Disclaimer: ASOIAF, GoT, whatevs, is not mine. I am borrowing the characters and their world.

Summary:

AU. First Part of a Trilogy, telling the story of Cadenzsa Forel, Syrio Forel's only child.

Cadenzsa's mother has decided it is time for her child to marry. Since no man in Braavos would dare touch her for fear of her father's sword - and Cadenzsa's, of course - the clever Syrio has relocated to Westeros in hopes of finding a man deeming worthy of his precious only daughter.

He has gone to King's Landing to find a Lord, or a Prince, or a Knight that will give Cadenzsa the life of adventure that she deserves. Cadenzsa, the clever girl, has decided to sail first to the North, and travel down through Westeros, in order to see the land for herself, and to learn of its people. She finds herself, though, soon stuck in the Hold of Winterfell, prey to the charms of the three young men that live there.

Cadenzsa

Sunspear was so beautiful.

Sunspear, warm and sunny, was so, unbelievably beautiful. From the tallest tower, you could see where the Dornish oasis turned into a beautiful sandy desert, all the way down, miles and miles and miles south. You could see the sea, too, from there, far, far in the horizon. Their clothes were light and soft, colored gossamer layered and layered and layered, and the Dornish people were wonderful and warm, once you got to know them. They ate together, and laughed together, and it was much warmer than the cold and icy mountains of the North.

These muddy forrests were hers, the deserts were hers, the city was hers. Sunspear was hers. Everybody loved her in Dorne, for it was a tiny piece of Essos in a big, cold, prudish Westerosi world. They were all Essosi, in a way, adopting the Rhoynish ways of the Andals, and Cadenzsa, under any other circumstances, would have been happy there. She would have been thrilled had she never met Theon. But perhaps Quentyn would someday light the fire within her.

She loved Sunspear, for it was like a holiday every day. Cadenzsa could do whatever she wanted in Dorne; she could lay warm on the sand, and bask in the sunny gardens, and wear bright gossamer-layered gowns of orange and red. It was interesting to her that red was a powerful color here, for red was usually only worn by the less wealthy in Braavos. Only the wealthiest could wear black, or the blackest-of-black-blues, and only those who had ties with the Iron Bank could wear purple. But red? Any commoner could wear red. Or orange. But here she was, betrothed to Quentyn Martell, wrapped in a sleeveless red gown that floated like paper in the wind.

The thing Cadenzsa loved the most about Sunspear, though, was Arianne, her new sister. She was three years her elder, and buxom and beautiful, with long curly black hair that was just like hers. Arianne was the heiress to Dorne, and the future ruling Princess of Sunspear, and Cadenzsa loved her all the more for it because that would mean Cadenzsa didn't have to be. Arianne liked Cadenzsa, too, for they were quite similar women, and they spent hours together, looking around at the noisy bazaars, Dancing til dusk. It was paradise, and it should have been paradise, Cadenzsa's dream, but she was greedy...she wanted Theon, still.

At least, she thought, she had never cried over it since she'd been here.

It would have been easier if Quentyn were at all more interesting. Gods, he was boring. Quentyn Martell was a kind of boring that is almost taken out of another place and time, before anyone had invented conversation or even awareness. He seemed fine enough, of course, but Gods, was he boring! Cadenzsa tried everything she could, every joke and jape, every song and dance, even wearing the copper circlets and gold bracelets he had bought for her when she had first arrived(even though they were less than quality she had expected of him), but he rarely ever smiled, never laughed...it was as if the Gods had made a man, whole and complete, but forgotten to link up the chains that tied parts of his brain together that told him: "hey, it's alright to laugh." So Cadenzsa just stayed by Arianne's side, where she could enjoy a laugh once in awhile.

Cadenzsa had always dreamed about having a big sister, just like Arianne, beautiful and bold, just like her, to share stories with and to Dance with, to make fun of men with. They would even walk together, arm-in-arm, and Cadenzsa felt a closeness with her that she'd never felt with another woman before. Cadenzsa loved that Arianne was unmarried, too. She wished she could go unmarried, sometimes, but she was too valuable of an asset to not be wedded, and if she didn't marry Quentyn, Arianne and she would never be sisters.

