Wild Wolf

by Vimesenthusiast

Fed up with life in Nerima, Ranma runs away, only to be followed by Happosai, who has a magic scroll he want to try out. It works but Ranma suddenly finds himself in Westeros replacing the champion chosen by the old gods in a time of great peril for humanity. How will the world change with the Wild Wolf raised in the den of wolves? A lot. Thanks to Naj. P. Jackson for the picture.

5. Chapter 5

I don't own Ranma or ASoIaF. For the first, I would have made it somewhat more realistic, and for the other, well, just check my update speed man. Heh.

In other news: Russia creating its own internet? Um, I know I've got two Russian fans for my Harry Marvel cross, so I hope this doesn't happen. I think Putin is off his meds, I just hope no one who reads my stories is affected by his imperialist ambitions.

I would like to thank my beta Jessolt for his aid, without him, this chapter would not be at the writing level it is now.

Chapter 5 A Straight Line in the Land of Zigzags, a Mountain's Fall

Theon stood somewhat more nervously than normal in front of Lord Manderly in the Merman's Court, the feast hall of New Castle. This feast hall was unique because instead of being simple stone rock with a smattering of banners, tapestries, and trophies its walls, floor, and ceiling were covered with wooden planks fitted together with care then decorated with paintings of all the creatures of the sea on a light blue/green background.

The hall had nothing to with why Theon was nervous. That was because this was the first time he had been here without Ranma and he knew that, despite his appearance, Wyman Manderly was one of the more dangerous lords of the North. Not personally, Wyman was so fat he couldn't ride a horse and at about sixty-five years old, he was one of the three oldest lords in the North. People even made fun of him, calling him the Fat Lamprey, or Ser-Too-Fat-To-Ride-A-Horse, yet for all his outward appearance, Wyman was incredibly intelligent, shrewd, and subtle.

White Harbor also gave House Manderly a position of strength that no other house in the North could match. The silver mines that they controlled plus the trade going up the White Knife and out to sea from it made them the richest house in the North as well. Only Winterfell, mainly because of their relatively new position as breadbasket of the North, could come close to matching that. Above all that, he and his House was known to be loyal to House Stark.

Wyman looked at Theon with shrewd eyes, smirking a little. "This appointment of yours from Lady Catelyn and young Jon, excuse me, young Bran, is rather openhanded, advisor to the fleet? What exactly does that mean?"

"It means, Ser, that Bran and Lady Catelyn were afraid that because you don't have anyone who is truly learned about ship to ship combat that you would need my expertise. Not, I hasten to add, that your men don't fight well but I know for a fact that you take more casualties at sea against pirates then you really need to…" His voice trailed off looking at the Lord.

Wyman guffawed, slapping his hands on his knees. "True enough, I suppose. My experienced men are spread throughout the fleet now. It's grown in the past few years, which you already know." Indeed, seven new galleons had been created in the past two years and five more before that, giving house Manderly forty ships in total, though most were trade carracks rather than war galleys. Only fifteen were war galleys but more were being laid down even now and the others weren't totally helpless. But Theon was right, in terms of naval warfare they were kind of feeling their way into it.

No one in the Manderly fleet had been part of suppressing the Iron Born Rebellion or the War of the Nine Penny Kings and, despite the nature of seafaring, sailors from the different realms of Westeros tended to keep to their own even in foreign ports. So Wyman had been unable to bring in any experts worth the money on ship to ship combat, let alone how best to organize defended convoys. Still, there were few enough pirates who plied their trade this far north, where storms were severe, ice in the rigging was normal nearly every night, and frostbite was a constant danger to your crew. However, the nature of the supplies heading to Eastwatch-by the sea; foodstuffs, men, women who were going to enlarge the small village/port there, and weapons might make some of the greedier of them overcome their dislike of the conditions.

"Very well, I'll send you out on one of the war galleys with the first shipments to go up to the Wall. Until then, lad, my city is yours. I have no doubt you'll enjoy yourself!" The Lord dismissed Theon with a wave and a laugh, turning to the next supplicant. As Lord of White Harbor, Lord Manderly was constantly called upon to adjudicate matters of law, hence why the Merman's Court was open to the public.

As soon as he had exited the hall, however, one of the castle's servants joined the younger man, moving in the same direction. Around the bend in the corridor, the man leaned toward Theon, whispering quickly. "Lord Manderly will send a servant to your room this evening to get you. He has something he wishes to talk to you about without so many eyes around."

Theon nodded imperceptibly and moved on, shaking his head slightly at the way the Pufferfish, as Lord Stark called him, acted at times. That evening, he was promptly taken from his room (and a willing wench) and then escorted to Wyman's personal apartment.

Inside he found Wyman, his two eldest sons, Wendel and Wylis, and the servant who had brought him. "Come in, Theon." the fat lord said, no boisterousness in his manner, only seriousness. Gone was the smile, the gleam of humor in his eyes. In their place was a hard look and bright, searching eyes.

Theon did so, sitting across from the man at the table in the center of the room, a heavy thing of oak with massive feet. Wyman was so fat he couldn't even lift himself to sit upright, so he reclined on a specially made chair across from his guest, while his sons sat in normal chairs on either side. The man waited until Theon was sitting down, then began without any preamble. "Tell me what you know about this King Beyond the Wall, as well as what you boys really ran into on your jaunt up there. The truth, all of it. Lord Stark sent a letter, in cipher of all things, to me saying that there was more going on, far more than anything you wanted to report about, and I applaud that. But I need to know where the real threat is going to be coming from; to better lay my own response."

"Both sides, Sir." Theon answered promptly. "Something is happening down south, we're still not certain what, but whatever it is, it has to do with the Lannisters. That's all we know, though why, or even if there are factions among them or we don't know. It's almost certain some threats will come from that area. All of us at Winterfell are sure of that. We hope that Lord Stark and Ranma can stave it off for now but that's the real reason why Lord Stark didn't ask you, House Glover, House Flint of Flint's Finger, House Locke, House Dustin, or House Ryswell to send troops north. We might need them elsewhere."

This was actually something he and Jon had talked about the evening before he left. It was a rather cordial conversation between the two, one of very few they had had over the years but they had agreed about this point. Catelyn's presence had much to do with that, though Theon would never admit the wolf mother scared him these days whenever they talked about anything that could pose a danger to her children. They had decided that if he was asked, Theon was to share everything.

He didn't mention House Reed, which had little manpower to begin with and less to spare given the need to defend Moat Cailin, though mentioning House Dustin was rather beside the point as well. Oh, their minor Houses were still strong, but Dustin itself had only Lady Barbrey Dustin, who had refused for years to remarry or designate an heir. That stance had lost the House a lot of strength, though her relationship to Lord Ryswell meant the House was still considered a noble one. It would recover in time, but right now it simply wasn't worthy of consideration.

"In terms of the danger behind the Wall, that is a little harder to explain…" From there on Theon went into detail on the ambush the wolf-sworn had sprung, their injuries afterwards, and most particularly the giants they had met, which Jon had said couldn't possibly be real giants because they were too large, even for the frost giants of legend. The nature of that struggle brought all three Manderly's upright quickly, even the Lord pushing himself up with difficulty to stare at Theon.

After he stopped speaking, the trio was silent for a time before Wyman spoke. "That's quite a tale and I wouldn't believe it for an instant if you didn't have so many witnesses. Younger Hathan was silent about the battle, on orders from Ranma no doubt. Still, it tells me that I do need to prepare for both." He looked over at his two sons. "Start filling the armory and see to the defenses of the city. I want White Harbor as strong as we can make it. After that, give me a round number of men we could pull out and still retain a force strong enough to defend the harbor and the city itself. We might need to send that south."

"I would say that any such talk is premature." Theon hastened to interject. "I know for a fact that Ranma and Lord Stark will be looking for other solutions. They both think the danger on the other side of the Wall is much more important."

"Of course, of course" Wyman said nodding his head, "and I believe it too, but if these ghouls can get around the Wall somehow, then we must be prepared to fight them elsewhere just in case. As such, a quick reaction force might be necessary, certainly for our lands at the very least. I will send word to the Lockes, to the Woolfield, and to the Flints of Widow's Watch. The Flints sent up a party to the Wall along with House Karstark, so they might not have men to spare, but they can at least step up patrols of their lands.

Theon nodded and, knowing he was dismissed, moved off to the doorway. As soon as the door was closed, Wylis turned to his father with one eyebrow raised. "You didn't tell him about your plans with Lord Stark, father?"

"I haven't told anyone my plans with Lord Stark, yet." He smirked a little. "Ned might act the stiff-necked honorable man but that doesn't mean he's stupid. Ned's trusting us to provide him with an exit, if need be, so it behooves us to do the job properly, doesn't it?"

Both his sons nodded fervent agreement to that and they began to discuss captains they could use for this serious task.

OOOOOOO

The King's party passed through the city's outer wall using its main gate and were immediately inundated by waves of noise, made worse by being confined in the city by the high walls. The route through the city up to the Red Keep, which could be now seen slightly better without the intervening wall in the way, was lined with Gold Cloaks every few yards. These men, whose purpose was to provide order in the city, were now keeping the crowds back. Ranma rode next to his father, who rode next to Robert while Renly was on his other side. The carriage was directly behind him, while Loras was on Ranma's other side.

The Knight of Flowers waved grandly at the crowd, causing some of the smallfolk to cheer, most particularly the womenfolk. Most of the crowds, however, seemed rather indifferent to the return of their King. Most of the noise was simply the hustle and bustle of the city.

Ranma grimaced, the smell of the city seriously getting to him. At first, he thought that maybe it was his connection with Fenris. The direwolf was becoming more and more disturbed by the smell coupled with the noise but Ranma couldn't close his connection to Fenris as he needed it to control the direwolf, less he go berserk. That was the last thing they needed right now. Fenris growled, one side of his lip curling back, but understood his human didn't want him to attack any of these noisy two-legs. However, the noise from the two-legs coupled with the smell of this two-leg place was bothering him tremendously.

It was bothering Lady as well. However, she was still small enough to fit inside one of the carts and had done so. Choosing her target with care, Lady hid her nose among the ladies' laundry while the two carters laughed.

Truth be told, the smell was bothering Ranma just as much because it was a symptom of other things as well as being damn irritating. Before this, White Harbor was the only city that Ranma had been to in this world. It was clean, organized, and not nearly as crowded as this. Lord 'Pufferfish' controlled the city with an iron grip, and the shrewd man had firm ideas of sanitation, cleanliness, and organization; all of which helped in the defense of the city. It hadn't been so very long ago, after all, that the city had been under attack by pirates and no one in the North was liable to forget anything like that.

The North remembers, but it looks as if the Southerners never learned in the first place. He was broken out of his morose thoughts for a second as Loras reached over the space separating their horses to swat him in the arm. "Ranma, that face is not doing you any favors with the ladies. Smile, we're past the outer edge now and into the city proper."

Loras waved his hand, indicating the somewhat larger houses which were much better kept up, though not nearly as clean as similar houses in White Harbor. Then again, there wasn't any snow on the ground so maybe it was a trade-off. The crowds pushed to the side of the road were much better garbed as well and, whereas before the cheering had been sporadic, far more people here were cheering. It was a rather subdued kind of cheer but they were generally happy to see their King and his family returned out of the hinterlands safely. Ranma did notice one or two clumps of older people who, rather than cheering, stared at the men in Lannister colors with fearful eyes.

Ranma shook his head however. "You see the smiling ladies in the cheering, Ser Loras. I see the squalor, the stink, and the flaws." It made Ranma wonder if he could introduce the idea of sewers into Westeros. White Harbor didn't particularly need it, having already had rain channels on the roofs and roadsides constructed in such a way as to help with snow melt, and also strict waste disposal laws with truly draconian penalties, but this place desperately needed a sewage system. He continued to muse about that, wondering what kind of sewage system Westeros could make with its current technology (it wasn't as if Ranma was an expert after all) as the party continued toward the Red Keep.

The road meandered through the city up onto one of the hills that dominated its landscape. This one was the largest, dominated by a keep made of pale red stone. As they grew closer, Ranma could make out seven large towers at points along its outer wall, which, despite being in the center of the city, still had crenellations and buttresses for archers and were very businesslike.

Despite its martial appearance, Ranma was struck by the fact that it was actually more than a bit smaller than Winterfell. Probably more people lived here year round but he doubted that it was as self-sufficient as his home. An invading army would starve itself in the North before taking Winterfell by siege. That thought gave Ranma a sense of pride as they passed underneath the large bronze gates. Those were definitely for show but Ranma could see a second inner gate that wasn't. The bronze gates were probably replaced with steel and wooden doors in times of war, anyway.

