Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Disney/Dreamworks/Game of Thrones characters, locations, and/or terms. I am just a humble weaver unraveling cloths of stories to thread together and create a new pattern. If you would like to read the info and details of this fic, or if you are confused about some characters' names, you may go to the Preface section. Thank you!

VANELLOPE

Stifling a yawn, Vanellope put down the cloth she was embroidering. It was a hot day in the Farlands, and it made her want to take a nap. She glanced at Lady Lillian, who sat next to her working on a particularly difficult stitch.

"May I be excused?" Vanellope whispered, half hoping she was heard. This was only Lady Lillian after all, and not with the grumpy old Lady Maylis Fay.

Lady Lillian looked her once over. "My child, are you ill?"

"Sleepy is all," she replied, and this time she let her yawn show, making sure to cover her mouth so as not to be considered rude. "The journey still has me weary."

"Is that so?" there was worry in her voice. "Yes, you may be excused. A nap before supper would do well for you. I shall tell Harold you have taken to bed."

"A many thanks, my lady," curtsying as she was taught to, Vanellope exited the solar.

She was truly thankful. Out of all the members of House Dal, only Lady Lillian showed her the sort of care she saw from parents to their children. And with Lady Fiona and Ser Shrek, and even Ser Shrek's page Rhondd, those whom she only has come to know recently, were more respectful and kind to her than any other person she had known longer.

As she climbed down the steps from the castle wing where Lord and Lady Dal's chambers were located, she found herself running her fingers on the necklace, the smooth metal cool to the touch. Three years now it has been around her neck, a shackle in the guise of a trinket, never to be removed.

The day after House Dulcie fell, the house whence she came, she awoke in a strange bed in a strange land, with even stranger people and the necklace already there. Lord Harold had said that it was for her own good, for reasons he did not divulge. She remembered nothing else before that day. She was told she had a father, a vile man who rebelled against the king and was then punished for his treason. Lady Maylis always emphasized that Vanellope should be grateful to Lord Harold for taking her in when no one else wanted to raise the child of a traitor. Vanellope then wondered, never aloud, what would have happened had Lord Harold not taken her.

Her former home was a mystery to her. The Farlands lay across the continent from where the Sweetlands used to be. She had looked at maps and the few paintings she found in the Dal library, but none of them conjured any image of any home before the Farlands. Yet once in a while there were some memories that seemed to surface at some ordinary event. One time she smelled peppermint from the tea that Lady Fiona was drinking, and she thought she heard a man's boisterous laughter from afar, or the time she ate candied fruits and a vision of bright pink and cream stripes flashed in her mind's eye. She felt that all that she needed to do was return to the Sweetlands, even just for a quick visit, and the heaviness in her heart would lift, a heaviness with an unknown source. She had asked that once before, but Lady Lillian did not answer, Lord Harold refused, and Lady Maylis seemed to have a fit at the very mention of it.

"Ungrateful child," Lady Maylis had called her. "Still wishing to go back to a desolate place when all that one could ever wish for was at your fingertips."

Vanellope had said nothing, but one of the things she did wish for was not at her fingertips: the choice to be free of the necklace she knew naught about.

"He is here, m'lord," the voice of one of the guards echoed in the empty hall. Vanellope stopped her descent and crouched low at the balusters, peeping through the gaps down to the foyer.

Lord Harold stood there, talking to the guard. "He is? Where did you send him?"

"To the crypts as you have instructed, m'lord," the guard replied.

The lord of the house leaned close to the guard, but Vanellope could still hear him despite his hushed tones. "And are you sure no one followed you?"

"Aye, m'lord. We even had to kill a farmer when he had been staring too long."

In the hot weather, even with sweat trickling in between her shoulders and back, Vanellope felt a chill run down her spine. Lord Harold waved the guard away. He looked around first, and Vanellope had to move away from the edge, before leaving through the door that she knew led to the crypts.

She pondered returning to her chamber. She had felt exhaustion from their immediate departure across the westerlands back from the prince's name day celebration. But all of that was out the door the moment she decided to stay and listen to the conversation. Vanellope cursed herself and her curiosity.

Taking off her shoes with the noisy heels, she continued her descent barefoot. Upon reaching the foyer she quickly rounded the corner to the gallery and down the short flight of steps to the garden. She had gone to the crypts a few times before, when she was left on her own to explore the castle as she wished. She followed the path and turned left, through tall bushes that hid the way to the crypts. She stopped short of the large stone door engraved with the Dal sigil of a lily flower. Taking a deep breath, she grasped the metal handle and pulled carefully, leaving an opening just enough for her to slip in.

The stone steps were damp and cold under her feet, and she half wished she had passed by her chambers first to get her velvet slippers. She sniffled and bit her lip.

Lord Harold's voice was more distinct. "-sorry if I cannot offer you a drink. This arrangement has to be done in secret."

"I could have guessed, my lord," the voice was heavily accented. Vanellope wasn't familiar with it, but the person was definitely not from the same place as Ser Shrek. "Forgive my boldness, I assumed we were to speak of the transaction forthright. I have other places to be."

"Oh, of course. A man of your…" Vanellope could just imagine Lord Harold gulp. "Expertise. You can do it? He is from Animat, same as you."

"No man has eluded me, if I am paid the right sum."

"Yes. Will this be enough?" a loud clunk rung within the crypts. The sound of an unsheathing sword preceded the ripping of a cloth. The tinkling of falling coins followed.

"When do you want it done?"

"The day after the morrow. Wait for him at the wood by the stream. When you are done, bring me his head."

Vanellope held back a gasp. She slipped back out, breathing heavily. She was aware that there were hired knives to kill for the highborn, but this was the first time she had ever witnessed a transaction. She suddenly heard footsteps ascending the stairs of the crypts. She ran and stumbled to her chambers, shutting the door behind her. Crawling under her covers, she closed her eyes and let sleep take over. Her dreams were filled with whispers and cold fingers on her neck and wildfire down her throat.

She was woken at dusk for supper. With a foggy head Vanellope made her way to the dining hall where she sat in between Lady Lillian and Lady Fiona. Letting the talk pass between her, she ate the buttered turnips and roasted quail in silence. When she looked up, her eyes first met Lord Harold's. She frowned, like a half remembered dream started to ring in her mind.

"You left your shoes in the garden, Vanellope," Lord Harold said. "What were you doing there, playing barefoot?"

"I…" she tried to remember, but she couldn't. "I don't know."

"I thought you went for a nap?" Lady Lillian asked.

"I did." She did excuse herself from embroidery. Then she went to the gardens. And woke up in bed.

"Poor child is still light headed from the road." Lady Maylis Fay said from the other end of the table. "Perhaps some essence of nightshade will help her."

Lord Harold nodded in consent. Vanellope turned to Lady Maylis, the woman then smiled at her with that smile that never said if she was happy or not.

A/N: Reviews would be lovely :) Thanks!