never felt quite so intensely, began to pulse. Her mind was so consumed with fervour, and the feeling of Jaime body against her own, that she failed to register that he was guiding them over to the table. In fact, she only truly comprehended what was happening, when she felt her thighs hit the edge of the shield-shaped table, and realized that she was being hoisted up onto it.

"Jaime." She whimpered, as her legs were spread and he asserted himself in-between them. He hummed in response, quickly covering her mouth with his own. Her legs inadvertently coiled around him, wanting him closer. Her hands ran across his back, and to his waist, as their mouths continued to work at a blistering pace. She felt him moan into her mouth, and the once dormant pulse between her legs began to ache with need.

The emergence of these foreign sensations excited her as much as they frightened her. He tugged at the tie on her dress that dangled in-between her breasts. The two strings fell open, and he push her dress off one shoulder, where he proceeded to ravish her neck with sharp licks and hot kisses, which left her breathless.

Her skin was on fire, burning and blazing like an almighty conflagration.

"Oh god." Her head tipped back, she braced herself back on the table as Jaime's mouth trailed back up, latching onto her desire swollen lips. He pressed his body into hers, his hand on her lower back urging her closer.

She fought through her anxiety, cradling his head as he kissed her and delighting in the feel of his touches.

She felt his hand leave her back, and brought forward, proceeding to fumble down between their bodies. She glanced down and saw that he was pulling open the ties of his breeches. She knew what was come, and a swath of dread began to detain her. It was the thought of the initial penetration that made her feel faint and nauseous.

This is Jaime, she affirmed to herself, this is Jaime, not some seedy stranger.

You want him. You're on fire for him.

In affirmation to both, though more so herself, and as brazen as she could think to be, she reached down to unfasten the ties of her small cloth. She felt his chest growl when he realized what she was doing. He reached down to help her, his five fingers trailing up the velvety surface of her thigh, to untie the other side. He yanked at the fastening and slid it down her legs, throwing threw it onto the floor.

She pressed her lips to his once again, holding them there for a while, pursed and desperate, trying to calm and reassure herself.

She needed him. Desperately she needed him. She needed him to feel him, and yet at the same time she needed him to cease his actions, and take her back to the safety her own bed.

However, the latter seem unlikely, seen as she felt him grunt in relief as his breeches came undone.

She didn't look. She merely closed her eyes and stared into the comforting darkness, inhaling his musky scent whilst she gripped tightly onto his broad shoulders and let him moan unutterables into her ear.

She cried aloud as his breached her, tears streamed down her cheeks as the piercing sting settled between her legs. She made sure he didn't see her tears, by nestling deep into his neck, peppering encouraging kisses.

She pulled back to look upon him, and found him to be drowning in his own desire, his eyes heavy with arousal, and his mouth emitting exhales grated by grunts. She pressed her lips to his, moaning into the kiss, and clamping her legs tightly around him.

Never has anything ever felt so wonderful.

She tilted herself at a backward angle so that she could offer tiny thrusts in response to his. Her first buck back caused Jaime to emit a groan so sweet she thought that her climax to come upon her.

Once particular brutal thrust on his part, make her trembling as she keeled back onto the table, so that she was flat on her back. He followed her forward, bracing himself either side of her body, whilst her legs came up tight around his waist. He found her lips once again, as he quickened his pace.

Her eyes fluttered shut in unadulterated bliss. She was panting frantically and fitfully. It was all becoming too much to fathom; it was overwhelming and all-engulfing and she could do nothing but adhere.

It hit her like a tidal wave, her whole body spasmed, as every fibre became ignited and sparked with bliss. Her back arched as euphoria took hold. She flailed wildly upon the table. She'd never in all her endeavours, despite being worldlier than most, ever felt such blessedness paralyze her in such heavenly captivity.

His hips pumped erratically as he neared his end. She cupped his cheek, and strained for his lips. He heralded his relief with a teeming moan. His hips came to a still and his weight came down on top of her. She held his head to her bosom, feeling the glazing's of sweat coat his brow. Heat radiated off their bodies like they were embroiled by the threads of the mid-day sun.

Once his breathing had evened out, he looked up to her and smiled softly, she urged him up for one last kiss. Their lips detached with a soft pucker.

He stood up and she whined as she felt him slip from within her, mourning the loss of something that had made her feel so whole. He turned away to fasten his breeches, to which she too stood and re-donned her small-cloths, trying her best to tie them with her still trembling hands.

"So…" He leaned against the table near her, whilst she straightened out her gown. "How much do I owe you?"

Her heart dropped from within its cavity. What? She remained as stiff as a corpse. Tears burnt her eyes in puddles of fury. Did he really just utter those words?

"How dare you!" She snarled through gritted teeth, feeling a tear of anger escape and trail down her cheek, abating the heated passion that had once flushed them ruddy.