They entered a large cobbled square, the edges of which were lined with servants and keep residents, which were bowing to the King as he came forward on his horse. Robert laughed, waving one hand grandly around them. "Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home! Welcome to the Red Keep, Ned. I hope you and your lad enjoy it here more than I do, if truth be told!" Eddard nodded noncommittally, looking around at the servants and the keep.

After that, everyone became busy with unloading. The men-at-arms retrieved their items and went off to their various barracks. Ned sent his men ahead to the Tower of the Hand, which was a large tower set to the side of Maegor's Holdfast, the main fortress of the keep, itself surrounded by a moat and an outer wall. The Hand's tower contained a small barracks that Ser Jory and the men-at-arms from Winterfell would inhabit. There were other barracks in the Keep, one in the Holdfast, one in the White Guard Tower which was home to the Kingsguard, and a larger barracks set along the outer walls of the Keep. Going by the colors of the men arrayed in front of it, that one had been partially taken over by Lannister men.

Even here, the smell of the city still permeated enough to bother Ranma. Ranma quickly helped Tommen down from the horse and then grabbed Fenris by the scruff of his neck. With that firm grip in hand, he moved over towards the children as they exited the carriage, hearing Lady whine a little from her hiding place.

He smirked as he saw Sansa trying not to wrinkle her nose. "Dear sister," said Ranma grandly, "if I had known that the smell was what you wanted to experience most of all of civilization, I could have introduced you to a pigsty."

His sister glared at him but refrained from responding. The two of them had not been on the best of terms since Sansa had taken her fiancé's side over Fenris, since she had refused to apologize for it. They were polite and didn't ignore one another but the closeness that had characterized their relationship was gone now.

Cersei on the other hand merely smiled faintly. "It is the one aspect of the city that I loathe." she confided. "I normally have to put on twice as much perfume just to keep it away from my own sense." She deliberately tossed her head slightly so that the smell of her hair hit Ranma and he shook his head groaning internally as he backed up slightly.

She still tended to do little things to get a rise out of the young Stark, simply because she knew they did get to him somewhat, and she had enjoyed it as well as using her sexuality as a tool to try to control him. The latter might've failed but it was still fun, something the Queen didn't want to give up, strangely. "If you wish I can give you the street and name of the merchant who sells the perfume my daughter and I use."

Myrcella giggled a little at the thought, while Tommen, who had long been used to the smell, simply sniffed the air trying to decide if he liked being back home or not. Ranma simply agreed that it would be a good idea, then, with Sansa sticking to the royal ladies like glue, went over to retrieve Lady. The direwolf whined, but Ranma forcibly lifted the female direwolf in his arms, setting her down. He grabbed her by the scruff of her neck before quickly doing the same to Fenris, who looked ready to bolt for the little bit of wood they could see in the Keep.

After that, Ranma's father called for him and Ranma moved over in that direction pulling both direwolves along. Eddard smiled at that, looking down at Fenris, who was looking a little wild-eyed, his teeth barred. "I assume the smell is getting to him?"

"The smell, the noise, and everything else is getting to them both, though I'm only bothered by the smell, father." Ranma answered shaking his head. "If this is civilization, they can keep it."

Eddard smiled slightly even as Ranma's thoughts idly went back to trying to figure out a way to lay down a sewer system. He knew in general terms how they worked but he had never actually seen a plan for them or paid close attention to those he had encountered.

"There is to be a formal ball this evening." Ned replied, shaking his head. "Find someplace where Fenris and Lady will be comfortable without you there holding onto them. We don't want any trouble from that quarter."

"Agreed, I'll lock them in my room for now. Fenris won't like it but he'll understand the necessity. The Queen told me of a place where I can buy some perfumes in the city. It might make the two uncomfortable but spraying a bit on their noses every day might keep the smell of the city from bothering them and, so long as I leave him here in the keep, the noise shouldn't irritate either one. Though, I might decide to just leave Fenris in the godswood.

Ned shook his head at his son's belief in his bonded wolf's intelligence but given the alternatives, Fenris would indeed understand somewhat. They could see the godswood from where they were walking, overlooking the river at the back of the keep. The godswood looked to be about four acres, with elms, alders and black cottonwood trees, quite unlike the woods at home which were pine, oak and other, tougher trees.

The river, the Blackwater Rush, was one of the rivers that ran through the Riverlands to give that land its name. The Blackwater's mouth, where it fed into Blackwater Bay, contributed to making Kings Landing a decent port.

"So long as you warn Fenris not to eat anyone he comes across, I don't see a problem with that. Hopefully the trees' smells will overwhelm the smell wafting up from the city." Ned said half seriously. He wondered idly how large Fenris would be once he stopped growing and had the disturbing premonition that he really didn't want to know. "I trust you can find something formal to wear?"

"Plate armor and cloak, got it." Ranma quipped and Ned shook his head with a faint smile which was his public way of laughing. The two of them continued on into the Tower of the Hand and up the stairs, past where their men were setting up in the barracks on the first floor.

The second floor was servants' quarters, which were admittedly much nicer quarters than the equivalent in Winterfell. Though the windows were a bit too large to be arrow slits and neither man liked seeing them only on the second story.

The third floor had what looked like a hall, much smaller than the one back in Winterfell. It was a private audience chamber, which was rather cozy, with heavy rugs and wall hangings with a single large round window letting in the sunlight to illuminate it. There were candles in the corners for when the sun set.

The next level was the workspaces, two desks for secretaries situated in one large area that dominated the floor, outside a single room with a closed door.

Ranma paused a moment, pointing at the door with his chin, since his hands were still occupied by the two direwolves. "I assume that's your new office?"

"I imagine so, yes," Ned replied dryly shaking his head. "One of the servants probably has the key. Ser Jory will ask around for us, but at the moment all I wish is to put my feet up and have some quiet time to myself."

"I can definitely understand that." Ranma said nodding his head, before he pulled at his shirt for a moment shaking his head with a chuckle. "I'll have to find some local clothing though, the heat down here is irritating." Ned nodded, watching his son head to the stairs leading further up before turning to look at the office door thoughtfully.

The younger Stark preceded his father up to the level where the private quarters of the Hand and his family began, with several large windows letting light into the various rooms. The stairs ending in a sitting area around which were several doors leading to private quarters. A smaller staircase continued to the next floor, presumably used for storage or guest rooms.

Ranma sat in one of the chairs, grunting in pleasure as its padding shifted under him. It was big, soft, and comfortable something, he had to admit, few chairs in Winterfell could boast. The people of the North had no time for such things really, although it was getting better thanks to his mother's and his own suggestions. Those soft chairs that were there were, of course, in the women's quarters, his sisters' and his mother's.

Ranma sat in silence for a moment, while Fenris rested his large head on his thigh. With Ranma having let her go, Lady had already moved into one room, where the servants had moved much of Sansa's clothing. Ranma shook his head at her almost lap-dog attitude, then leaned further back in the chair, closing his eyes as he thought.

This whole place gives me a very strange feeling. On the one hand, it reeks of decadence. I mean, we passed candle sticks on the way up here made from gold and those tapestries would be something Sansa would take three years to make, each. Plus the sheer number of servants, all of them better dressed than nearly any back in Winterfell. There's a certain sort of power, I suppose other people would call it majestic, yet the whole city and this keep in particular… Ranma shook his head. The city is diseased, there's no other way to put it. The smell, the disorganization, the number of people stuck here, it's a wonder there hasn't been a plague yet. It's only a matter of time though.

In fact, Kings Landing did have a very rudimentary sanitation system in the upper levels of the cities but the squatter towns that abutted the city along its outer walls; the poorer sections; and the sections devoted to anything that by their very nature smelled such as tanneries, blacksmiths, and the alchemists guild as well as the wharves, didn't. All the refuse simply went out to sea, making the harbor utterly disgusting. Even the River Blackwater was soiled as it passed through the city. This was just barely enough to stave off the plague Ranma was worried about, though he was correct in that it would be devastating if it ever occurred. The sheer number of rats and other vermin would see to that, as would the fact the humans ate the vermin in much of the city.

Ranma wasn't certain if he was just talking about the physical when he thought that Kings Landing was diseased. He decided to wait on deciding that until he met with the King's council. If they are as corrupt as Uncle Brynden thinks, then it fits well with everything else here.

As if conjured by that thought, Brynden himself walked up the stairs, shaking his head with a faint smirk on his face. "Vayon Poole, the steward your father brought along, has already taken over the keep and gotten rid of nearly all of the servants. They weren't very happy about that. Apparently, some have served here ever since the Rebellion, but he wanted none of it."

"My father's orders were rather explicit." Ranma replied with a smile, motioning the Blackfish to pull up one of the other comfy chairs. "He wanted to make certain this place was secure."

The older man did so, wallowing in hedonistic pleasure in the chair for a moment, before looking over shrewdly at his young charge. "I'm not going to be at the ball this evening. I wasn't invited but that's not the real reason. I could simply show up, after all, I am a belted knight and a nobleman, we can do these things. But I think my time would be better spent getting a feel for the city. I think it will aid us in knowing what the common folk here think, as well as the merchants and everyone else, about who are the powers behind the scenes. Did you notice that man who tried to get your father's attention after the King went off?"

Ranma shook his head and Brynden groaned. "Ranma, I realize that you're not used to playing politics but you need to be on your toes here. There are powers here that are not based on physical strength or honor. That was Petyr, the master of coin. The one I mentioned as being a childhood friend of your mother's?"

"You did, but you also said that times had changed and you weren't certain of his loyalties, something I agreed with. Has something happened to change your mind?"

"Not at all, I'm just wondering what he wants to say to your father. If he tries to get them alone, see if you can overhear the conversation. That way he won't have to be seen passing it on to me. There are also a few things that you can do to see what sort of people the King surrounds himself with…"

For an hour, the two talked about how to see if someone was trustworthy, already bought, or neutral in various ways, after which Brynden left Ranma there so the younger man could take a nap. If there was going to be a ball this evening, he wanted all his mental strength to get through it.

OOOOOOO

Joffrey was a very happy prince. They were finally home in the Red Keep, the place of power for his family and for him. Here, he had trusted servants who would do his bidding. Here, Joffrey knew his way around. And most importantly, here, he was finally free of spending every day with Ranma watching as Ranma came closer to Tommen while Tommen came closer to their father.

Now with the families separated, the King's family ensconced once more in Maegor's Holdfast, he could take action against his younger brother and he grinned evilly as he decided how to do just that. First, however, he sent for one of the servants that had been given to him by his mother, a trusted Lannister man who answered only to him. The man had been trained in Casterly Rock not to ask questions and to obey any order given.

Later that day, as Joffrey was preparing for the ball with the help of a few servants, the man came to his quarters. He was small nondescript sort, who could blend into any crowd, something that had proven useful more than once with both his current and past masters. Joffrey smiled at him, turning away from the servant who had held up one of his finest silk shirts. "You, I have a job for you…"

After the man left, Joffrey turned back to the business of selecting an outfit to show his status properly. The gold embroidered shirt would be especially good, coupled with the red pants, he would look like a proper Lannister, while the overcoat in brown and green would give him a Baratheon flare. Now what to select as the proper accessories...

OOOOOOO

Myrcella was busy showing Sansa her room when Cersei came in. "There is a formal ball this evening to welcome the King and ourselves home. I trust that you will both prepare accordingly, ladies? I will be checking."

Sansa and Myrcella grinned at one another then nodded eagerly. The Queen smiled faintly at the two of them, then looked at Sansa. "Take note of southern styles when you are going through your clothing with Myrcella. I hope to see what you can come up with soon."

Sansa curtsied to Cersei and answered in an affirmative fashion that brought another small smile to her face, which faded the moment she left the room and saw Jamie standing at guard along with Sir Oakheart and Ser Mandon Moore. She didn't like Moore. The man was utterly unreadable, silent and brooding, and always staring with cold, dead eyes. She knew Jaime didn't like him much either, though he did say that the man was somewhat skilled with the sword.

Jaime followed her and the Queen frowned before smiling at him leading the way further into the Queen's quarters, saying loudly to be overheard, "Jaime, if you have time, could I give you a list of things to buy in the city? I haven't yet gone over everything…" At that point, she closed the door.

