Note: I changed the rating for two reasons.
A.) for Cersei's POV in this chapter,
B.) for future chapters that will have more GRRM stuff.
Flashfoward
The quiet isle was quiet as usual. A sole monk sat on the banks of the river Trident, fishing pole in hand.
He tugged at the line, it had caught a lilipad, but there was something on it. There's always something floating down the river. Fishing junk from the river had become one of his favorite pastimes lately. It was rather boring here, now that he had recovered from his wounds. It was a small price to pay for the peace he now knew.
He got a closer look at the lilipad and noticed a blood stained eyepatch.
Davos
The Drawbridge came down and up went two banners from the gatehouse, the Baratheon standard, and Jon Targaryen's own personal banner, a white three headed dragon on black.
Next came the sound of the portcullis being raised.
Stannis would personally lead the charge through the gate. Davos had conselled him against this, but Stannis did not care. He does not seem to care anymore if he lives or dies thought Davos. Stannis had also become insistent lately on leading by example. King Stannis is a Northman now, he reflected.
The cavalry formed up and at the sound of a warhorn, five hundred horsemen, most of them Manderlys, followed the King's banner.
They thundered past the three fallen gates and caught some of the defenders as they fell back to defend the bridge and the East Keep. They were cut down with relative ease, having nowhere to go. The heavy doors to the Keep were shut and barred locking them out of their lord's castle.
Despicable weasels, thought Davos, as he fought his way through the doomed Freys who had been left to die by their overlords.
The cavalry pulled back to the waycastle to avoid the incoming missles and dismounted. As he got off his horse, he noticed a battering ram being brought to across the drawbridge. A squire took the horse, and Lord Seaworth joined the march from behind the ram.
By the time the ram breached the doors to the East Keep, Jon Targaryen and his command had joined them in the courtyard having extinguished all resistance along the inner wall.
Their entrance to the main hall was greeted by a hail of crossbow bolts. One of them hit Stannis, the bolt piercing his shield, and lodging in his side. He went down in a wordless grunt of pain. Davos risked enemy fire to reach the King's side.
The bolt cleaved through his side, and the bleeding was profuse, but it was by no means a fatal injury. Ser Richard Horpe, who carried the King's banner, was felled by another bolt. His helm was pierced, and he was dead before he hit the ground.
Just as Davos and two knights dragged their king to safety, he saw the King's heir, Jon Targaryen, retrieving the fallen banner. As he knelt down towards Stannis, Baratheon troops passed them in an effort to climb the nearby stairwell.
Stannis looked up him. He was grinding his teeth, his way of easing the pain.
"They run your grace."
"Who runs Onion lord?"
"The Freys."
"Where … to their … privys?" Stannis lost consiousness before the question could be answered.
"Your grace," a frantic voice called out.
Davos instinctively felt for a pulse which he found.
"He will come back ser," Davos told the man.
Lord Davos Seaworth had no answer for when Stannis would return however.
Alayne
The great ruined citadel of Harrenhal loomed before her. She saw Lanna flinch, at the size of its enormity. Harrenhal was about twice the size of Winterfell.
Her friend Lanna Hill was the same age as she was, and a bastard as well. Sansa decided it was rude to inquire about her parentage, but she was certain that Lanna had a Lannister father. Her long golden hair reminded Sansa very much of Myrcella, and if not for her deep blue eyes and her Braavosi accent, she might have mistaken her for the princess.
After hearing the story of how Lanna lost her home to Lannister men in Braavos, only to get free passage to Maidenpool, Sansa had a feeling that there was more to her than she was seeing.
Young Sansa would have nothing to do with bastards, but as Alayne had come to prefer their company. Will you feel sympathy for me, Jon, Sansa wondered. She had heard that Jon had returned from the dead and proclaimed himself the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. Sansa would have dismissed it as a mere wishful rumor, but she also remembered the genuine surprise Littlefinger showed for only a moment.
Jon was now besieging the Twins with Stannis Baratheon. She wondered if she would be seeing him soon. Was he really my cousin all along, Sansa wondered.
She passed under the gate of Harrenhal which was more like a tunnel given its size. Most of the buildings were in ruin, but Sansa noticed that some of the buildings had recently been rebuilt.
Petyr had mentioned that this place was cursed. A curse did not keep you from Harrenhal. Sansa did not want to believe in the curse of Harrenhal, but the fate of Janos Slynt told her that even possessing Harrenhal seemed to mark you for downfall. She had learned that bit of news from Harrion Karstark, who was a prisoner at Maidenpool, he was somewhere in the party.
Littlefinger told her that the only thing preventing the execution of the rightful lord of Karhold was her cousin Jon. He had married Harrion's sister Alys, to a Wildling chief. Should anything happen to Harrion, a wildling would inherit Karhold, against the wishes of the Iron Throne. Sansa admired the smug cleverness of the move.
They arrived at the Hall of a Hundred Hearths. The man that greeted them would be Ser Bonifer Hasty. His sigil was a white sinister on a purple field. "You have finally come, my lord," he seemed relieved.
