A/N: Top of the morning to ya! As promised, here is the next chapter based in King's Landing. It's not going to be a regular thing but I just wanted to have a check in of what was going on outside Casterly Rock and take a break from our two very problematic favs. It's been a bit of a whirlwind juggling two stories now (if you like Jon fics you should check it out it's called Heartsbane) but I think i'm not only managing but that it's given me new life. I don't have to stare at the same page or chapter for days trying to figure things out anymore, I work on one POV in one story one day and then move to another POV in another story the next day!

trytrytry: The first thing to note is that (for now) it is not a full blown invasion. It's a major threat of invasion and so the main strategy is containment. I personally think the Ironborn are a little overrated -they are vicious of course and people should fear them attacking villages but I think so many people forget that they are such a tiny force (at least on land). Jaime is heading back to the Riverlands to scout and block them from doing anymore damage. And like I said they're not in war but the issue of continuing the line will come up next chapter. Jaime is not a particularly paternal person and his feelings towards reproduction are very...complicated. And Lorraine as well has always maintained that she doesn't need children but of course...do outside pressures really care about how they feel? Not really.

MGrey: Thank you so much for the encouraging words! Maybe there is a problem with the display and that's why it's not getting enough traction. Your review pushed me to get this done sooner!

Edmure

He had only been to King's Landing once before. He had come to visit his sister a decade ago, it felt like centuries to him. He rode in on his horse, Lord Edmure, they had announced him, Son of Hoster Tully and heir to Riverrun, he spent his time there laughing and drinking and wenching -it was hedonistic and Edmure left no pleasure to spare. By the time he had left he was so saturated with fulfilment that he swore he would not need another instance of such debauchery for another decade. He was wrong, of course, and he was back to his old ways in a fortnight.

But Edmure could not help but recall that promise he had made himself when he had been young, carefree and leaving King's Landing while he was fast approaching the gates to the very same Red Keep. He rode in the carriage this time, of course -he was not that trusted of a hostage, instead of his horse. And he would be contained to the keep, even to his own room if need be -he did not expect any less of the Lannisters, instead of being free to leave to a brothel whenever the mood struck him. He would not be welcomed in as a guest of the Hand, but as a prized mare made to be brought in front of the entire court and publicly bend the knee to a little boy. He wished his knee would break on the way down.

The worst thing about the entire ordeal was not even the indignity of it; it was the uncertainty. Even as the carriage shook onto the entrance Edmure could still feel his fingers fumbling nervously at the idea that it was all an elaborate trap. For his own peace of mind he had to remind himself of the disproportionate logic to that thought. Why would they lie to you if they were just going to kill you? Which he repeated over and over again until the carriage door creaked open for them.

Thankfully, the yard was empty with only the Hand and his wife -their companions during the journey, standing directly before them.

"I'll take you to your rooms. You'll be sharing the suites. I hope that is not too much trouble." The hand looked at him with a bracing pity, and it made Edmure sick to his stomach. Daven Lannister. He was a Hand who looked like all he did was take orders. The Crown shits, and the Hand wipes. Daven looks like a wiper.

While he may have been plagued by paranoia at every turn that his back was still a target and it was all a foolishly bad plan to take him out Roslin saw it as more of a move on their son; which was the saddest thing of all. His wife, who had graced him with smiles when he was at his darkest -the one who could bring some light to the unbearable, was sour and pessimistic over the entire ordeal.

He didn't love the thought either. Kingslayer had taken my home, and now he will take my heir. There was far too much irony in the thought and the mere sound of Roslin's desperate sobs and surprisingly intense anger was more than enough for Edmure himself to set off. But some deep dark part of him that he never liked addressing all that much thought that out of all the places his son could be if not with him, he'd be at Casterly Rock. It was the same part of him that knew that this deal was a chance to get everything back. He just wished that the stubborn and spiteful part of him which Catelyn always scolded when he was a boy would not ruin it or put his family in harm's way.