"Arianne?"

"Yes, sweet girl?"

"May I ask something, in confidence?"

Arianne laughed, kicking her toes into the fountain she was walking on the lip of. "Always."

"And you won't be offended?"

She winked. "Where do you think you are?" They laughed. "I won't be offended."

"It's about Quentyn."

"Then I most-definitely won't be offended." They laughed again.

"It's just that...he's..."

"I know, I know," she sighed, hopping gracefully onto the sandstone tiles of the palace's garden. "But, listen, not every man in the world can be handsome. He's sweet once you get to know him, and honorable, too."

"It's not that, I know a million handsome men!" groaned Cadenzsa, which caused Arianne to laugh, quite heartily. "It's just...he's boring." Arianne screamed with laughter. And she wrapped her beautiful dark-skinned arms around Cadenzsa's body.

"He's just shy," she said. "And serious. He's always been serious. But that's just who he is. You'd better accept that."

"I think it would just be easier for me were he not so serious. I'm not serious."

"Well, you don't stick two serious people in together in a marriage, nor should you stick two terribly interesting people in," said the Princess, holding Cadenzsa's hand as they walked through the gardens, into the blood orange tree grove. "That would be tedious and redundant."

"I suppose so," conceded the Dancing Master.

"One of you has to be boring, and that one is Quentyn. But don't mistake him being that way for any less of a good heart."

"I would never-!"

"-I know, sweet girl, I know. But it's just the way things are. But, if you really don't like him, you only have to see him on occasion. Masques, weddings, meetings of the court, and to make little Princes and Princesses someday, of course. Are you worried he's going to be bad at it?"

Cadenzsa's face went a little red. "I hadn't thought of that."

"Truly?" asked Arianne. "You know, were you to sneak into his room some night for a kiss now and then, I don't think anyone would look-"

"-Arianne!"

"Alright, alright, I'll have him sent to your room."

"Arianne, really, what kind of girl do you think I am?" This time, she was playing the part. When she liked someone, she had no qualms about lying in love with them. But she really had to like someone to do it. Come to think of it, she wasn't sure why she'd done it with Theon...she didn't know him well enough to like him, yet. Gods, stupid Theon, why was she thinking of him? She didn't want to! She wanted to think of Quentyn, and her wonderful future with him. "Maybe if he would just talk to me? Can't we spend some time together?"

"Quentyn has never been much of a talker, my dear," said her good-sister. "I will see what I can do, of course."

And then came Darry, who was shielding her fair skin and fair eyes from the bright Dornish sun. She didn't like to spend time outside if she could help it, for the sun burnt her quite easily, but she was here so it must have been important.

"My Lady," she said, "your mother wishes to see you."

Cadenzsa sighed through her nose. "Of course she does," she conceded with a smile. Arianne kissed her on the nose and smiled.

"We'll walk through the bazaar tomorrow, hm? Buy you some nice new clothes to make you feel better? You're going to be so pretty."

I'm pretty already, she thought, but shrugged and smiled and hurried off to see her mother. They were waiting for her father before they were to wed, and Cadenzsa had expected word from him soon. But the way they had ended their last conversation hadn't been a pretty one. In truth, Cadenzsa had told her father that...

Well.

She wasn't proud of what she had said. In truth, she regretted it, quite sorely.

But, that didn't matter so much, did it? There was nothing half-so unconditional as a father's love. Papa knew that she hadn't really meant it, didn't he? Of course he did! He was her Papa. He knew that she loved him. And that she was very sorry. But he was working very hard to make Arya a Dancing Master, and that's why he was still there, in King's Landing. That was it, she was sure. That, and he was with Lord Stark, and aiding in his predicament.

Cadenzsa didn't really know much about politics, especially those in Westeros. She didn't care so much for the politics of who was whom and what was what. All she had heard was that Jaime Lannister, the Queen's brother, attacked Lord Stark some time ago, and a war was starting. Soon, Lord Stark would march back to the North and things between Houses Baratheon and Stark would be...well, over, Cadenzsa imagined. But it was good to have Papa there, wasn't it? To protect Lord Stark? He had been so kind to Cadenzsa, and so generous...a Forel repaid their kindnesses, as it was surely the right thing to do. Cadenzsa owed the Starks many kindnesses, and she imagined that she'd stay to aid them if she could. But she was in Dorne, now, walking around the palace, to her mother's suite.