"You look as if you had expected someone else" Petyr was probing him, and he took the bait.
"I had thought that the queen would be here first," Ser Bonifer spoke with irritation at the mention of the queen.
Littlefinger has already seen to that.
"Cersei is out gathering swords for her cause in the Crownlands, but she should be here tomorrow if my scouts are correct."
"Will you allow her to profane this place with the presence of that necromancer and his abomination?"
"It's not as if I serve a reasonable, pious queen."
And just like that, Ser Bonnifer was a supporter of the Mockingbird.
A member of Ser Bonifer's holy hundred escorted Alayne to her quarters before she could hear the rest. Littlefinger had told her that Ser Bonifer's men were so pious, that they gelded their horses as well. She found herself wondering if Littlefinger was japing.
This time got she her own quarters, as there were plenty of rooms in Harrenhal. Just the Kingspyre tower seemed big enough to hold half of the Vale's forces.
Sansa took a brief nap, which was interrepted by the knocking on her chamber door. A voice behind the door informed her that Petyr wanted to see her in his solar.
When she entered the solar, Lord Baelish bid her to have a seat. She did as she was bid, and Littlefinger's face broke into a smile. This one seemed to reach his eyes.
"Our wonderful Cersei is full of surprises; guess what she gave me this time as a reward for my leal service to King Tommen?"
Littlefinger loved to play these guessing games.
"The hand of the king," she asked.
He laughed, "not yet, but soon I suppose, it's a rather cursed position I'm afraid." Only because of people like you, Sansa thought.
"Her hand in marriage?" She wanted to see his reaction.
"No, the queen will never wed of her free will. She loves her children. She would only be willing to marry if her life or Tommen's life was threatened."
Alayne never took Littlefinger's suggestions or even outright assurances as a guarantee. He had told Sansa once that Widowhood would become her. Now, Tyrion was back and stronger than ever. From what she heard, the only thing that she seemed widowed of was his soul.
Littlefinger had told her that Sweetrobin's health would fail, but he was still alive. But I knew what you meant, my lord.
He had promised her that she would marry Harrold Hardying, and see the Vale's armies reclaim Winterfell. Now they would have to step over the bodies of Jon and Rickon to get it. She didn't want to marry Harry, no more than she wanted to be wed for her claim.
Still, Littlefinger's suggestion unsettled her.
He handed her the parchment was holding.
By decree of King Tommen Baratheon, I hearby legitize the natural daughter of Lord Petyr Baelish, as Alayne Baelish.
"Alayne Baelish, my dutiful legitimized daugther," He spoke, as if he read her thoughts,
Alayne could feel the goosebumps on her skin as he spoke.
"The hair dye is running out," he reached out to touch a strand of her still dark hair, "Your Auburn roots are beginning to show." She was not sure what to make of the expression in his eys. "I suppose that I will have to tell Cersei that your mother looked suspiciously like a Tully."
Sansa felt herself squirm at the statement, but she could not say exactly why.
"That's worth a few kisses right there.
Cersei
Baelish had arrived in Harrenhal first, only hours ago. Banners topped the battlements over the gates, but the standard of Baratheon of King's Landing topped them all.
Tommen will have friends here, Cersei felt reassured.
The lords of the crownlands had been more hospitible than she dared hope. Well, most of them were. She spent a fortnight at Antlers, where the hosts were most generous to her.
Littlefinger was the only friend she had to run to now. After receiving word of the Devan Lannister's death at the hands of outlaws, she hurried to Harrenhal. How could he have allowed himself to die in Riverrun at his own wedding at the hands of outlaws? Although she had yet to hear the full details, she was certain that the riverlords had a part in the death of two family members, and an in-law.
Now it was even more important to ensure to support of Baelish. She had heard that Littlefinger had a bastard daughter, and offered to legitimize her as a token of gratitude for his leal service to Tommen.
He was more loyal to me than Jaime was, Cersei thought. She knew that Jaime was still alive, but did not know what had happened to him or that wretched old cow from Tarth.
Just outside of the gates, Littlefinger came out to greet her, with a small bodyguard, and a few lords of the Vale.
"Your grace, Harrenhal is yours," Littlefinger's voice was reassuring.
She led her army through the gates of Harrenhal, as she glanced at all the ruins, she could not help but wonder why father chose to stay in this miserable pile of stones for so long.
She could not help notice the wary eyes that followed her as she made her way to the central courtyard, but Cersei knew that most of them were really following Ser Robert Strong.
"Lord Baelish do you accept my offer to legitimize your natural daughter?" Petyr Baelish gave at her a look of glee that she found slightly creepy.
"I'm very happy to accept, you have my gratitude, and that of my daughter." His smile cut like a dagger. "She would very much like to thank you in person, now that she can have a suitable husband."
That would be nice, thought Cersei.
They arrived in the central courtyard of Harrenhal, and Littlefinger began barking orders to find quarters and food for her men.
"Lanna, show her grace to her quarters."
The girl helped her dismount, and gave her horse to an idle squire. Then she got a good look at Lanna. Cersei could not help but stare, at the girl. Her face and her golden hair marked her for a lannister, but her demeanor immediately marked her as a bastard.