He felt a sort of regretful bitterness wash over him every time he looked at his family. He was sowed into their sleeve now, wasn't he? He had made the hardest and most gruesome decision of his live all for their sakes -something he had chosen not to regret, but at every turn it felt like his choice was being held against him and Riverrun haunted him in his dreams. Family. Duty. Honour. Those were his house words, and Edmure wondered not for the first time just how high he held all of those. It is what his sister died for. When he thought of her, he thought of those same house words -would others think the same when they recalled him?

Every turn felt like a surrender, every move felt like a compromise. It was like his whole life of easy hedonism and indifference to authority had all caught up to him in the harshest of ways.

His decision to marry Roslin was no decision at all -nor was her acceptance of him by any choice of her own. All the events that followed his wedding night were spun completely out of his own control, and he was asked to make decisions that were in fact, not decisions at all. He had not chosen any of this, but he could choose to love Roslin and little Brynden the way he did. His bitterness would seep through, it was hard to control bitterness when a man had nothing, but he loved the little he did have. A girl as sweet as a perfect summer day and a boy who would be strong -stronger than his father at least.

They walked promptly and obediently to their rooms without a word to Daven or to each other -the only sound that filled the halls was Brynden's gurgling. When they had finally arrived to their chambers on the third level Daven opened the door for them and allowed them to walk in before following behind them shortly.

Edmure looked around the room carefully, only finding that it was far less humble than he thought they would be afforded with. The room opened to a lounging and dining area and connected to two other rooms -a bedroom and a nursery. He watched as Roslin slowly moved to the window then, and he wondered whether the view was nice enough for her until Daven opened his mouth once more.

"I'll leave you both to rest for now. Someone will come for you when it is dinner time so you may...meet the King." Edmure knew he heard no further malice in the man's voice, but it was unbearable to him not to imagine it. And so he only nodded tersely in response to his statement, wanting to be rid of him at his earliest convenience.

As soon as Daven shut the door behind him Edmure felt his face fall in a mixture of tiredness and slight relief. He was weary from the long journey -carriage were a new pain altogether, and relieved that he was not in a dungeon.

Letting out a strong breath, he made his way over to the window where Roslin was still solemnly standing. In front of them was a view of the city, bustling with people, and further on the Bay -alive and blue.

He smiled to her then,

"Enjoying the view, my love?" She didn't even turn to him to respond,

"It smells like shit." He laughed immediately at her declaration, but did not miss how she seemed numb to it. She still stood there, silently, staring out at the sea.

Pessimism did not suit her. Not one bit, not to Edmure. And he frowned at the realisation that the beginning of their new life had already hardened her -he had imagined that he would be the one to sulk while she tried to lift his spirits.

Tentatively, he moved his hand around her shoulder and she finally looked back up at him, as did little Brynden.

"Don't let them break you. They can't break us." He said gently, kissing her nose before taking Brynden in his own arms.

"Get some rest, i'll stay with him." He insisted in the same tone, and before he could realise what was happening his wife had grabbed his neck and kissed him strongly on the lips with their son between them.

"Thank you."

Duncan

He had asked his father about his name when he was a boy once and where it came from. Am I Duncan because you are Daemon? He had asked him, and he still clearly remembered his father's loud rumble of laughter before answering him.

He had named after Duncan the Tall, who was a knight in the KIngsguard during Aegon V Targaryen known for his unwavering loyalty. His father had told him that loyalty was a quality often forgotten among nobles the loss of which never went unnoticed; he had told him that he would be loyal and that would be his crowning glory.

"Don't let that give you any ideas about joining, boy!" He had added with a boom of laughter, and Duncan could not help but laugh at that himself. Addam used to chase him around in the gardens pretending to be Aerion the Monstrous and Duncan Aegon the Unlikely -their game, however, stopped after the rebellion. But it would still bring him a smile every once in a while when he thought of it, and he would think to himself that he would neither want to be a king or a the man sword to protect him. Especially now, as he stood by Lord Tarly in his study, wondering how any members of the Kingsguard could make a lifetime out of this not seem as dreary as an hour was.