Cadenzsa's relationship with her mother was, one could say, strained. Why was it so?

Perhaps it was because when Cadenzsa, no matter how beautiful, was in the same room with her mother, she disappeared, paled. And, her mother lead a double-life. Nobody knew that Vanessi Forel, Lady of the Isle of Flowers, was the Veiled Lady, a courtesan of mystery and intrigue. Nobody knew this except for Cadenzsa, of course...sometimes, she wondered if her father even knew. But her grandmother didn't know, nor did her uncles, nor cousins, nor aunts. Nobody knew, for nobody ever saw the Veiled Lady's face. It was a good thing, too, for her mother was a special woman, blessed or cursed with a magical beauty, that all men who gaze upon her face will fall desperately in love with her.

And so it was that Vanessi Forel led the life of a hermit, appearing only when necessary, smiling and wearing white roses in her hair, which was a beautiful, coppery brown that laid in dark blankets over her slim shoulders. She was a beautiful woman with beautiful copper skin, and beautiful dark eyes that bewitched. She had a fabulous nose, and heart-shaped lips. Her mother's beauty was beyond compare, and Cadenzsa was in her shadow, always. Cadenzsa's lips were big and full, and her nose was the small, pug-like button, like her father's. Cadenzsa's wide almond-shaped eyes were her father's, too, and Cadenzsa's hair was the Forel curly-top, that had grown and grown and grown into waves of Mermaid's hair, as Theon once called it.

Gods, why won't you stop thinking of Theon?! It's over! Over, I say! You've made sure of that, with that letter, haven't you?

It didn't even hurt, anymore, to think of him. It just angered. But, no matter the anger over it, he did call her hair that of a Mermaid's once. It was in that cave, when they got caught in the storm. He peeled her wet gown away from her flesh, his breath hot enough to see in that cold cavern. The silhouette of his fingers came and combed through her hair, and he said into her ear: "This must be what Mermaids have." She heard his smile through the dark.

"Won't they be missing us?" she had asked.

"Aye, they might," he said, "but I'll explain that we had to get out of the rain. The Starks will understand. They trust me."

"Are they right to?" she had asked.

And then he peeled away her bodice to hang it on the rocks to dry. He laid down the blankets from his saddle, the ones that were still somewhat dry, and pushed her onto her back there. He smiled, and his fingers penetrated her. "No," he had then whispered, covering her breasts with his kisses, so gentle and tender that a silent tear rolled down the side of her face. Theon didn't see it.

And her mother never saw how much it hurt to be living in the shadow of the most-beautiful woman in the world, to yearn for a mother's love, unconditional and steadfast, when she simply couldn't be bothered. She fussed over Cadenzsa constantly, always buying her new clothes, new jewelry, insisting that her hair should be different, braided thusly or so, always trying to change her. She didn't want to change. Cadenzsa didn't want new clothes nor jewelry all the time. All she wanted was to throw those gowns of Myrish lace on the floor, stomp on them, and say 'I like myself the way I am.'

Cadenzsa liked her grandmother much better, her Granmama`from whom she had been named, from whom she had learned her real airs and graces of a true Lady. Her mother had taste, of course, quite outlandish at that, and quite expensive. But Grandmother Cadenzsa was an elegant Bravosi Lady of social standing, a Prima Diva at the Opera di Braavos for over a decade, an eternity in theater. She, unlike her mother, was the real Lady. Her mother knew her wines, her flowers, of course, but Granmama` knew her jewels, her cuisine, her gowns and could distinguish from real Volanteen glass and not some cheap Lorathi imitation.

When Cadenzsa was a little girl, her Granmama` would pull out her golden jewelry boxes and lay out the black-blue velvet trays which held the rings, the necklaces, the earrings, the brooches, and hairnets. She had acquired a treasure trove of jewelry in her lifetime, jewels from Kings, visiting Magisters, merchants and Slave Masters. She would lay them out in front of her, and let her touch the jewels, those precious jewels, all exquisitely crafted, save a few that she kept helter-skelter in a stained pine box, carved beautifully from the forests of Qohor, ones which even Cadenzsa wasn't allowed to wear. The only reason she kept them was because she wanted her to have a basis for comparison.