Strangely enough, she hadn't felt the need to signal her brother for one of their trysts in several weeks. Not only because of the travel time being much more dangerous, but because flirting with Ranma had been strangely satisfying on its own, now that she came to think about it. Nevertheless, Cersei didn't reject him when Jaime pulled her body back into his own with a hand around her waist. It always felt like coming home when they made love and today was no different.

Though just this once Cersei had to fight with herself to stop picturing Ranma in Jaime's place. She knew that would be impossible. There was not a hint that Ranma would go for even a fling with no strings attached and, without the need to control him, there was no need to offer such. Still, it was an odd thought and it returned as Jamie left thirty minutes later, leaving her to take a small nap before the evening festivities.

OOOOOOO

The ball occurred that evening in the Great Hall, a massive hall that was also the throne room. It was large enough for a thousand men, although tonight it only had seating for half that: courtiers, knights, and ladies of high standing from the Crownlands; there to drink to the King's return. The tables had been set up along the walls, which were covered with hunting tapestries, to leave the center free for dancing. Ranma knew that during the Targaryen reign they had been lined with the fossilized heads of dragons, which had probably added further to the presence that the Iron Throne lent the room.

Even sitting as it did behind the King's table, the Iron Throne's presence could not be ignored. It was made of a thousand melted swords, taken from the dead that had tried to fight against the Targaryens when they conquered most of Westeros, all save Dorne and the North. The North bent the knee, while Dorne was able to keep its freedom during that initial time, bending the knee only later after a bloody war and a marriage which connected their ruling line to the Targaryen.

The throne was a thing of points, jagged edges, and bare metal, with a pile of swords through which a few steps were built up to a large, very basic seat at the top. There was only a small cushion on it, since the throne was not made to be comfortable. Every jagged edge was sharp, ready to prick, cut, or even skewer the unwary. Every King had sat there, not a one at their ease, as it was designed so by Aegon the First. There were persistent rumors throughout the lands that it had even killed a few people over the years.

Ranma stared at the thing for a moment as he and his father entered, dressed in dark leather pants and jerkins dyed Winterfell black and gray, under which they wore short-sleeved cotton shirts. Their cloaks were lined with wolves' fur and clasped on one shoulder with pins shaped like a direwolf's head, with Ranma's holding a small sapphire for an eye while Ned's held an equally small diamond. Unlike the well cared for and coifed hair that was the norm for men here, Ned's hair was shaggy and unkempt, as was his short beard. While Ranma's face bore no beard, his hair was tied in the Dothraki fashion as, normal.

With their dark clothing, hairstyles, and northern, weathered looks they stood out like stones in a field of flowers but neither cared. Nor did the two men-at-arms, who were also knights, who were watching Ned's back even here. Their clothing was much the same as the Starks', though more worn and without the cloaks.

Ser Jory and the other man followed Ranma's father as he moved over to the King's table, clasping his friend's hand warmly before sitting down at Robert's right side, Cersei sitting on Robert's left.

Ranma tried to move over towards the children's end of the table, causing much twittering and laughter as he deliberately made it look as if he was trying to sneak along. A harrumph from his father called him sharply to task. He sighed and moved over to him. Still, the moment of levity was what Ranma had been searching for and he watched carefully who smiled and how, as he and Brynden had talked about earlier. The answer, alas, did not give him much information, since he couldn't tell if any one person of the people not smiling was looking around to take their cue from anyone else. Should've known that wouldn't work. Ah well.

He sat next to his father and the feast began moments later. The man on his other side turned to him, introducing himself. He was a short, slender man, with sharp yet handsome features punctuated by a small pointed beard. "Petyr Baelish, master of coin at your service. So, you would be the lovely Catelyn's firstborn? Surprising, that only your eyes would tell of it. Most especially seeing as your younger sister looks so much like Catelyn did in her youth."

Ranma shrugged. "We do have a bit of a mix among us children. Sansa is my mother to the light, almost, while I take after my father save for my eyes as you pointed out, ser. Arya is pure Stark in appearance, even more than I. Brandon and Rickon are more of a mix of the two. Rickon has mother's eyes and face and father's hair, and Brandon has her hair and eyes but father's face."

"I understand you have a half-brother, a bastard-born that you were raised with? That must've been trying on Cat. In fact, I can't imagine her putting up with it at all."

Ranma was immediately on his guard, knowing that any question about Jon was one he had to tread lightly around. "I think that she got over it. I believe that Jon's devotion to both me and my siblings was a definite mark in his favor, as were the many times he kept me out of trouble in my youth." He swiftly changed the subject to one such example and moved on to asking questions about the man's own youth and his duties as master of coin, while studying him intensely.

Petyr came off as affable, intelligent, and poised but the real story was his eyes, which sometimes flitted around the room, searching and assessing. His hands, too, were similarly very mobile as he spoke, playing with a small coin or stilling very briefly as his eyes caught something. Whatever his loyalties, Petyr seemed dangerously bright as well as observant. Ranma vowed to watch his words very carefully around this man.

For his part, Petyr was watching both Starks intensely. He was a little surprised by Ranma's apparent sense of humor and outgoing nature but not overmuch, since he had been briefed by his agents among the servants the King had taken north with him. The boy was a simpleton, unknowing of the cesspool he was entering.

On the other hand, the fact that Brynden was here and he was already down in the city apparently talking to old acquaintances was troubling. Petyr knew the Blackfish of old and he was one of the most perceptive men he had ever met.

So too was the fact that thirty men-at-arms and five belted knights sworn to House Tully had arrived weeks ago. They had shown no sign of leaving the city, despite there not being any reason for them to be here at all. The most one of his factors in the city could get out of one of them was that they were here to meet their Lord's kinsman, which was a surprise and an irritating move.

He hadn't yet had the opportunity to meet with his ally Varys to hear what had occurred in the North and, like Varys, Petyr's own spies were very thinly spread in that area with most of them in the small trading post on the southern side of the Neck and in White Harbor. His main contact had been Roose Bolton but his death over a decade ago had silenced that avenue.

Unbeknownst to any, above and beyond personal self-interest, Petyr was also motivated by hatred for all things Stark. He had hated the Starks ever since Brandon had beaten him in a dual for Catelyn's hand. His hatred had solidified further when Lady Catelyn didn't return his affections, not even responding to the one letter he sent her after Brandon's death, hoping that she would consent to marry him now that Brandon was no longer in the way. At the time, Petyr hadn't had much influence but he felt certain that if Catelyn had tried to get out of marrying Brandon's younger brother Ned, she could have.

Instead, she chose to honor the deal made between the Tullys and the Starks but Petyr refused to think that she was happy in such a cold place with such a cold man. Hearing of her children made him ache inside and his hate for all things Stark renewed with each passing word. It should have been me who she married, my children she should have given birth to, not wolf pups! Though young Sansa, she truly is the image of Cat when she was younger… Neither this nor his burning hatred for all things Stark showed on his face, however.

Their discussion went on for over an hour, neither telling the other anything important while the meal went on. Soon the King signaled the servants, who began to play some music for dancing. Ranma stood up quickly at that and Petyr moved with him, leaning in closely so that his voice was covered by the cacophony of the crowd and the musicians. "There is something you must know, something that Jon Arryn was searching for. There is a particular book in his library that he was looking at."

This hint would not do what he wished since Ranma was already prepared to distrust him. He had gotten the full tale of what had happened between Brandon and Petyr in their youth from Brynden and Ned. Moreover, the questions about his family and the one or two about Jon had put him on his guard further. There was also just something about Petyr's constantly probing eyes that set his hackles on end and he resolved to keep him at arms-length. "I will pass that on to my father. Now, if you'll excuse me."

Petyr was left there as Ranma moved over to Myrcella, bowing grandly to the young girl and holding out his hand. "May I have this dance, fair lady?" Myrcella blushed rosily, looking over wildly at Sansa and then her mother, who nodded her head imperceptibly. If there was one man in this entire room that she could trust not to get familiar with her daughter, outside Jaime, Robert, or Sir Oakheart, it was Ranma. Robert laughed as Ranma took Myrcella on a wild spin around the Great Hall, forcing out a whoop of glee as they sped out onto the dance floor between the tables, smirking at Sansa who was dancing with Joffrey much more sedately.

After one such dance, Ranma came back and showed Tommen how to dance with his older sister, then stood on the sidelines laughing as he watched the two move around the floor. Around him, the courtiers smiled and chuckled in a rather forced manner. Despite this, Ranma was watching Petyr and Varys out of the corner of his eyes. He was also watching the Queen and a few courtiers who looked particularly arrogant.

As Ranma spent time with the two younger two Royal children, Varys stood in the background near the Queen. He was still wondering what game the queen was playing, though he had long since come to the conclusion that the Baratheon regime was not in the best interests of the kingdom as a whole, hence why he had agreed to aid Petyr in some of his ambitions. They would weaken the kingdom in the short term, but allow a stronger family, a better royal line to take the throne. With his aid in securing the throne, something he would be well paid for, of course.

Robert had also taken to the floor, dancing some kind of raucous jig with a fat priest dressed in red, laughing all the while. The King was loud and boisterous, seemingly filling the hall with his personality, yet for some reason Ranma felt he didn't quite fit here.

The Queen however was much more at home, as was Renly. The younger Baratheon brother was in one corner surrounded by courtiers as well as several ladies, both married and not, who were laughing at something he had said, while Ser Loras danced with some lady or another from the Crownlands. Cersei was holding forth elsewhere with her brother nearby, though what she was saying Ranma couldn't tell. There were more people around her than either of the Baratheon brothers, all of whom were listening intently, man and woman.

This was a warning that Ranma had to take to heart. They had arrived on her playing field and were now away from his. He could no longer react to verbal threats as he normally would without risking making more enemies for his family than they already had. He would have to be constrained by the local rules, at least for a time.

Ranma danced with many ladies that evening, all of whom became somewhat attracted to the young man whose handsome features were dominated by the deepest blue eyes any of them had seen and who moved like a trained dancer on the floor. Many of them tried to convince him to follow them out of the hall to a dark corner or a patch of the lawn away from all the noise. All these attempts failed and Ranma kept dancing on and off, always making time for Myrcella. He danced with his sister just once, though their dancing was stilted and distant, much like their conversations these days. Unbeknownst to Ranma, his continued dancing with the Princess only served to solidify her crush on him.

The Stark heir had his mind on other things nor was he the type to enjoy casual dalliances. Besides, Ranma thought sardonically as he once again rebuffed an offer to escort a lady back to her chambers with simple excuse of having to stay and watch his sister, something that made the ladies all pout outrageously despite their varied ages, yet in reluctant agreement. After sleeping with the she-bear, I might break some of these southern waifs accidentally. Many things could be said about Dacey but fragile and docile were not among them and their lovemaking always tended to be rather intense in nature, at least in part.

Despite his self-control, Ranma was feeling the lack of companionship, especially with Cersei's flirtations on the trip here but he wasn't about to have a one night stand would with anyone in this city, not even the whores. I like sleeping with someone who I don't have to watch my back or words with, thank you.

"I understand, Ranma Stark, that you wish to journey to the perfumers Street?"

Ranma turned and nodded his head at Renly. Renly had snuck up on him somewhat, but there's didn't seem to be any evil intent in it, especially considering how confused his hearing was from the crowds. "I do indeed, Lord. The smell of the city is rather overpowering and even in here, it is faint but still discernible. I'm also afraid that the smell will eat away at Fenris's self-control, even here in the keep, which would not be good." A mild understatement, considering Fenris had begun to exhibit some measure of ki-enhanced strength.

"In that case, you may travel down into the city with Loras and me tomorrow. The batch of perfume he brought from home is giving out."

Ranma nodded his head, then looked over to where his father was signaling him. After making his excuses to Renly, Ranma moved in that direction. Once his son was standing in front of him, Eddard said quietly. "It is time we made our apologies and withdrew. I was given the key to Jon's study by Petyr and I want to see what is in there."

Internally, Ranma cursed. He had been on the lookout most of the night but it appeared that Petyr and his father had talked without him being in a position to overhear. The man was good at sneaking around, something Ranma would have to bear in mind. "I'm all for leaving father but remember what Brynden said, we can't trust anyone here. When we get there, let me open the door just in case there's a spring trap or something."

"I'm not as old or feeble as all that," Ned responded dryly, but he nodded nonetheless and clapped his son on the shoulder. The two of them escorted Sansa to her quarters, the younger girl being somewhat tipsy and unable to coherently argue against leaving the party so soon. The good food, the wine, and the atmosphere had all been exactly as she had dreamed it would be, aided by the fact that she was allowed to drink without adult supervision nearby for the first time. Dancing with Joffrey, the elegant Renly, the handsome Loras, and several others had been utterly divine and every time she turned around a servant had been there holding a tray of drinks.