Earlier that day, he stood once more behind Lord Tarly as they both watched the Hand and the Tully party arrive at the keep -albeit from a farther off balcony which Duncan doubted they would be visible from. His gaze darted sparingly over the figures accumulating out onto the empty courtyard but it was hard to miss the only woman with a babe standing between it all.

Lorraine had instructed him -albeit cautiously, to keep a steady eye on her friend for her and Duncan was far too curious not to oblige. The very sight of Roslin Tully reminded him of his sister, and he was almost ashamed to admit that that hint of familiarity was enough for him to latch on to it.

His opportunity had arisen a few days after they had all arrived.

Lord Tarly had meant to speak to Lord Edmure in the garden path, and his wife and child were there with him as well so Lord Tarly had asked Duncan to stand guard by them -no doubt wanting his own privacy with Lord Edmure.

She seemed like a nice girl, if not a little sad. Like a lark, he thought. He watched as she doted on her young boy, still completely unaware of his presence behind her. It wasn't until she slung the babe by her shoulder that the child had taken it upon himself to point out at Duncan, gurgling in the process, and Roslin turned to examine the object in question as Duncan exchanged silly grins with the babe.

"Who are you?" She had asked, not at all as rough as the question would beg.

He stood dumbstruck for a moment; it was never a question that he had had to answer. But he quickly realised that he had replaced the guard who was previously watching over them and he was, by all means, an unfamiliar face to them.

"I'm Lord Tarly's squire, my Lady. He asked me to stand guard for you while he speaks to your Lord husband." He replied with a vague and flimsy gesture to the direction he had known them to be walking in.

Her expression to his answer seemed quizzical at first, but the light in her eyes quickly shone through as she seemed to make some sort of connection.

"You're Lorr-...Lady Lannister's brother?" He was shocked to be recognised; and by his title no less! But what was perhaps more shocking was the hint of malice in her voice which he had not expected to hear.

Nevertheless, he grinned widely and clasped his hands around his front instead of his back.

"Aye, I am my Lady."

She turned from him, carelessly throwing out, "I know who you are."

Duncan knew that it was not his duty, order or even his business to ask or engage the lady -not even in the favour he had promised his sister did it entail that. But perhaps it was the lack of good company, or the father that his own sister had found her to be pleasant enough -or maybe even the sad crease in her brown, that moved Duncan to speak once more.

"Has my sister been telling tales of me, my Lady? I hope they are not all bad."

At that she turned around once more while she rocked her babe in her hands. It looked like she was going to open her mouth to say something but held her tongue, and instead she continued to eye him curiously -piecing a puzzle together that Duncan was unaware of.

"And what tales has she told of me?" She asked once more with a voice much smaller than she had originally used.

He smiled gently at her,

"All good ones. Though you didn't hear it from me." She smiled back at his joke, still too guarded to afford the conversation with a laugh, but Duncan took it as a good sign that she had not turned her back to him again and took it upon myself to continue to pick up their conversation.

"He looks like a strong lad." He pointed to the blubbering bundle in her arms and she smiled as she looked upon her babe; a smile truer than he could claim to have seen from her just yet.

"I hope so." She placed a soft kiss to the child's soft head and moved him to her knee as she sat contemplating something -to which Duncan took as a sign that he should step back for the time being, reminding himself that after all, it was not his duty.

"If either you or Lord Edmure -or the little Lord for that matter, should need anything you are welcome to ask. Any friend of my sister's is a friend of mine."

To that she smiled sadly once again, and Duncan had to remind himself that it must not be the only smile she had. But perhaps it was the only smile she had for him at the moment.

"Thank you, Duncan."

"You remember my name, my Lady?" He said with an even wider grin than usual.

"When you have as many siblings as I do, you'll find learning names is a necessity; not a skill."

If Duncan did not know any better, he'd think the Lady was jesting with him.

Tommen

His mother's trial was fast approaching and besides his own worrying nature -he had all the good sense to worry.