"Without knowledge of jewelry, my love, a woman is lost," she had said. "Only wear the First class jewels, Cadenzsa," she had said. "Wait until they come. They'll be given to you by the shy, the proud, the young and old, and the social-climbing Pentoshi, of course, because they think it represents status... But hold onto the best for yourself, and only wear those of the first class, the first rate. Hold onto your ideals."

Not that she had meant it, of course. If she had, she wouldn't have shut her out, cast her away, disowned her and her father, too, never to return to her home. What had she done that was so terrible? Dared to hold onto those ideals, is what. Loving Qavo, for one, was an ideal, and believing that she and the young Volanteen would have been happy together. Believing that the Sea Lord of Braavos would be understanding of her love was an ideal, too, as was the thought that men were truly decent, deep down. Hold onto my ideals, indeed, thought Cadenzsa bitterly.

Sometimes, she was so angry at the whole thing, she just wanted to stop people on the street, shake them and scream "My family left me! They left me! They left me!"

She fingered her ring, unconsciously. It was the ring she wore on the middle finger of her right hand, a yellow diamond, cushion cut, of the highest quality, surrounded by a setting of gold. The diamond was a small mountain on her copper-gold colored flesh, and it went well on her long fingers. The ring was a gift from her grandfather, before he died, on her fifteenth name-day. Even the ring made her think of Theon.

It was the day he had taken her into town for a drink, her nineteenth name-day, back in Winterfell. He had held out his arm for her, for the first time, and she had taken it. His leathers were thick against her layered silks and linens, and his cloak smelled of mud and dung, but Cadenzsa somehow liked it. She spotted the ring from across the square, and she would know it anywhere. She didn't know why she was surprised to see it, for those wildlings had strewn her jewels, her clothes, her shoes, all over during the scuffle, and she'd lost many things from her caravan. Theon must have noticed her shock, for he looked where she had been looking to see some tavern-wench wearing Cadenzsa's ring on her weather-beaten finger.

"What's wrong?" he had asked.

"That woman is wearing my ring, one of the jewels the Wildlings stole. It was a name-day present. A yellow diamond of the first quality..." Before Cadenzsa could finish, Theon had walked right over to the woman and demanded it back, as it was stolen property of Lady Cadenzsa Forel. She refused, since her husband had bought it for her. Her husband, some drunk, hadn't bought it, but won it in a game of dice. Theon set them straight, and returned with Cadenzsa's ring, and slipped it onto her finger.

"Your ring, milady."

When she knocked on her mother's chamber door, the door was already ajar. Her mother wasn't wearing her veil when she came to call; she knew Cadenzsa's knock like an old and familiar song. Her mother smiled at her. She must have seen the anger in Cadenzsa's face, for she brushed against her freckled cheek and wrapped her arms around her, tight.

"Don't think of it anymore, sweet lamb," cooed her mother. "I love you. That's all you need."

"Perhaps, you're right..." whispered Cadenzsa, into her mother's perfumed shoulder.

"Now, now, no tears," suddenly admonished her mother. Cadenzsa didn't realize she'd started to well. She laughed it off, trying to wipe her eyes. "Look what an awful face you make when you cry," she said. Cadenzsa laughed again. "Dancing Masters don't cry, remember?"

Cadenzsa shrugged. She crossed over and sat on her mother's bed. "Quentyn's boring," she sighed. "He's not even pretty. Can't you mix a potion to make him interesting?"

Vanessi smiled, shook her head, and sat down next to her daughter. "One thing you must learn about the Westerosi, my lamb, is that to a Westerosi, a husband is for getting, not for looking at."

In spite of everything, she laughed, her thumb and forefinger rocking the ring back and forth on her right hand. "I just wish..."

"Lamb, be happy with what you have. It may not be the Volanteen, but at least you'll not be living in the Slaver's Bay. I know you wouldn't like that." Cadenzsa nodded at that, for her mother was right. She didn't want to own slaves. "You get everything you could desire here. A palace by the sea-"

"I know, I know... Everything here is so beautiful!" She meant it when she said it, as she crossed over to the window and looked over her new home. "But why am I unhappy? Where are you, little God of Love? Why have you not yet shot me with your arrow?"