Ned put his daughter to bed motioning Jeyne forward from where she sat on her own bed to help Sansa undress. He smirked as Lady took one sniff of her mistress' breathe and whined, moving away slightly. "Take care of her, Jeyne, Sansa seems to have had a bit too much to drink. I'll inform the staff to have a hangover cure ready, just in case." Jeyne nodded, a little miffed her father had forced her to stay in the Tower that evening.

Eddard nodded back then exited Sansa's room, heading down with Ranma, who had opened the door to his room to let out Fenris. With the direwolf following them, Ned and Ranma made their way down to the locked door of the Hand's office. Despite Ranma's concern, there was no sudden trap to assault them when they opened the door, and Ranma and his father entered the study looking around.

The room was very well organized. It had scrolls and a few books of law, taxes, and other things on one side with a smaller group of books in a single shelf embedded into the opposite wall for pleasure reading. There were a few comfortable looking chairs, one of which was set by the window with a small table next to it, a book set there already. Two more chairs were set against the wall by the smaller bookcase with a small table between them, with what looked like a snuff box. In the center of the room was a desk, with two not very comfortable looking chairs in front of it and a much more comfortable looking chair on the other side facing the doorway, but this was clearly a business area, unlike the small sitting areas by the window or the book case.

Ranma moved around, lighting the candles in the corners, which gave the room an even homier feel.

"Just as I last saw it. Jon Arryn was more of a homebody than he would have liked people to think, very much enjoying any chance to mix leisure with business." Eddard murmured, moving in to the center of the room looking around with a faint smile. Fenris passed him, moving toward the back of the room.

There were a few scrolls open on the desk and Eddard advanced to look at them. He then spoke aloud to Ranma, while Ranma moved around, studying the law books on the wall. "This one is about a new taxation proposed on the ports, raising docking and unloading fees in every port of Westeros. It's been signed and ratified, though Jon seems to be wondering about the wording of certain parts, given some of the notes in the margins. Interesting but not very important. Another bit of business, a note from someone in the city named Alayaya? Sounds like a Summer Island name. About another brothel near her mother's changing hands to Petyr…"

The two Starks shared a glance, shaking their heads irritably. They knew the necessity of such places but the fact that there were dozens in Kings Landing was rather disgusting to them. Most especially, since they both knew that the madams of this city probably did not take nearly as good a care of their 'tags' as they should nor were they picky about their ages, something that in the North was anathema. Children of both genders should not be treated so and in the North, if a madam or brothel owner employed a 'tag' younger than thirteen, they would be either jailed, sent naked out into the wilds. Or, if male, sent to the Wall.

"Hmm, nothing else interesting, though there is a message about wanting to talk to a few merchant contacts to get their impression of the Crownlands economy. He also wanted to look into the balance of trade with Essos, specifically the cities of Braavos and Pentos. The bit about Braavos seems to be much older than the Pentos addition, since the ink looks very faded. Nothing of interest at present." With that Eddard moved on, while Ranma crouched down to look at the desk from underneath, searching for anything hidden or odd little sections.

Ned had moved to the small reading area underneath the window. He reached forward for the small book that was sitting on the desk there but Fenris quickly got between the older man and the desk, growling. "Ranma," Ned said, slowly backing away from the wolf who probably weighed more than he did now, "your wolf is growling at me."

Ranma closed his eyes even as he came out from underneath the desk, reaching into his connection with Fenris. Fenris tried to share what he smelled that had his hackles on end, but Ranma couldn't make head or tails out of his sense of smell. There were just so many nuances of smell that the human brain just could not handle. Fenris and Ranma worked together for a moment, and finally Ranma was able to get, Danger, bad, no eat, from his wolf. "Something about the book bothers him father, hold on a second."

Ranma stood up swiftly, moving to the nearest candle, taking it, and then leaning over the book. He frowned, seeing a thin coat of something. "There is something smeared on this, some kind of oily stuff."

"Poison." Ned nodded grimly. "I've heard of poisons that can be administered by touch. Well that proves it, someone did kill Jon Arryn. Wait here a moment." He left, coming back quickly with a thin pair of female riding gloves, pulled taut over his much larger hands. With these on, he turned the book over to look at the cover. "'The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms', by Maester Malleon? Why would this be important?"

"I don't know, father, but that book is evidence. We need to put it someplace safe, after we somehow clean it of poison."

Ned nodded, fighting with himself the desire to read the book right then. After all, they didn't know how deadly the poison was and he wasn't about to take the chance. "I will find a place to hide it, but you're right, it is a very important piece of evidence."

"Should we go to the King with this? Poison on the book means Jon was killed. It could be part of a larger attack on the King or country." Ranma asked.

After a moment, Ned shook his head. "No. There is little chance of this being part of a foreign plot or anything of that nature. None of the Free Cities have the strength to take Westeros on unless they unite, which even we would have heard about up in the North. Nor do I think this was the start of an internal attack on the King. If it was, they would have moved against Robert immediately after Jon's death, when he was weakest. Or even somewhere on the road to and from Winterfell."

"No, this is simply a deadlier version of court politics. We have no idea who did this and, until we do, we cannot make accusations or in any other way tip our hand. It could be the people who would normally take over the investigation into such a death. We were warned by Brynden not to trust anyone and what I've seen so far proves we shouldn't trust Janos Slynt or Varys, the two people who are the most likely to take over the enquiry."

Ranma nodded approvingly and the two left the room. Ned headed to his own room intent on hiding the book then removing his gloves, only one of which had touched the book, before disposing of them down the tower's garderobe. Ranma, however, exited the tower and headed to the godswood. Fenris eagerly bounded down the stairs behind him, interested in what they would find in the woods here that were small and edible.

Almost immediately, Ranma realized the godswood here was much more controlled and trimmed than any real godswood should be. The godswood at home was made of densely grown oak, pine, and other trees, with leaves on the ground everywhere there wasn't snow, the air smelling of pine, loam, and snow. Here, the trees were spread out, with actual paved paths on the outskirts of the wood. Deeper in it was slightly better, thankfully, and it looked as if the touch of man tapered off.

He found the heartwood in the center of the woods. It was an oak tree rather than a weirwood tree, which struck him as really odd, but this was the first godswood he had been able to stop at since that time he found one in the Neck after rescuing Meera. He had hoped to stop at the Isle of Faces but they hadn't actually come close enough for him to head there and back in a day. At the moment, Ranma simply wanted to take a moment to reflect.

He was soon joined by his father, who sat down in the loam beside him, sitting there silently contemplating the face on the heartwood. It was a moment of silence, or familial understanding, far from home. A moment of peace to give them strength in this new, strange world. After a few moments, Ned left to send a message to Winterfell, telling his beloved wife and family they had arrived safely, as well as take care of a few other items, leaving Ranma there alone with his thoughts

OOOOOOO

Tommen had spent the evening with Myrcella having a sleepover in her room. He woke up in a giddy mood, hoping to run over to where Ranma was to find him and see if he would be willing to continue their training even if they had arrived in Kings Landing. He didn't want to ask Ser Aron Santagar, the master-of-arms of the keep, because the man didn't have much time or patience for children. He didn't even like training Joffrey and only trained Tommen when Robert insisted.

Leaving Myrcella still sleeping in her bed, he left her room to head back over to his own. Tommen opened the door to his room and moved inside, frowning as he noticed that the cage which had held his pet song bird was empty. It had been a gift from a courtier, in hopes of currying favor with his mother. It hadn't worked as well as the man thought but it had still been a nice present and Tommen liked animals. He had a pet kitten at one point but it had wandered off when he was young and never returned.

He looked inside the cage and his frowned deepened at all the blood all around it. Someone had killed it or maybe a cat had gotten in? But then how had the cat gotten through the bars? He looked around, still frowning, at which point he spotted it on his bed, deliberately tucked between the covers and the pillow. The bird's feathers had been plucked and its body opened from beak to naval, letting out all its intestines.

Tommen's teeth clenched on the need to scream but this wasn't a scream of terror or, at least, not entirely. It was a scream of rage that Tommen pushed back down. He shook his head angrily, wondering who had done this, but then moved over to the bin he used for his soiled clothing, pulling out a shirt he had worn on the trip to exercise in. With it, he calmly wrapped the bird up, moving out of the door to the dispose of it elsewhere. I won't give whoever did this the satisfaction of seeing me cry but I won't forget, either!

His father was just coming out of his room, all ready to head out on the hunt, but stopped when he saw his youngest holding something, something which was staining the shirt containing it red. "What do you have there, boy?" Robert frowned, hoping that his youngest son wasn't following his oldest brother's footsteps.

"Someone killed my songbird, father."

The anger in the boy's voice calmed Robert's initial worries. "Oh, what do you intend to do about it then?" This was yet another way that Robert was feeling out his youngest, wanting to make certain that the changes that Ranma had wrought in the boy were real changes rather than momentary ones based off his wanting approval or attention.

"I'm going to try and find out who, father, and then, then I'm going to make them pay." Tommen growled.

Robert guffawed, clapping the youth on his shoulders staggering the little boy almost off his feet despite having held back. "That's my boy. Toss it out for now, you can hunt for clues later. Let's go get some breakfast, then I think we should see if we can rustle up enough men to go hunting, after I give the small council its marching orders, of course!"

Tommen gaped up at him. This was the first time Robert had invited any of his children on a hunt with him! The young boy nodded rapidly, then raced off to get rid of his songbird's body.

Nearby, hidden in an alcove by a window, Joffrey saw all this and ground his teeth together in fury.

OOOOOOO

Ranma woke up that morning; spent time with his family then at around midmorning went out to meet Loras and Renly for their trip into the city. They were dressed simply, with none of the court finery they had worn the evening before, but still in good elegant clothing in silk with velvet cloaks and doublets, though both men also wore swords at their sides. Ranma wore his dark leather pants, though he had forbore the cloak and wore a simple short-sleeved jerkin with his belt buckle of the direwolf's head to denote his family.

Of the three, he was the only one unarmed. They were soon joined by Brynden, who told them he had business down by the docks. The quartet of men descended into the city together but Brynden soon broke off, leaving the three men to head towards the perfumers street.

Soon enough, they were there. Ranma browsed around until he found a perfume that smelled of pine wood and needles. It reminded him of the smell of home, and he bought six small glass vials of it. He was astonished at the price of them, each one costing at least twice what they would be at home, and that with the need to transport them up from White Harbor. He asked about it, and the man shrugged. "Supply and demand, master. All the highborn need perfumes to keep the smell of the city at bay."

Ranma grunted, irritated at the amount but still having no idea how to really propose a sewer system. Nor did he have any desire to stay in the city long enough to see it through.

"Such is the price we must all pay to keep our senses working." Renly quipped, and the trio turned for home. Ranma and Ser Loras were already talking about setting up a spar later that day. Renly was looking forward to it, though not just because it would be an interesting match.

Renly was interested in Ranma; he wanted to figure out if the young man had… the same tastes as he and Loras. The night before was inconclusive in proving that one way or the other. He could simply be a Stark, they were normally a stuffy sort, not given to much in the way of humor, though Ranma was more open than most. But perhaps he was simply more closed off about physical affection? Renly didn't know and wondered. Regardless of that, watching the two young men exercise would be stimulating.

They were hailed as they walked along by Brynden, moving through the crowds around them, followed by thirty men who were moving in a bunch, led in turn by five men in full armor. "Cousin," Brynden said, reaching out and clasping his nephew's arm, "these men are from my brother. He sent them here to meet with you and get to know you. He wants to see what kind of man his daughter's son is."

Ranma nodded cordially at the other men and fell into step with them, talking about the trip down and asking questions about Riverrun, which Ser Desmond Grell answered. He was built much like Ser Rodrick, save for the fact he had a slightly larger belly. Despite this, his arms were thick, his dark brown eyes sharp.

Loras and Renly exchanged a glance, wondering what this was about. They had yet to hear what had happened up Winterfell and had no hint yet that Jon Arryn's death had been anything but natural.

On the other hand, Ranma was well pleased with both the men and the fact this gave them eighty five swords inside the Red Keep or would once he got the men situated in the barracks in the Tower. He and his father were going to meet with Ser Jory later that day to relay to him that the former Hand had indeed been murdered. While he couldn't share that with anyone else, they wanted the men on guard to be ready for anything, so thirty more men-at-arms plus five more knights would be a good addition to their forces.