He was not allowed to regularly visit his wife, though it was by no decision but that of Margeary herself's. She was angry, it was understandable, at the indignity of the entire trial. The first night she had been returned to him she had looked upon him with a burning gaze that he did not think she was capable of having. Gone was the sweetness in her eyes and sighing lust in the corners of her mouth, the Sept's cells had replaced his wife with someone he could barely recognise.

"You didn't fight for me." She had accused him once they were alone.

"My love...I did all I could I-"

"You didn't fight hard enough!" She spun around in her chair, refusing to face him after her outburst.

"I was locked in a cell and accused of vile sins against the Seven -sins that I know you are well aware others have committed. And yet I stand to blame for them, Your Queen."

"What are you talking about my Lo-" She interrupted him again, this time with a dangerous gleam etched into her pupils.

"You know very well, Tommen. You know" Her voice was small and low -but it did nothing but inspire fear and confusion in him. And eventually her little voice died down the rest of the way and he was met with silence at every move he made to speak.

After that night she had declined all of his summons to see him; as well as not summoning to her by her order. All he heard from his wife was what Lord Tarly deigned to tell and update him on.

His mother, however, would rarely let him leave her sight. The imprisoning had had an effect on her as well, obviously, but as opposed to Margeary it only seemed to increase his mother's affection towards him. Sometimes she would come to his room at night and hold him to her as he slept, and he would wake up in her arms.

"I asked for you everyday," She had said when he asked her why she came to his room one night, "And now all I want is to have you in my arms."

He sat now in the very throne room that so many had gathered in the night before. He sat on the steps now, instead of the throne, and he was alone with only his guard standing outside -instead of his mother by his side and hundreds of people watching as Edmure Tully bent the knee to him.

It was not something he cared terribly for -he did not understand why such a show had to be made of things -not like Joffrey had been. But his grandfather always reminded him that making an example out of people would demand respect from all the saw. Tommen wondered now if it was only fear he was talking about.

He was a boy king, a growing boy -yes, but still not a man grown. Not like his father was.

It was so lonely -being shunned from his own wife and smothered by his mother. There was no one that to guide him -no one to be nice to him. All the people who did that had a habit of disappearing.

Myrcella, Uncle Tyrion, Uncle Kevan, he made a list to himself as he remembered his uncle Jaime.

He had hoped he would be happy, but he had no one to ask. At that moment, sitting on the stone steps that he was sure his uncle had stood guard on many times, all he wanted was to hear his voice.

His fists clenched unusually tightly as a strong lump collected in his throat and he struggled to push away his bad dreams. He would stand on an island -barely the circumference of his throne, and when he would look straight ahead he could see everyone he loved on dry land smiling and waving. They would walk away, and every step away felt like a kick to his throat as he could only stand there helpless. Tommen would often look down to the water in his dreams, but in its place he'd find fire -an endless pit, and he could hear the screams of all the men the Mad King had burned in the very room people bowed to him in.

Tommen's shaky hand raised itself to his head and he allowed his head to fall into it as the barely choked back sobs finally escaped him.

Everywhere he turned, there seemed to be no solutions to anything. He had a mother who adored him but did not know him. A wife who could not look at him. He had a People that did not believe him. A council that made his decisions for him.

The doors opened suddenly and Tommen scrambled his hands frantically around his face to wipe off the evidence of his burst. It was a crack in his armor he couldn't yet fix. He had known enough about King's Landing to know that emotions were weakness. Perhaps he had no armor at all.

He looked up to find the Hand -his Hand, standing at the doorway, pausing only momentarily before he proceeded forward to where Tommen was sitting.

He stood up briskly, trying to make up for something he knew he still lacked with posture. His Hand bowed to him shortly and he returned it with a brief nod.

"Your Grace."

"My Lord."

"I've just received word that your uncle, Lord Jaime, is set to leave to the Riverlands within the week. I thought you should know. The journey should not take him long to get there, but i've sent back our quickest raven with him so that he may correspond with us as soon as he can when he is there."