"'Arrow?'" laughed Lady Forel. "Where did you get the idea that there is a God of Love that shoots arrows?"

"I don't know," she said, staring blankly out the window. She felt her mother's arms come around her from behind; she smelled like roses and myrrh.

"I want us to be happy here. I know what your grandmother did to you was hard. I know you're very angry right now, as well, and you've every right to be. You can be angry for awhile, if you like. I'll smile for the both of us."

It wanted to feel good. Cadenzsa wanted to take comfort in all of it, but she soon began to realize that her own jealousy was keeping her from loving her mother the way she wanted to. She was too hurt; too angry. She wanted it all to go away. She wanted someone there to break down the walls she had built around herself. But her father wasn't there.

"I think it's time we talked about what happened between you and your father."

Cadenzsa quickly turned around and pushed herself away from her mother. "Nothing happened!"

"Which means something happened."

"I don't want to talk about it." She crossed her arms.

"No, but you're going to. Because I'm your mother, and you have always done as your mother says, my obedient little lamb."

She was right. Shit.

"Sit down, and tell me what happened."

"Do I have to look at you while I do it?"

"If you must turn away, you must. But speak, you will, and speak now of it." Cadenzsa sat at the table and began eating grapes. Well, not eating, really, but rather stuffing her cheeks so full with them that she couldn't speak. "Spit those out." She did, begrudgingly. "Recall to me the day you left King's Landing. And do it now."

She didn't want to, but she had to. Cadenzsa, if nothing, was not loyal and obedient. Wild that she was, she always did as her parents told her. Her mother had told her once that she was just made to follow, but Cadenzsa was only just now beginning to understand what that meant, knowing of her mother's power, her magic, the curse of her gorgeous face. So beautiful...if only...

"I was readying myself to leave, when I...found something. A lot of somethings, actually..."

"And?" Her mother asked. There was a pause. Cadenzsa's gut felt twisted and sick. Her mother stood, poured her a goblet of Dornish red, and when she offered it to her, Cadenzsa took the bottle instead. Her mother shrugged with a laugh and went to sit as Cadenzsa downed half the bottle.

"They were letters. To me. All hidden away in Papa's room. They were letters from..." She began to choke on her words. She wretched inwardly, as if something was tearing to come out but her body wouldn't allow it. Her mother was growing impatient.

"If you don't get to it, I'll set you in front of the mirrors."

Her instinct was to scream 'no, please don't!', but her pride kept her from doing it. She swallowed more wine. Those enchanted black mirrors would get the truth from her, one way or the other. They'd show what had happened. How she'd found the pile of letters, how she'd torn through them in hysteria, how she'd run screaming from their beautiful house in King's Landing to the docks, how she'd fell to her knees and screamed at the top of her lungs 'why' when she had found what they had said. The mirrors would show her father dragging her by the wrist, and then by her arm when she refused to go. The mirrors would show her, anger-stained face, twisted with hate, screaming profusely: 'I will never forgive you for this.'

"They were from someone. A man. Papa hid them from me. He didn't want me to think that he wanted to be with me, too."

Her mother's expression softened. "You haven't wanted to be with anyone since..."

"I know."

"Are you saying you want to, now?"

Cadenzsa closed her eyes and shook her head, feeling defeated. "I can't," she said. "I just can't. It's done. I told him goodbye forever." Her mother came and brushed her cheek, a little surprised to not find tears there. "I have spent too long crying over him," she said. "And there's not future. Papa was right."

"Don't tell me you fell for some pauper," chortled her mother.

Her anger would have flared, had she the kindling within her to let it burn. She shook her head instead. "A Lord," she said softly.

"Lord Stark's boy?" asked the Dothraki.

Cadenzsa shook her head again. "Robb is very nice. Too nice. And young...none of which are qualities I hold in high regard."

"Lord Stark himself, then?" japed Lady Forel. Cadenzsa would have shot her mother an indignant look, had her eyes not been so weary with defeat. "I need a name, lamb."