Beyond there being a possible threat against the Lady Catelyn and the family she had married into, the men from Riverrun were interested in Ranma. After all, whatever his status as a Stark, he was also part Tully. With Brynden out of the succession, that left Edmure the only heir available after Hoster died. He was a good sort but rather arrogant and headstrong and, it was felt, not a good leader. A few hoped that the idea of Hoster passing over him in line of succession would liven up Edmure's ideas, though it was doubtful if such was politically possible. The idea of a single person being heir to both the North and the Riverlands would not sit well with any of the other high lords. Still, they were here to learn about Ranma Stark, oldest of the Lady Catelyn's children, which to them, was much more important than his actual last name.

They were back at the Castle soon enough. Immediately, Ranma turned to Loras. "Seeing as these men are here to meet and see me in action, perhaps we can have our little spar now, hmm?"

Loras smirked, one hand curling at his side as if it was holding a sword hilt. "I'll just go get changed and be right back."

The men from Riverrun grinned at one another. This was indeed something they were interested in, whether or not Ranma's skill matched with the tales that had come south on the wings of bard song. Of course, skill in battle was only part of what they were here to find out. They wanted to know Ranma the man, not just the warrior. But it was a good starting point.

About twenty minutes later, Ranma and Loras faced one another across a training area outside the Tower of the Hand. It was a smaller area than Winterfell's, much smaller, in fact, with room only for about six people to exercise at a time but there was room around the separating wall for watchers, which was now crowded.

Ned had joined them, wondering if Loras was as good as the tales told of him, not having seen the young man in action before and also wanting to talk to the men from Riverrun as soon as he could. He had met Ser Desmond before and knew the man to be honorable as well as close-mouthed, which would prove just as important.

For now, Eddard set that aside to officiate the match. "No crippling blows, no blows to the face at all, and when I say stop, you will separate from one another. Understood?" Both fighters nodded and, at Lord Stark's signal, the match began.

Loras took the initiative, darting forward one foot extended before the other in a diagonal, almost like a fencer with a rapier would. Before Ned could move two steps, Loras was within sword range of Ranma, bringing his sword around in a swift, controlled arc.

Ranma responded just as quickly, using a sword borrowed from the armory here in the Red Keep. He blocked the blows easily, matching the older man's speed. He parried back quickly, nearly taking Loras in the chest with his practice blade, but Loras dodged backwards just enough for the blow to miss, returning a series of thrusts and cuts quickly.

Ranma dodged to one side, bringing his sword up again in a cut towards Loras' leg. Loras leaped backwards, frowning. Aiming for the leg and extremities like that was not something done in normal duels and it was rather frowned upon in most tourneys in the Reach as well. Still, it was a legitimate tactic during a battle and he resolved to practice against such in the future. Now, he rolled to the side as Ranma came in pushing his advantage, bringing his sword up to block Ranma's next blow, pushing back and thrusting but Ranma blocked that as well.

Their blades locked for the moment, the two young men struggled against one another. Loras was strong, much stronger than he appeared but that wasn't really saying much, especially when compared to Ranma. Ranma easily overpowered the man, throwing him back, almost forcing Loras to lose his balance.

He was still able to block the next series of blows as Ranma came on. The watching audience began to shout encouragement to one or the other fighter while the match escalated.

Ranma and Loras stood there blocking and parrying with their blades, neither moving from their spot for a moment, until Ranma decided to change it up a little. Instead of parrying a slash aimed at his chest, Ranma ducked under it at the last second. His free hand struck like a snake upwards, grabbing Loras' sword hand right behind his wrist. Ranma pulled Loras off balance, slamming his elbow into the man's stomach, and heaving him up with that same move, lifting him into the air and over Ranma's body without even a grunt of effort.

Loras landed and rolled, despite being surprised and slightly winded, flailing around with his sword trying to keep Ranma at a distance. It succeeded, for the moment, but before he could get to his feet, Ranma's leg lashed out in a kick that caught him in the shoulder, throwing him back and off balance, loosening his sword grip just enough for Ranma's blade to smash it out of his hand in the next second. Before he could move again, the tip of Ranma's blade was tickling his throat. "My win, I think, Ser Loras."

Loras grunted a little, raising his one hand to knead at where Ranma had kicked him. "You Northerners practice a much more full body contact sort of spar than I am used to." He looked up almost challengingly at the younger man. "Savor this victory, Ranma Stark. The next time we fight, I will be better prepared."

"I'm looking forward to it." Ranma grinned. The man was good, very good in terms of normal people, he supposed. Still, he estimated Loras was a little faster, yet nowhere near as precise or controlled as Jaime the Kingslayer.

He reached down and lifted Loras onto his feet. The audience began to clap, both for this sign of chivalry and for Ranma's victory. The men from Riverrun mingled with the men from Winterfell, hearing stories and listening to their conversation, while the first group began to exercise and train with Ranma. Loras and Renly waved off further exercise, leaving to head back to their quarters together, although they would both show up intermittently over the next few months to join the Winterfell and Riverrun men in their daily regimen.

OOOOOOO

Later on that day, at his father's request, Ranma joined Eddard as one of his aides during the new Hand's first meeting with the small council, just to see how things work. He was not looking forward to the experience.

The meeting was held in the Queen's Ballroom, a small meeting hall in Maegor's Holdfast. It could seat a hundred comfortably, though today the main table sat eight. Beaten silver mirrors were set behind the wall sconces, allowing the torch's light to seem brighter than normal, aided in their task of lighting the hall by arched windows sitting high up on the south wall.

Ranma had previously met Varys, Renly, Petyr, Ser Barristan, and the Queen, who was there but didn't actually have a post on the small council. Stannis wasn't here, so that left only Grand Master Pycelle of the Citadel as the only one there Ranma hadn't met. He was an old man with a bald, spotted head, alleviated around the edge by a bit of lank hair. His maester's chain stretched from neck to breast, obscured by a long, snowy beard that ran down his chest, well groomed but still somewhat unkempt due to its length.

The King actually sat in for once, simply because he wanted to state the purpose of the meeting, which he did the moment everyone was seated. "I want us to organize a tourney to celebrate Ned taking on the position of my Hand! We'll have it two months from now, and, of course, we'll need prizes for the larger events. Nothing gets the blood thumping than a chance for glory and coin!"

"How exactly are we going to pay for this?" Petyr asked coolly, his eyes on the King, yet flicking to Lord Stark, who sat beside Robert, and Ranma, who sat behind Eddard in the place reserved for aides. Each of the small council save the Queen and King had at least two of them. "We have no money in the treasury for such."

"Bah, will make it up somehow. I'm not going to let you and your coin pinchers spoil my fun, Baelish!" Robert laughed, pushing up out of his chair and making an exit, intent on doing as he always did, push the thinking onto other heads. "Now, I'm off. I got word from the hunt-master that there was a bear reported in the Kingswood!"

The small council rose and bowed to the King as he left, the door banging behind him. There was a moment of silence then Ned turned to Petyr as they all took their seats again. "You said there is no money in the treasury for this tourney he wants to have for my appointment as Hand, though personally I do not think my appointment deserves such. Still, he is the King, so we will have this tourney. But was that an exaggeration or do you really think we don't have enough money in the budget to pay for the tourney?"

Petyr smiled thinly, his flexible fingers (which gave him the nickname Littlefinger) pressing together in a triangle in front of his face. "Alas, it was not an overestimation. There is almost literally no money in the treasury."

"How is that possible?" Eddard asked sternly. "The Mad King left the treasury brimming with gold coin."

"As you know, my lord, the King did not call for taxes for five years after his Rebellion, the better to let the realm rebuild. During that time, we began to go into debt because the work took much in the way of ready coin, both here and the entirety of the Crownlands, with the addition that the King did much as he does now. His grace has gone through it all with his excesses and then some. We are in fact deeply in debt to the Iron Bank of Braavos and to Tywin Lannister for nearly a million dragons, each." Actually, Littlefinger knew they were in debt for much more than that but sharing that knowledge with anyone else would not suit his own plans. Not until the time was right.

Ranma's and Eddard's faces closed down, assuming the 'Stark mask' at that, causing a little shiver to go up even Petyr's spine. Their thoughts, however, were not on him, but on the problem at hand.

Winterfell was completely self-sufficient. House Stark wasn't nearly the richest noble house, but it had reserves of a hundred thousand gold dragons for emergencies, some of which the Starks spent recently to pay for the King's visit. That was money the family had been adding to every year in one form or another. Though it had been badly depleted during Robert's rebellion, it was made up later by their taxes, monies taken from ransomed lords during said rebellion, and their portion of the profit from selling food from their lands (and those of the minor lords who looked to them) to other noble or minor houses.

It was more complex than that, of course, but that was the gist of it. A hundred thousand gold dragons was seen as a lot of money, more money than Winterfell needed in times of peace, really, far more than any other great house in the north save the Manderlys could call on. To hear that the kingdom was in debt to the tune of two million dragons was disturbing to both northerners.

"My father will not care one way or the other about such debts between family." Cersei said coolly. She enjoyed hearing of Robert's shortcomings but this one could also be laid at her door as his Queen, so she had to speak up to offset some of it at least. "Our control of the gold mines in Westerlands makes that simple enough, though my father would probably force some concessions down the line. But the iron Bank is a different matter. I believe it was you, Littlefinger, who approached them to take out a loan?"

"Of course. I am the crown's servant and their interest rates were far lower than your father quoted to me the last time we exchanged ravens two years ago. Bottomless your mines might be but his largesse is not." Petyr replied coolly, easily deflecting the attack.

"And where precisely has this money gone?" Eddard spoke, his voice as cold and controlled as his face. "A few tourneys here or there, that cannot add up to millions in debt, unless we are not taking in money. I know for a fact my factors, at least, have paid taxes to the crown, as have every Northern Lord."

That was actually a big deal in the North. Yearly, the great houses would transport their taxes for that year down to Winterfell. The portion due to the Iron Throne would then be taken out and transported down to White Harbor where it would be taken by sea to Kings Landing.

Sometimes bandits or pirates attempted to attack these transports. Ranma, Jon, and Theon had actually gone down to White Harbor with the shipment many times and even been attacked once. It had been Theon's first taste of combat and the archer had performed very well, though he had thrown up after. Ranma could remember it vividly, as well as the Iron Born's rage at being seen doing so later.

"I assure you, my lord, that those returns are not as high as you would think. Paying the Gold Cloaks, paying for the King's men-at-arms who keep the Kingsroad clear of brigands, the huntsmen, the bailiffs that keep the peace on the road into the city as well as upkeep of said. Work on the Kingsroad is continual and very expensive, as is the upkeep of the fleet. In fact, the fleet is a major drain on our resources. If we could cut back there…"

"No." Eddard and Cersei spoke as one. Eddard nodded his head at the Queen and she went on. "No, we cannot afford to cut back on the fleet. The Iron Born are still far too independent, far too unwilling to bow to the Iron Throne. If they try to break away again, we'll need the fleet. That and piracy is always a threat to trade."

Petyr shrugged and moved on. "We are still repairing and rebuilding parts of the Crownlands despoiled in the Rebellion. In fact, even Kings Landing itself is still being rebuilt in many areas. The Crownlands doesn't make much money that isn't immediately channeled back to them. Dorne is remarkably stingy about paying any taxes at all, the Stormlands pay little taxes because they make so little money and have areas still recovering from the war. Much, as I hate to say it, does the North, since most of those monies make their way back north in the form of foodstuffs bought by the crown via long time agreements with the North."

That comment made Ranma and Ned exchange glances. They both knew precisely how much foodstuffs came back through White Harbor and up the Kingsroad, and it wasn't near as much as the taxes the North sent to the Iron Throne. Around half, perhaps, mostly to the Stony Shore, the Flints of Flint's Finger and House Karstark. House Stark had been cutting into that more and more in the past few years, so much so that outside of Flint's Finger and those smallfolk and houses minor which lived in the Stony Shore, they were building up a nice surplus, though admittedly some of that would be sent to the Wall with the forces gathering there.

Petyr didn't know what the two Northerners were thinking and continued. "The Reach, the Vale, the Westerlands, and the Riverlands alone cannot keep the kingdom out of debt when the King is set on his excesses. This tourney is not the first, in fact, he has thrown one every year at least since taking the throne. Nor is that his only excess, nor yours, Your Grace."