That was another matter altogether -all the business with Ironborn. It terrified Tommen to know end to know that not only were those pillagers close but they were on land. Harsh lands breed harsh men, he remembered someone saying. And even his father, who crushed the Greyjoy rebellion, relayed to him some of the horrific things they had done. But even with this, and even with one hand, Tommen knew there was no one he trusted more than his uncle Jaime to get it sorted.

But even with that, Tommen knew, that were it not for the Kingdom and his own uncle's happiness -he would have him here.

He sagged in a mixture of relief and exhaustion and made his way back to his seat on the cold step while Daven remained standing -awaiting his reaction.

Suddenly, he wondered why his uncle had not written to him directly. I am King, after all. He thought. But then he had to remind himself that it was a matter better left to the Hand -one in which he was already vastly more familiar with than Tommen himself.

He looked up at the man with the golden beard now, wondering why he had not allowed his face to be familiar to him -wondering why he kept trying to imagine someone else's face in his place.

"How is my uncle?" He asked, allowing his shyness to seep through.

Lord Daven smiled briefly at that and motioned with his hand whether he may take his seat next to Tommen, to which he nodded in acceptance.

"He is very well, your grace."

"And my uncle's wife? How does she fair?" His curiosity had always gotten the better of him.

"An exceptional lady, your grace. I believe she has made your uncle a far happier man than I had known him to be, if I may say so myself." Tommen turned to find a small smirk that Daven did not seem in a hurry to wipe off his face any time soon, and soon enough he found a small smile creep up to his face as well.

"I should to visit them soon, once all this madness if over." He expressed sincerely, hoping that his words were not lost to the wind as they usually were.

Daven nodded,

"I shall make it the first order of business, my Lord."

Roslin

The waves brushing to shore held something calming in it as she watched on from the gazebo in the gardens, but the loneliness she felt had her on guard at all times.

Everywhere she turned and every pair of eyes that landed on her Roslin could not help but compare to what she had encountered at Casterly Rock -after all, it was the only other place she'd lived in by the sea.

And it was possibly the only place she had ever made a friend -though she had good reason to question whether Lorraine had been that to her.

Roslin wished she could think of Lorraine with more spite than she could muster at the moment, but nothing came no matter how hard she tried. She wanted to hate her for what she had done; she wanted to tear her memory to shreds and build with those a duplicitous monster that would teach her not to trust anyone again.

But what had Lorraine truly done with her trust but return it with her own? To that Roslin could not yet answer. Nor could she answer why she had not told Lorraine's brother that in technical terms, after the last couple of encounters with his sister, they were not good friends.

Perhaps she could not bring herself to say anything because his unknowingness made her realise that Lorraine had not told him either. Roslin was not sure what that really said about Lorraine.

I'm still calling her Lorraine. She noticed. After the spitting words she had thrown at her and barely held back attack she would have thought that she could come up with another name for her; something to match the Kingslayer, perhaps.

But nothing came. Nothing came but the dawning that in this pit of snakes that stank of shit and wine, she missed her friend. Every time she looked at her sad harp sitting in the corner of her room, she thought of Lorraine's clumsy fingers as Roslin had tried to teach her to strum it. Every time she walked the gardens she would recall the smell and sight of Lorraine standing in her muddied linen dress, eating grapes like it mattered not. Every time she looked out at the sea, she would think of Lorraine dipping little Brynden's toes in it. Even when she looked at little Brynden, she would think of the only other person besides Edmure whom she had allowed to hold him so. Even her brother looked just like her, his dark hair following her like a ghost. Could Lorraine truly have been protecting Brynden? Was she capable of doing so?

Roslin, admittedly, did not know much of politics or war or the Seven Kingdoms themselves, and she may have missed having a friend, but she knew without a shadow of a doubt that she would miss her son far more when the time came to separate them.

And that, no matter how hard she wanted to try, was something she could not forgive.

And that's it for King's Landing.

Stay tuned for Casterly Rock again next chapter.