"Ezra…." Her eyes were blind to everything, she could not even gage his expression.

"How dare you!" she repeated, though this time, her arm lashed out, and struck him across the face with a blow that echoed. "How could you!?" Her voice trembled as she felt hysteria beginning to seize her like some sort of convulsion.

She darted across the room and headed out of the door. She flung herself around the coiling staircases, the world turning into one big distortion as dizziness and anguish assailed her.

He was calling her, but she fled like an absconder. She felt bilious, and violated. Faint and weak.

Her heart clenched in ache. The betrayal was too painful to contemplate. I trusted him. I thought he cared. But no. He used me like the whore I am. A cry of woe resounded from her shuddery lips as she broke free into the outside world.

A promise made to herself, which had been maintained and preserved for more than a year, had been broken in a matter of minutes. And for what? For nothing. For her to open her legs and show her true colours and all that she was good for.

As she hurried further back into the castle, she felt a wetness seep between her legs. the realization of what it was brought her to a sickening halt. Him. She swallowed in revulsion, in regret, in hatred of herself and what she'd done, what she'd let him do to her. Her chest ached as she doubled over in hurt.

Guards were approaching on their night time patrol, and so she forced herself to carry on moving before any questions could be asked.

She entered her rooms a few moments later. She collapsed down onto the divan and cried into the soft velvets beneath.

"Ezra?" a soft voice called. Theodora. There was no point in trying to masque her woe. "Oh my darling what's wrong?" she pushed the weight of the blankets off her, and dashed down from the raised bed to be by Ezralaya's side. "What is it? Did something happen at the Godswood?" Ezralaya slackened into her friend's arms, and wept into her. The more her cries wracked her fragile body, the tighter Theodora held her.

"Has someone done something to you?" she asked, stroking her hair and tracing her fingers down the expanse of her back. "Do I need to fetch the guards?"

"No." Ezralaya uttered in a breathless exhale. "It of my own doing."

"What does that mean?" Theodora questioned, craning her neck in order to try and gage Ezralaya's gaze. She reached to cup her cheek and turn her heard toward her. As she did so, she felt the prickles of heat radiating beneath the moderate complexion.

"Your skin is burning. Are you indisposed?" Her hands splayed across Ezralaya's face, gauging the temperature. She held the back of her palm to her forehead, whilst tears continued to multiply within her eyes.

Again, Ezralaya could not find the capacity within herself to be able to utter anything more than an inadequate; "No." Doleful stutters had consumed her.

"Then why are you so hot?"

"Desire." Ezralaya hissed, feeling potency once again rise within her. "And Hatred."

"For whom?" Theodora asked, holding her tightly. "I thought you were at the Godswood."

Ezralaya tried to speak but her whole face crumpled; "I can still feel him." she cried softly, panting need for breath.

Horror struck Theodora's face; "Has someone forced themselves upon you?" her whole posture had stiffened at the mere thought. Theodora seized Ezralaya's and forced her body upright in order to assimilate the severity of the situation. Though Ezralaya felt weak and boneless, her head fell forward as though her neck bone had dissolved within its cavity.

"There was no force." Ezralaya spoke, dispelling any further suggestions of violence, but not denying the entirety of the notion.

"So, you have been with a man?" Ezralaya could sense her disappointment even just via her tone. Their vow of celibacy was one of which they'd sworn together. They pledged their promise would only be broken for the man of whom they intended to marry – if they so choose to do so.

She nodded in answer. She felt herself visibly wither knowing what the next question would be.

"Who what it?" Theodora spoke, as expected.

"Do you hate me?" Ezralaya asked, her eyes wild and imploring, as she entwined her fingers together with Theodora's.

"Ezra, of course I don't hate you – you can do as you please." Theodora's brow creased at the perplexity of the question. She leant forward and placed a kiss on Ezralaya's hairline, which seemed to soothe her a little.

"I broke our promise." A heartfelt sob detained her once again, as her minds memory re-showed her, her own shame.

"That promise was not made to last forever, only until we thought it fitting to break."

"This was not a fitting cause." Ezralaya confessed, her head hanging heavy in disgrace. She shook her head slowly in denial of what she'd done, of all that she'd given away.

"And why is that?" Theodora questioned.

Ezralaya tried but she just couldn't bring herself to utter his name. The thought of it made her tongue taste like acid. All she wanted to do was sleep, forget the night and to wake up to find it had all be a dream.

Instead, she spoke; "I want a basin of water, to wash myself."

"I'll get you one." Ezralaya nodded, thankful. "But first, tell me who's made you feel so wretched."

I have to tell her, she knew, she'll figure out if I don't, and that'd be somehow worse.

She clenched every muscle, so not to quiver or jutter, to fortify her inner strength; "It was Jaime." She uttered under a shuddering breath. "Jaime Lannister."

Let me know your thoughts! Thank you for reading, till next time….