Petyr shrugged eloquently, smirking internally as he threw the blame back on the Queen. In actuality, the debt would be much smaller if it was just the royals being excessive. But Petyr had been funneling much of it into his own operations. He had covered his tracks so much, however, that it would take a troop of bankers years to work it out, and not a single banker or law-master in the city would help anyone he told them not to.

Before the Queen could explode on him, Varys spoke up. "It also must be said that my own… maneuvers cost much. Keeping my little birds happy, most especially the ones in Dorne and Essos, takes money and their return is not in coin but words and knowledge."

"That is understood, master of whispers," Ranma spoke up after a subtle nod from his father. "Yet, I would be curious to see if the knowledge they carry back to your ears is worth the money fed them. I think, also, that if we cannot meet the Crown's costs then either we need to cut said costs or think of ways to raise money. For example, this tourney is sure to pour money into the inns, bars, and, as much as I personally loath the practice, brothels. I think we can look to them to help pay us back for it more than a normal city-dweller. Perhaps a special incidental tax on them, to be paid after the tourney is over but to go on the books the moment it is announced?"

Petyr, who was a major brothel owner, blanched at that but Ranma went on undaunted. "Furthermore, taxes on the Kingsroad should pay for itself. I realize we already tax the wharves and ship-carried goods but I should think that any goods traversing the Kingsroad should also be taxed…"

From there Ranma tried to bring to mind his lessons from his father and maester Luwin as well as what little he could remember about taxes and other things from his former life. Many of his suggestions were shot down as unworkable but many of them were good and sensible. Ned, of course, took part in the discussion as well, speaking of how water travel could be taxed more heavily since it was so much cheaper for the user, something that made both Varys and Petyr wince internally, since they both owned several warehouses used by merchants and shipmasters both here and in other ports.

Renly, who was nearly silent throughout the entire meeting, spoke up about having House Baratheon pay for the tourney, defraying the cost further.

Eddard agreed to this then went on to the idea of cutting costs, looking at the Gold Cloaks and the upkeep of the Kingsroad, in particular, in terms of efficiency and graft. Cersei, surprisingly, had some good ideas in that area, such as turning the upkeep of the Kingsroad over to the great houses whose land it traversed, then fining them heavily for every incident that occurred on their land or if upkeep of the road fell behind.

The discussion went on for hours with Eddard taking the reins of the council easily, with Ranma interjecting as he could. Petyr, Cersei, and Pyrcelle took part in it wholeheartedly, while Barristan sat, merely observing throughout.

As the sun began to dip down in the sky beyond the windows, Ned finally called a halt. "I think that is as much headway as we can make today. Thank you, gentlemen and Your Grace, for your time. We've come up with a lot of good ideas today to turn this debt around. I will want to look over the books of law and taxes before we meet again. Lord Renly, I think the tower has copies of all the present law books but if any laws have been passed since the Rebellion, write their numbers out so I can find them."

"Petyr, if you could get me the ledgers for the years since the Rebellion by the end of the week, I would be grateful. Varys, I'll want to see your reports on the great Houses after that. If any of them haven't paid taxes, I want to make certain their reasons match up to reality. We will talk further on cutting costs to your web but for now we have more important things to do."

Varys winced at that comment while Petyr and Renly both nodded. Renly looked a little doubtful at his task, not having truly cared about the laws before this. But at Ned's grim expression, he realized he had some work to do.

Petyr, however, was confident. He had several sets of ledgers, both 'real' and not. Ned had surprised him by the force of his personality plus the knowledge he and his son had about taxes. While this was unexpected, he had buried his manipulations beyond literally dozens of layers of falsehoods, notes, and bankers' tricks, none of which could be linked to him but to his predecessor. He would come out looking like a hard working person trying to solve an insoluble issue while also keeping a demanding master happy; perhaps also someone who shouldn't be trusted but in politics that was the best any sane person would hope for.

With that Ned stood, bowing his head to the Queen as she left the room first. She looked at father and son as they came out, staring hard at them before nodding her head gravely and moving on. Ranma and his father exchanged a glance at that, wondering what she had been trying to say with that nod, but shrugged it off for now.

The two Starks were silent as they walked back to the tower of the Hand, remaining so until they were alone in the family suites at the top of the tower. "You do know that he lied, right, father?" Ranma asked.

"Perhaps Petyr lied or perhaps he is merely trying to stem the flow of blood from an already gaping wound. Remember, he has only been master of coin for four years now. This debt could have been building up long before that. Yet, if every realm is paying taxes, even as 'low' as the North does, there is no way the kingdom could be in debt, despite all of its ongoing expenditures and the King's excesses, unless the money isn't being used well. Dangerously low on ready funds, perhaps, but…" Eddard shrugged grimly. "I will have to look at the books to be certain, of course, but someone is definitely at fault here. Whether it is tied to Jon Arryn's death or not, I do not know."

Ranma nodded. "Makes me wish we brought maester Luwin along." Beyond his passion for the occult and supernatural tales, Luwin was a wizard with numbers, while Ranma and Eddard were only fair. Jon was better than Ranma but not up to Luwin's ability.

His father barked a laugh but went on more seriously. "The Blackfish is busy making contacts in the city. I think we need to wait and see what develops there, with the ledgers, and with my investigation for now. I won't ask you to sit in on further meetings, my son, so until I find something or your prospective fiancé arrives, you'll be at loose ends. I trust you'll keep yourself busy, perhaps a bit of exploration?"

"Oh, have no fear of that, father." Ranma replied, smirking slightly. With what he had shared with his father about his abilities, that line could mean anything and basically meant Ranma could do whatever he liked so long as he didn't make a fool of himself. "I'll find something to occupy my time."

For the rest of the evening, Ranma explored the Red Keep, finding some things of interest and some oddities, including what might be part of an escape route out onto the cliffs overlooking the sea that backed the Red Keep. Ranma marked that in his mind, stopped exploring, and went to bathe and get ready for dinner.

That night, after yet another feast with the King (thankfully it wasn't a ball), Ranma took Fenris out to the godswood. The large direwolf had responded poorly, at first, to having perfume dabbed on his nose but after a bit realized it really helped block out the smell of the city. Lady had seemingly liked it a little since Sansa used the same perfume that she wore. Thankfully, it didn't impair their sense of smell entirely.

Once Ranma got across the order to not leave the godswood, Fenris happily went off in search of anything small and edible. He had eaten earlier but meat given on a plate never tasted as good as meat he personally took. To Fenris at least, Lady never turned down being waited on hand and foot. She was becoming more and more domesticated with every week.

Ranma wished his wolf good hunting, then wrapped himself in the Silent Thief technique, turning invisible to all. With that, he jumped onto the small wall between the back of the godswood and the Blackwater, then out over the river to land on the other side. Even for him, that was a hell of a leap, one he barely made, but it served his purpose to get him out into the city, though on landing his attention wavered on the technique for a moment as he fought for a foothold on the heavily sloped roof.

"Ere, what's 'at? Anyone 'ear somethin' just den?" An oafish voice sounded below the roof of the house he had landed on.

"Yer hearin' things Marl, I don't see nothin'." Another voice sounded, one heavy with drink or something else that slurred his words badly. Ranma grinned then jumped to the next roof, once again wrapped in the Umi-Sen-Ken as he took to the skyline of the city, leaving the two arguers behind.

This gave him a birds-eye view of the goings on of the city, which was a mixed blessing at best. He saw at least three murders in the lower ends of town, all by groups of men. He was tempted to step in but the men killed had all been armed themselves so didn't. He did however throw bricks taken from the rooftops at several would-be thieves and at one man who seemed about to buy a young girl from her parents. Why the parents were going to sell her, Ranma had no idea but he had to stop himself from doing more to help her. At least they would have the bag of money the man had on him. He waited there for a moment as the parents grabbed the money, the girl, and then ran off before he moved on.

That first evening, Ranma didn't see anything unusual or strange that could tie into Jon Arryn's death, the Lannisters spreading their influence, or anything else. What he did see however, was a few Gold Cloaks taking money from shop owners. So, the Gold Cloaks are a protection racket more than a true city watch? Lovely. Later, he would learn that Janos Slynt was as corrupt as Blackfish had first told them but Robert kept him on, fearing his replacement would be worse. This would mark a small argument between him and Ned but nothing would come of it just yet.

For now, Ranma would spend the next few evenings getting to know the layout and feel of the city, a task he did not in any way enjoy for many reasons, not least of which was his sense of honor forcing him to step in occasionally. Over the next week his acts, unseen by all, spawned an urban legend of the Rock-Hurler, defender of the downtrodden, women, and 'justice', though, thankfully, none of it was linked back to him.

OOOOOOO

"Come now, my sweet, wouldn't this be the ultimate thrill? You know you like the idea of using that big padded chair of his for a better purpose then merely a home for his ass for hours on end." Domeric's voice was like honey and wine, enticing and enflaming.

The maid who he thus addressed was a young thing named Varyth, only two years older than Daenerys herself, but for all that, she was far worldlier than the Targaryen princess. She was also very sexual and knew how to use it. She enjoyed the thrill of coupling in interesting ways and places, the thrill of possibly being caught stirring her juices like nothing else. That was why Domeric had chosen her for this particular 'dalliance'.

"I don't know," she said coquettishly, blushing and looking away in a fetching manner. "What if master Illyrio wakes up and hears us?"

Domeric sighed and put his hands around her, pulling her against him as his hands began to work at the ties of her bodice. "Playing hard to get are we? I thought you were the one who likes the thrill of exposure?" If not I suppose I could always go see Sieganta."

That older maid was actually the only one on the household staff that Domeric felt was Varyth's equal in her zeal to try new things and places. He pulled away as if to go see the other woman right now.

He stopped as her hands grabbed his and she pulled away slightly, pulling him behind her towards the doorway they had been talking in front of. "Fine, but let's do this quick."

"Of course." Domeric murmured, already kissing the back of her neck while one hand fondled her rump even as he opened the door, closing it quickly as they stumbled into the room. The moment he did, he felt her hands on his breeches as she turned in his arms, kissing him hard and pulling him forward by his belt buckle, moving through the magister's study.

Three walls were lined with shelves containing books, scrolls, and a few dozen very expensive looking nick-knacks. The far wall was filled with floor to ceiling glass windows, which allowed the moonlight to light their amorous activities. That was pretty damn expensive Domeric well knew but what interested him was the large desk and the door leading into Illyrio's bedroom.

For his paramour, however, the large comfortable looking seat that the magister used on the other side of his desk was much more interesting. Soon enough, Varyth was gasping and moaning as Domeric pounded into her while she sat there, his face buried in her hair by her neck, although he had moved them around slightly so that he could watch the door to the bedroom. As a bard, he was very good at multitasking.

The girl climaxed twice before Domeric finally came, eliciting a gurgle of pleasure as she felt him eject deep inside her. For a moment, they murmured sweet nothings to one another, then he pulled out of her, causing a whine of protest but the girl straightened up quickly.

He smiled at her, patting one of her naked thighs. "You should get yourself cleaned up and get back to the others. Mistress Wendyll will be searching for you." Mistress Wendyll was the head of the household here and ran a very tight ship indeed, although that had not stopped Domeric from cutting a wide swathe through her younger workers. "You wouldn't want her to find us together, especially here, would you?"

He pulled up his breeches and reached into a pocket, pulling out a handkerchief. With that, he began to clean the seat as soon as she stood up and smiled at her. "I'll clean up here, you go on."

Varyth giggled at him and sashayed to the door, doing up her bodice. "The next time you want a quick roll, come find me. As long as you're willing to pay for the moon tea, I'll be fine with anything."

Domeric smirked at her and waved as she closed the door, then quickly turned and got to work. First, he took out a small rectangle covered by cloth, which upon unwrapping showed itself to be a small block of clay. Taking out a small bottle of water, he wet the clay, getting it read to be molded, then flattened it to the size of his hand. He carefully placed it in a pocket then moved towards the doorway leading to the magister's sleeping area, pulling it open gently on oiled hinges. He knew they were, because he had been in here three days ago to make sure.

The moment Domeric opened the door, he heard the snoring of at least three people, causing him to smile. The fat man liked to sleep with at least two of his sex slaves but the spiced wine Domeric had plied him and his two chosen doxies of the evening with seemed to be doing its work. The trio would be out of it all night, which would let Domeric do his work.

He moved stealthily towards the huge bed, shaking his head at the opulence of the room as well as the garish colors used, only visible thanks to the moonlight at present. Thankfully, too, the covers were pulled up, else Domeric would have had to remove his eyeballs later.