"Don't look in the mirrors on him," begged Cadenzsa, tiredly. "I don't want to see him. I want to forget him, as I've told him to forget me."

"Now, why in Gods' name would you want someone to forget you? Nobody could ever forget my Cadenzsa."

"I want him to forget me. I want him to forget he ever knew my name. I wish I could forget his... Can you help me forget him?"

"Is that really what you want?" Her mother came and knelt in front of her, holding her hands. "If this man is the first in three years to come close enough to you to make you like this, do you think it's worth risking?" Cadenzsa's face twisted, she bit her lip. "I only want you to be happy. This isn't the first time I've turned the world upside-down for you. I won't mind doing it again, my lamb." Cadenzsa shook her head, her lip trembling. She then cupped her daughter's face, holding her jaw with one hand. "Why aren't you crying?"

"Because I'm not." Her voice cracked, but not tears came.

"You cried for weeks over Qavo. Why aren't you crying?"

"This isn't Qavo."

She looked, then, for a long time in her daughter's eyes. She saw her mother's eyes, bright, pale green, a rare treasure that the Dothraki stock has. Pale copper flesh, brown-black hair, thick lips, thick like her fathers, like hers. A look of terror came across through her eyes.

"You've cast a spell on yourself," she said suddenly, in Dothraki. Cadenzsa tensed. "What have you done?" whispered her mother. "Are you mad? Your gifts have not yet fully bloomed. This will turn into a curse!"

"Good," hissed Cadenzsa through clenched teeth. "Better I feel emptiness."

"I will not let this swallow you." Cadenzsa was thrice the strength of her mother, but she didn't struggle when she pulled her up by the wrist. It hurt, how hard she was twisting, and she brought her to the mirrors. She shoved her down to her knees. "Stay there." She obeyed, and she wished that she wouldn't have obeyed. Everything her parents said, she had to listen, and had to obey.

"Please don't..." she begged, bound down by the chains of her own hollowness. "Please don't make me look..."

"This is for your own good. I will not let my daughter be swallowed by a curse." And the tapestries came down on all three mirrors, twice Cadenzsa's height, and wide. Her head bent, shaking her head, her pretty black hair falling down over her face and shoulders and arms.

"Show me how to break the spell that my daughter has cast on herself!" her mother said, and Cadenzsa looked up, and Theon stood before them, in the Star Mirror, tall and lean, with a whiskered chin and that same curled hair, that same crooked smile. Her mother asked "Who is he?" A golden krakken swam in the black depths of the mirror, injured, missing one or two of its legs. "How does he know my daughter?"

Winterfell's towers showed against the black glass, and the red falling leaves of the weirwood tree danced in a breeze that was not there. An arrow came flying across the glass, and into a red, beating heart, which bled with white jasmine petals, falling. Cadenzsa watched, as she saw their shadows together in the cave, in his room, talking, holding hands. And then it showed them together, in the Godswood, at dusk. She heard his voice, clear as a mountain stream.

"Has your father decided whom you should wed to, Cadenzsa?"

"Are you asking?" came her own voice, thick with the Free Cities, happier, almost foreign to her ears.

"...Yes."

She smiled, a forgotten smile, one she hadn't shown in a very, very long time. It was a smile she'd forgotten that she had. "Yes."

Theon's reflection frowned. "Are you saying 'yes' to me asking you to marry me, or 'yes' to if you were betrothed to anyone yet?"

"Yes," said Cadenzsa again.

"No, but was that 'yes' or...'yes'?"

Cadenzsa's reflection leaned in. "Yes." Theon's face...etched in her memory. He then knelt into the soft ground.

"If I'm going to, I should ask you properly."

"No, shekh ma shieraki, please." Cadenzsa's reflection smiled. "Please, don't ask me again until you are free and home. What I wouldn't give to go home again. One of us should have a home to ask the other one to come to."

Theon rose. "When I go home to the Iron Islands, then? I'll ask you then, and you'll say yes."

"I already have."

"Cadenzsa..."

"Where is this boy?" said her mother.