She looked towards the ground, "come with me your grace." Cersei noted the foreign accent in her voice.
Cersei followed Lanna; Ser Robert Strong would be needed to escort Tommen to his chambers. After entering the Kingspyre tower, she looked at Lanna again, and noticed deep blue eyes in place of the emerald green eyes that most Lannisters had including herself.
Cersei felt sour at the sight of those eyes. Who was her mother, who was her father? Did Jaime father a bastard? Her blood ran cold at the thought of her other half putting his cock in another woman. The girl actually looked a little like Myrcella, which made her angrier still.
The girl sensed her tension, "Is there a problem your grace?"
"No," Cersei lied cautiously; they had already ascended two flights of stairs. Two of her guards were halfway up the stairs and a few more armored men, were lagging behind. She was not as concerned right now about her personal security; Harrenhal was much safer than King's Landing.
"It's just that you look my own daughter, who where your parents?"
The bastard flinched; at least bastards know how to fear their betters, Cersei decided.
"My mother was a whore, and I don't know who my father was."
That was odd, Jaime never whored.
"Did your mother ever talk about him?"
Lanna showed the appropriate signs of discomfort, "she grew up in Lannisport, and left before I was born. Do you think we are related, your grace."
I hope not, Cersei felt herself rage at the thought of Jaime. Outwardly, she remained calm. "Was he a tall, handsome man with golden hair and green eyes?" Cersei realized she was spitting out every word.
"I don't think so, your grace. Mother said he was a short man with different eyes."
Cersei thought she was lying, and then it hit her, Tyrion.
Before she could say anything, Lanna opened the door to her cavernous chambers. Cersei turned towards the nearest guard, "And show Lanna to her chambers, a dungeon cell." Tyrion had murdered Joffrey; it was only fair that he lose a daughter. She would have to make sure he knew of his daughter's existence before giving her to Qyburn.
She heard the girl screaming as the guardsmen took her away. Maybe a raping would also happen for good measure.
A servant came with food and wine for her. Thankfully this one looked less like a Lannister, and more like a simple farm girl. Cersei sipped a precious cup of Arbor Gold, and then changed out of her riding clothes. She replaced it for something more regal looking that would hold her beatiful figure together. She hated to admit it, but she had gained half a stone in weight following her father's death. I must still look beautiful, she reflected.
A knock on door announced the arrival of Lord Petyr's natural daughter. She bid her to enter the solar. The man entered first, she recognized him as Ser Lothar Brune, who was known as the apple-eater, for his herioc actions against the Fossoways during the battle of Blackwater bay. Lothar was a black goat in his family thankfully, because they had declared for Tyrion and his Targaryen queen.
Then she saw the girl come in.
"You!" Cersei screamed in fury.
Sansa Stark paled at the sound of her voice but quickly recovered herself.
"My name is Alayne Baelish, if it pleases your grace." The girl pretended not to understand that she should be begging for the stranger's mercy right now.
She had changed much since her disapearance, her womanly form had grown out and she looked to be nearly five and ten. Her hair was dyed black, but her Auburn roots were showing.
"It does not please me. You killed Joffrey, you murderous little bitch!"
She flinched, but not as much this time. Then a moment later, the little bitch actually smiled. "Yes, I smuggled the poison to his wedding. Lord Baelish and the Tyrells did all the rest."
Cersei suddenly realized that she had been invited here on false pretenses, Littlefinger would pay for this.
She leaned forward. "Before I am done with you, will be singing to the stranger begging for his kiss, little dove!" She spat the words out with as much anger as she could muster.
It's not working Cersei realized, this time Sansa did not even seem fazed. "Don't call me that, I am nobody's little bird." The soft tone by which Sansa spoke served to irritate Cersei even more.
"Yes you are. You are Littlefinger's little bird. Tell me, has he fucked you yet, he put his littlefinger in both your mother and your aunt after all?"
She bristled at the question, and her mask of mocking courtesy was dropped. "You have nothing to threaten me with; the men down there belong to Lord Baelish, not you!"
"My … father is about to get married … again." She could actually see Littlefinger in the smirk on Sansa's face, the one that knew some ugly secret.
Sansa motioned to Lothar Brune, who produced a crimson cloak, a maiden's cloak.
"Do you remember this, your grace? This is the cloak my lord husband put on me, somebody was kind enough to bring it here for you." She paused and looked down. "Are you afraid of me?" Sansa was laughing but she was clearly nervous, "I thought lions were brave."
Cersei became conscious of the small knife in her shaking hand, and lunged at Sansa. She was seized by Lothar Brune, who wrested the knife from her hand and forced her to her knees. The sound of more footsteps reverberated through her solar.
She felt the cold grasp of iron manacles being placed around her arms.
"Stop resisting your grace, I like Tommen." The tone was as cold as her bonds.
Note: ugh, my head hurts from writing Cersei.
up next: Jon, Daenerys and Jon Con.
Out of curiousity, what meeting, reunion or clash are you currently anticipating for this story?