Moving closer, Domeric saw a glint of gold around the fat man's neck lying on the pillow next to him, between his head and one of his doxies. Slowly and quietly, Domeric reached across the woman to gently lift up the key lying there. With his free hand he reached into his pocket and pulled out the rectangle of clay, applying it to one side of the key, folding it over the key, setting a bit of silk along the edges to keep the clay from forming entirely around it. He held it there for several nervous moments as the clay slowly solidified, before bending the new mold and removing it quickly. He made certain to touch the key again, making certain the clay didn't leave any residue. It had, but only by the handle, thankfully, and he removed it with quick, dexterous finger nails.

After that was done, he quickly left the room. Domeric waited inside the study by the door for a moment as he tried to discern if anyone was walking the corridor outside. Not hearing anyone, he quickly slipped out into the hallway, closing the door behind him just as quietly as he had the one to the bedroom, before making his way towards nearest window. Unlike the windows in the study or in the bedchamber, this one didn't have glass, the magister not seeing any reason to waste that kind of money on any area of his household beyond his personal rooms and the dining Hall. He looked outside for a moment, making certain no one was around, then leaped out, landing lightly on his feet a story below. He then made his way into the connected kitchens, to finagle the kitchen helpers out of some food, determined to act as normally as possible.

The next day, Dominic headed out into the city, his balalaika on his back. The reason he had given the magister that morning was that he wanted to see what he could find out about any news from Westeros on his own. "Sometimes bards will tell one another things we won't tell anyone else." he said quietly, so as to not bother the magister's headache or draw Viserys' attention from where he sat at the other end of the table.

Daenerys wasn't with them, since neither her ribs nor the injuries to her face had healed. Domeric estimated another month before she was fit to be seen in public, whereupon she would probably be swiftly married off to this Dothraki Khal, Drogo.

For a time, Domeric did as he had told the magister he would, contacting a few other bards in the city and exchanging news with them. He learned that Eddard Stark had been made the Hand over the strenuous objections of the Lannister Queen and her supporters. Domeric felt this was a good move in some ways, horrible in others. Eddard was an excellent organizer, manager, and leader. What he wasn't was a politician or even a good dissembler. This could be very bad for the Starks. They don't play the game of thrones as the south does.

On the other hand, Ranma went with him to meet Margaery Tyrell, which in itself is curious. As a Tyrell, I have no doubt she is politically savvy and ambitious plus with him there if it becomes a physical contest it will go… poorly for their opponents. I have no doubt he has only become better since he was younger. For a moment, as he strode down the sunny, noisy street, he was once more back in his father's dungeons, blood splashing on the walls around him, watching in awe and not a little fear as a boy of twelve smashed his way through experienced men at arms, a wild snarl on his lips. Better to be part of the pack than its prey…

Other than that, he found a few interesting nuggets of information, mostly about a strange Red Witch that had been seen on Dragonstone and rumblings of something going on between the Iron Throne of Westeros and the Iron Bank of Braavos. That, for certain, would interest Illyrio. The Iron Bank was perhaps the most powerful bank in the world. If there was trouble brewing there, then chaos was sure to follow and from chaos, opportunity.

After a little while, his questions changed to his real purpose, though what he found out was not to his liking. His next contact was a man who Domeric had aided once when he and his band of wandering players had been waylaid by a group of bandits. The man's eyes narrowed as soon as he saw Domeric and the moment his set was done, he motioned the ex-Bolton to join him in the back room of the inn he and his band were staying at.

The moment the door was closed, the man said earnestly, "I don't know who you've taken up with Domeric but someone put out a notice to the city guards with your description. The dockside guards aren't supposed to allow you on any ship, the guards at the gates aren't supposed to allow you out, and the city guard is supposed to watch your movements as they can without being obvious. They've enlisted the thieves the beggars, innkeepers, and even some of us to watch to make certain you don't run. Whatever you've gotten yourself into, they don't want to let you back out."

Makes sense I suppose, they've brought me deep into their confidence. I could hurt them particularly with the fact I know how deeply Illyrio is involved. Without him, Viserys loses his power base and, as good as his guards and food tasters are, anyone can be assassinated for the right price. Domeric thought to himself, while on the surface simply smiling placidly ensuring the man he wasn't all that dangerous to know at present. He'd found a rich client, who wanted to keep his music all to himself. The bard didn't believe him but didn't care enough to press. "Anything else happening in the city?" Domeric asked.

The man shrugged. "One of the magisters is building up support for something and the pauper prince has been seen traveling to and from all of the high magister houses. I have no idea what that's about, though there are rumors of them all putting together some kind of purchase to be paid back later. But what they might be buying, that I don't know."

Domeric nodded and left the man. The story was the same elsewhere. Viserys and the magister were going around drumming up support. It appeared as if Daenerys forcibly halting the first plan of the two had forced them to actually think ahead for a change. Domeric had no idea what they were going to purchase, although it sounded as if it might be ships going by a few rumors he heard down by the port.

If so, they are obviously planning further ahead than I had expected, though they still haven't figured out how to convince the barbarians to cross the sea. Domeric mused, as he returned later that evening. In his pouch, he held a small bar of pewter. With that and some things from the kitchen, he would soon be able to fashion a duplicate copy of Illyrio's secret key.

OOOOOOO

Daenerys groaned in pain as she finished her porridge, having opened her mouth a little too wide. The damage that her brother had done to her face and body were on the mend but nowhere near healed yet. Most of the black and blue marks had faded on her chest and arms, but her face had come in for special punishment. The cuts and bruises there were still prominent even if she no longer resembled a mottled blueberry. Despite this, her thoughts were clear as she leaned back in her bed, frowning as much as her face could allow without pain.

To say that the beating had opened Daenerys' eyes to the manner of person her brother had become was an understatement. She could remember when they were younger, when he was her protector, her rock in the world after they were evicted from Ser Willem Darry's house by his servants. But the years of moving from place to place, relying on others for hospitality, then selling off all they owned, even their mother's crown, had stolen that from him. That aspect had worsened as the years went on but, until recently, she had still hoped he could be pulled back from the brink. But it seemed with a clear plan ahead of them to reclaim the Iron Throne that Viserys had gone power-mad, giving in utterly to the madness that was so prevalent in their line.

Daenerys wished it could be otherwise but the anger and fury that Viserys showed, the disregard for the cost of reclaiming the throne both to them and to those they would rule, told her that should he ever become king, it would be a disaster, not only for their line and its history but for the people of Westeros. As she had said to him, it wasn't enough to reclaim their throne; they then had to rule from it. They couldn't do that after building a mountain of skulls as he seemed to think they could. They didn't have dragons to overawe their enemies and, even if they had, dragons alone could not keep them on the throne.

A king cannot rule through fear, though perhaps the Lannisters are an example of how such could be done, she thought sardonically then shook her head. Yet, that is also because they are good governors, not just ruthless ones. Ruthless and pragmatic, that I could live with but Viserys isn't pragmatic, merely ruthless and wrathful. He wants to hurt everyone who didn't support our family, whatever their reasons, and he doesn't care how he does it. That is not only shortsighted but self-destructive.

Daenerys looked up as the door opened and Domeric walked in. She nodded towards the seat by her bedside and asked quietly, her mouth barely moving. "What news?"

Domeric shrugged looking over at her nurse, who sat in that nearby chair reading. There was always someone present in the room as both nurse and chaperone. "Well, there is some news in the city." He began to a few tidbits of gossip about runaway magisters daughters and sons, as well as other little things like that while the woman kept reading.

Eventually, another nurse came in. This one was one of Daenerys' watchers who Domeric knew had decided to switch her loyalties to the Princess. She exchanged positions with the nurse who had been there before and, almost as soon as the first woman was out of the room, Daenerys glared at him. "Now real news, please." she said firmly, not having enjoyed the gossip at all, such things were beneath her now. Somehow, her facial wounds did not take away from her sternness at that moment.

"Well in terms of real news," Domeric replied "I was able to get a certain item but it will take many days before it is ready. Many nights, at least a week, maybe two to avoid suspicion. After which, we can satisfy your curiosity about that particular issue. In other news, the magister and Viserys seems to be rounding up some backing among the other magisters. They're not having it all their own way, at least according to rumor, but a few have signed on for something big. They're also apparently commissioning ships to be built, which could be what they're rustling up money for, I'm not certain. I have no idea how much a ship costs, though I imagine it would be quite a bit."

"Possibly," he murmured, leaning back a little now, "if they figured out a way to convince the Dothraki to cross the sea, their plan could work. They could, at the very least, win your brother the throne if they had the element of surprise, though keeping him there would be something else entirely. If they didn't have surprise,…the Dothraki really don't have any tactics that would be applicable to taking fortified castles or holdfasts save by storm, which they are unsuited for. They are cavalry; take them off their horses to, say, scale a wall, and they lose most of their training."

Daenerys frowned thoughtfully, leaning back. Sometime during or after her beating she had decided that she would do everything in her power to keep her brother from the Iron Throne, the madness in his eyes as he spoke of taking it by force haunted her. Oh, a part of her wanted it for herself; it was after all their birthright. Viserys was right about that, at least. But now the majority of her thoughts were about not being his tool in his quest to take the Iron Throne. She looked him in the eye and said simply. "When the time comes, are you with me?"

Domeric knew she was speaking about more than just helping her with her present schemes, something he had been doing at least in part for the amusement of it. "Daenerys," he said gently, "I'm just a bard. I'm decent with a sword, good at ferreting out information, at sneaking around a little, but I have no idea where we would go, what we could do long term."

"That's not what I asked. Are you with me?" Daenerys repeated, her violet eyes locked with his brown ones.

Domeric looked at her, sitting there still somehow projecting an air of regal nature despite her wounds and despite being in a bed, this young woman who had begun to become someone who he would gladly give his allegiance to. He finally sighed and nodded. "I am with you.'

"Good." Daenerys leaned back a little, sighing faintly and relief, then opened her eyes and stared at him again. "Find out what the magister is hiding in that storeroom of his, there must be something we can use. Something expensive we can take to pay our way. I know a few captains who would be willing to take us aboard to get us out of the city regardless of our circumstances, so long as we can pay for our passage. We can worry about where to go once we are on our way." Domeric nodded, then listened as she spoke a few names, committing them to memory.

Over the next week, his efforts to procure the times he needed to first harden the makeshift mold and then melt the pewter into it bogged down badly. He had overestimated his cleverness in that area and he was forced to head out into the city in stages, lest he attract attention by the unusual nature of what he was doing.

More bad news piled onboard when he went to inquire at various taverns about the ship captains Daenerys had told him about. Not only did he have to ditch several followers whenever he neared the port section of the city, but neither of the two captains were in port at present. He eventually learned that one hadn't been heard of for over a year now and there was an order out for his arrest from one of the magisters. The second was due back in four months.

That evening, Domeric relayed that news to Daenerys. "I agree fleeing by sea is the way to go, the land route is too long and Illyrio's arm too long for that to be a good idea, especially if he informs the Dothraki that I have 'stolen' a gift he wished to give to their Khal. The problem is, your wounds will be healed in another two, possibly three months. After that, there is no way to get out of your marriage to Khal Drogo."

Daenerys' face firmed underneath her still present wounds. There was no way she was going to be married of to a Dothraki barbarian to serve her brother's mad schemes. "In that case, it would seem I must anger my brother once more."

OOOOOOO

While the Winterfell men and their Riverrun allies settled into their keep and pursued their own interests, Joffrey now continued his campaign against both of his siblings as well as Ranma, with the aid of a few servants as well as his knowledge of the keep. His attempts to bother Ranma were mostly foiled simply because he couldn't get to his room, guarded as it was by Fenris. The massive direwolf scared Joffrey more than anything else because it was both massive and it lacked the self-control that Ranma possessed. Ranma, for example, wouldn't simply attack Joffrey as a matter of course. Fenris had never warmed to him and his attempt to injure his brother on the trip down from Winterfell had solidified the wolf's low opinion of him.

Tommen felt the brunt of many of his tricks. Joffrey would randomly catch and mutilate an animal somewhere on the keep's grounds and leave some blood or other bits in his room. Of course, he was very careful never to let anyone see him doing this. He still didn't understand why this was different than his father's hunting expeditions but he understood that his father at least thought they were and Joffrey was leery of angering him. He also went out of his way to belittle the boy, ruining a few of his favorite books, his better clothing, and his playthings.