The mirror then changed, and the Sun Mirror reflected Theon, by Robb Stark's side, armor-clad and face-spattered with blood, like drops of wine on a porcelain plate. They were at war, a war the Lannisters began, and the Starks were now fighting in. Splendid in his Northern armor, he had his bow, which was all he needed. The velvet covers came over each of the mirrors. Cadenzsa sighed.

"What's his name, Cadenzsa?"

"Theon Greyjoy," she murmured.

"Greyjoy... Why does that sound familiar?"

"Perhaps Papa told you, while he didn't tell me?"

"Told me what?" Cadenzsa shot her mother a look. "Were those letters from him? And your father-?"

"Hid them from me, yes. He hid at least three-dozen letters, all written from Theon. 'Cadenzsa, come back. Cadenzsa, why haven't you written me?' 'Cadenzsa, I have permission to wed you, and I'll be Lord of the Iron Islands again once Lord Stark comes back from the South.' 'Cadenzsa, Robb is planning on wedding my sister, so I can wed you now.' 'Cadenzsa, Lord Stark is captive in King's Landing, so stay there until I come for you.' 'Cadenzsa, we are marching on the South. Stay there and stay safe.' 'Cadenzsa, are you still in King's Landing? Why haven't I heard from you?' 'Cadenzsa, please tell me that somebody hasn't managed to kill you!' 'Cadenzsa, Cadenzsa, Cadenzsa...'" She sighed. Her mother came and sat on the floor next to her.

"What happened?"

"I found them... And Papa...he made me... He made me..."

"Made you what, lamb?"

Cadenzsa shook her head, her eyes feeling as if they were about to burst. "He made me write to Theon and tell him goodbye. He twisted my arm so hard... He made me..."

"You didn't want to write him a farewell."

"He made me do it, Maisi. He made me!"

"Hush, you're becoming hysterical," soothed Vanessi Forel, cradling her head against her chest.

"I can't cry! I threw his cloak into the ocean and vowed I would never cry again!"

"Cadenzsa, shush, my love... It's going to be alright, I swear it. But you must tell me in which way you wish to live."

"I don't understand."

"Do you want to be rid of these memories forever, truly?" asked Maisi. "If I wipe your memory completely of Theon Greyjoy, you will be free to love Quentyn Martell all you like. And be a Lady of Dorne forever, and I'll be with you. You'll get that happy ending you were robbed of..."

"Maisi..."

"Or, I can wipe the memories of the Martells, all of them, so it will be as if we were never here, and we will go seek out this Theon Greyjoy, together."

Cadenzsa's black heart skipped, and she felt it begin to beat again. And then it stopped. "I don't care about myself, anymore... I just want Theon to be happy. He saved my life. He is the one that deserves the happy ending. If there is one to be had, I'd rather him than I."

Vanessi Forel shook her head in horror, as if the words coming out of her daughter's mouth were that of a stranger's. "We have to find a way to break this curse. We have to find this Theon Greyjoy. There's only one way to do that..." And she, in one rush, jumped up and pulled the purple velvet off of the Star Mirror alone. "Show us the future of Theon Greyjoy, without Cadenzsa in his life."

The screams coming from the tower caused all the birds to fly away, for what Cadenzsa saw next was anything but a happy ending.

Read. Review. Blarhgh.

Sorry this one took me so long! I was on a tangent with "The Grey Lady" and realized that I hadn't updated this one... Ahhh, sigh. Dothraki Maegi. Magic. Potions. Love. Feels. Emo. Family.

But, hey, now we have some fleshed-out stuff, don't we? Man, I'm glad for days off. Also, in case you didn't know, Maisi is the Dothraki word for 'mother.'

Anyway, this is the point where the stories begin to cross, for we see that Cadenzsa is seeing Theon's future with Ramsay Snow, the flaying, the betrayal...all the feels that GoT gives us. She's obviously upset about it. As for these magic mirrors? They're explained in LARGE detail in The Grey Lady, but they're basically these black, dragonglass mirrors that show you neat shit. And Cadenzsa's mother, a Dothraki maegi, knows how to use them quite well. Why doesn't this get explained? Because this is Cadenzsa's chapter, and she knows what they are already.

Hugs n' kisses! (by the way, if you're curious as to who would play Vanessi Forel, google Aishwarya Rai)