Myrcella was also bullied but not in this manner. Instead, Joffrey messed up her dresses, when he could at least. She was a much tougher target since Joffrey had no real reason to be in her room and sneaking in while one of her maids was there, which was almost constantly, was very tough. Still, he ruined a few of her dresses and, whenever they met in the hallways, he would suddenly become clumsy, stamping on her toes or otherwise attempting injure her.

Neither sibling went to their parents. This wasn't anything new, after all. For Myrcella, Joffrey had been doing little things like this for the last few years, increasing his depredations the longer he went unpunished. She was happy thinking that, for the most parts, she was simply his new target, not realizing that he had moved on to other things with Tommen.

Tommen of course didn't know who was behind it but the young boy was growing angrier and angrier with every incident. It was a strange sort of anger, oscillating wildly between the urge to lash out at anyone nearby and the desire to run and cry. He was determined however to handle this himself and with every week that went by the desire to do so increased with the dream of thrashing whoever was behind it.

Other than seeing his young trainee's anger at times, Ranma didn't know anything about this. In response to the visible emotion, he had started the boy on some mental tricks which seemed to help, though he was surprised that Tommy didn't just tell him what was wrong. Besides this, Ranma was, not exactly fitting in, but making a home for himself, in a way.

The tax ledgers had arrived within a week as they hoped so Ned and Ranma spent most of their mornings going over them. Neither had been able to make much headway but it was still early in Ned's tenure. Brynden, along with starting up his own small ring of contacts in the city, was also on the lookout for a competent money lender or law master they could hire to help. So far, he had no luck in finding such whose opinion they could rely on. Renly, for all his title as Master of Law, was no help whatsoever, leaving most of the daily business in the city to the Gold Cloak commander, Janos Slynt, who was a weasel of a man, if Ranma had ever met one.

While Ned spent the afternoon meeting with Renly, Petyr, and Varys, Ranma would exercise with Tommy, then move on into his own exercise against the men from Winterfell and Riverrun plus occasionally sparring against Ser Loras before spending some time with Myrcella and Fenris. The Flower Knight stayed in the city, ostensibly because there was no point in going back to High Garden just to turn around and come back for the tournament and Ranma didn't really care enough to look into the matter further. Those in the know however knew why.

A few of the White Cloaks joined them and even a few Lannister knights. Eventually, the training segued into multiple enemies against one, something that the few White Cloaks (which included Jaime) and Loras seemed to enjoy, since it more resembled an actual battle then one-on-one combat. Ranma lost a few of those, as well as one or two matches against the other blade masters, to keep up the appearance that he was merely an extremely skilled youth rather than the physical monster he really was.

During the evenings, Brynden would join Ranma and Ned for dinner, simple fair thankfully, since even Robert didn't throw balls every night and Ned only had to use the phrase 'working dinner' to make the King realize he didn't need his friend's presence at every meal. The Blackfish would tell them about his own investigations during this time, though in a nutshell it boiled down to 'nothing yet'. He had yet to find anything in particular concerning Jon Arryn's death, though he had found quite a bit about opinions about the North, about the Starks in particular, about the Royal family, and everyone else.

The Starks were seen as outsiders but honorable and friendly enough. They were known to be prickly and the civilians knew it. While many of them seemed to approve of it, many also saw it as a weakness. The merchants in particular seemed rather dismissive of the Starks, seeing them as poor barbarians. The men-at-arms did nothing to dissuade this opinion nor did Ranma or his father. Truthfully speaking, the only person from Winterfell who wanted to really fit in to life at Kings Landing was Sansa. To everyone else, this wasn't home, it was a foreign city where they were forced to abide.

Ranma personally felt the place was just vile in many ways so he loved the monthly evenings where the trio of Starks and Brynden would meet to listen to the notes from Winterfell. Even Sansa enjoyed listening as their father read out the messages, though there were bits of it that they did not share with her. Sansa was a sieve for secrets at the best of times.

Yet in terms of Kings Landing, there was much more industry and people here than even in White Harbor but the city was a cesspool from the top down. Ranma knew his father was doing all he could to clean up the top of the pool but it had yet to even begin to trickle down. He yawned, as he crossed the grounds toward the entrance of the keep, heading into the city today instead of training. His sense of honor wouldn't let him sleep when he could be out and about, hidden under the Umi-Sen-Ken, so he was out till early in the morning doing what he could to cut into the massive amount of crime in the city.

He had hoped to use his cloaking technique to spy on the potential enemies but Varys, Petyr, and the Queen all had set areas where they went to talk about anything and always locked their doors. Well, Varys and Cersei did, Petyr had other means to cover his discussions that he used, such as using the noise of a kitchen to obscure his voice or having it in plain sight at the evening table. Varys did that as well.

"Ho, Ranma, where are you off to?" Ranma turned to see Ser Loras, resplendent as always in the latest court fashion. Ranma felt it made him look a bit like a popinjay but he knew the other man had skill enough hidden underneath the softness. Ranma, in contrast, wore leather pants and a silk shirt he had bought here in the city. Ranma had missed the feel of silk since being reborn, though he did have to argue about not needed anything but a simple white shirt with the shirt-maker. Ruffles, lace, and pantaloons were idiotic ideas in his opinion.

Today, Ranma also had his warhammer strapped to his side and several scroll sheets bound together in his hand. Despite being in a bit of a rush, he smiled in welcome. "Morning, Loras. I'm heading out down to the Street of Steel. I need to order a new blade and its best to put in the order now, before people start to arrive for the tourney."

The other man smiled eagerly at the mention of the tourney, always keen to show off his prowess with the lance or even a sword. "I see, well I shall accompany you then. I have a friend arriving for the tourney whose name-day is coming up. A good knife would be an excellent gift, I think."

Ranma looked at him askance as the two men walked on. "This friend wouldn't happen to be your sister would it? I assure you, I won't do anything she'll need a knife to respond to. Your stories about her thorny side have been more than enough. Oh, is Renly finished that work on the laws my father asked him for?"

"Hahaha!" Loras laughed. "It was not my intention to scare you off her entirely my young friend, merely warning you what you are getting into." In truth, Loras had been rather miffed about his family deciding to pursue a match between Margaery and the Stark heir. He had hoped for a while that Margaery would marry Renly, giving him and Loras the perfect cover for their own love. Margaery was comely enough that so when the time came Renly could have gotten an heir on her. For the rest of the time, well Margaery had been known to dally with maids a time or two and certainly had some interest in that direction.

"The knife is in fact for a friend in the Stormlands, Ser Bryce Caron. He's a good man, though the last time we talked he was speaking of trying to learn how to fight with sword and dagger at once. And yes, I believe Renly was nearly finished up with the work your father, the slave driver, has assigned him." Loras laughed again and the two men made their way down into the city.

About forty minutes' walk brought them into range of the clangor of smith's hammers. "You will be seeing Tobho Mott, won't you?" Loras asked. "He's the best there is, he claims to be able to work with even Valyrian steel."

Ranma's eyebrows shot up at that claim. Brynden hadn't mentioned that when he recommended the name to him before they even arrived at the city. "Aye, I am, though that is surprising and encouraging." The two men continued up Visenya's Hill, each shop more expensive looking, until they came to the very last shop. This shop was larger than the others in the street with two stone knights riding a griffin and a unicorn on either side of the doorway. The door itself had a hunting scene carved into its ebony and weirwood panels. Ranma's eyes widened slightly at recognizing the weirwood and he shook his head sadly at this misuse of the wood.

The two young men entered, hearing the ring of hammer on metal from the back of the shop, which was separated from the front by cloth. There seemed to be two hammers at work, one far lighter than the other clanging away almost constantly, while the other was measured, steady. The other walls held a few examples of the smiths work, four fantastic pieces of armor in various colors though not by paint, a few swords that looked amazingly sharp and well formed, and two magnificent helms shaped into the likeness of a dragon and a lion.

A small desk sat along one wall, behind which a young man stood. "Yes, can I help you?"

While Loras began to look around the smithy, Ranma nodded. "Hey, I'd like to speak to the smith Tobho Mott, please. I'd like to order a sword but I have some specific requirements."

The man frowned and tried to convince him to buy a sword from the wall but Ranma gently tapped his warhammer, replying he had some specific requirements for a second time. The man frowned, then went into the back room, momentarily allowing Ranma to see the forge beyond.

After a moment, the steady hammering was replaced by a hiss, as steam appeared around the cloth. A few seconds later, a man came out to see them, staring at them with deep-set, intelligent eyes under a balding head in a face that had seen a lot of years go by. "Can I help you?"

"I hope so. You see, I wish to order three weapons, all of which I have very specific requirements for. I would like all three, two knives and one sword, to be made to my specifications and with a very specific mix of ores." He held up the papers he, Jon, and the armorer in Winterfell had made during their attempts to make Arya's blade. He began to tell Tobho about how he and the smith in Winterfell had worked together to create an entirely new (at least to this world) type of blade with an equally new way of mixing the various ores together.

Tobho at first was merely humoring the highborn fool who seemed to be trying to sell the smith a new way of making blades but, while many of the things Ranma described didn't seem too surprising, the nature of the steel they eventually made was. It almost sounded like Valyrian steel, except not worked to that high a heat or with the magic added in. Still, it was only a step below that. "I'll see if this alloy of yours really works, lad, but for now, show me the specifications for the blades you want."

Ranma had in fact drawn the blades. While his handwriting was abysmal, his sketching was pretty good. He had sketched out a katana but not like most he had seen in his former life. The one he based it on was made during the period where guns were being introduced into Japan. As such, it didn't have as much curve, it was slightly longer, and it was double edged. The groove was larger as well. "This is the sword I want. As you can see, it doesn't precisely match anything out there."

"I also want to order two knives, made like this." The knives were even more unusual. A very heavy triangle shaped blade rose from a peculiar handle which was made up of two parallel bars connected by two cross-pieces, one of which met the blade, the other just below it. The handle thus resembled an 'H' wide enough for a man to grasp the crossbar in his fist. The notes in the margin said it all had to be made of steel and all of it one piece.

"That is an interesting weapon lad, though I'm not certain how effective it would be." Tobho cautioned. The new weapons grade metal the lad had described however was interesting enough for him to ignore that.

Ranma smirked. "Trust me, in the right hands they can be deadly." In fact, given the chain and scale mail prevalent in combat in Westeros, the katar would allow a normal person to slice through them. The blades were going to be gifts. One would go to Tommen once he was ready for it and the other to someone else among the wolf-sworn. Ranma wasn't certain who just yet, although he had thought of another type of short sword he could order for Jon but wouldn't until he was going to be sent back to Winterfell.

As for the katana, such a blade would normally be at a disadvantage against plate or scale armor but with enough of a cutting edge and Ranma's speed and strength, that equation changed. Not even considering his new abilities in strengthening his weapons.

"Well, it's your coin, Lord Stark." The smith shrugged.

"Really? So you wouldn't be using this new type of sword steel in other projects if it works? I think I should have some compensation there, don't you?"

Tobho snorted. "Tell you what, Lord, I'll make the blade first. If the metal comes out as you say, I'll make the knives for free."

That won a gasp both from the man manning the desk and the young man who had just come out from the back of the shop, carrying a helm made to look like a stag's head, with sharpened horns rising from its helm. "You not charging full price for work, are you alright, master?"

"Enough out of you, Gendry." The man turned from talking to Ranma to take the helm from the young man. He held it up, turning it this way and that as he examined it critically. "That'll do, I suppose, lad. Take a look at these sketches. I'll be doing the mixing for these but you'll be doing the crafting for the knives once we see if the mix for the sword actually works. And as I was saying, if it doesn't work, you'll pay for the knives and the materials besides."

"So long as the blades come out as I want them to, I'll agree to that." Ranma nodded.

Loras had listened with only half an ear to the conversation but after catching his coming out of the back from the corner of his eye, the Tyrell knight had been studying Gendry closely. Gendry was a large framed young man, with wide shoulders, blue eyes, and thick black hair. He looked almost like a young Robert, save somewhat more muscled, and he seemed more given to brooding if his face was any indication. "Who is that helmet for, might I ask?"

"T'was the last of suit ordered by Ser Stannis Baratheon." Gendry answered. "Though I hear he's no longer in the city, hasn't been for months. Pity, it's one of my best pieces."

"Yours, hah! I was the one who made it, lad. You've just done the horns and the polishing, though I'll say you did an adequate job." Tobho barked, looking at Loras shrewdly. "Now back to work with you, Waters."

Gendry grimaced at the use of the last name, which denoted bastard status in the Crownlands, but did as he was told. Loras hummed thoughtfully to himself, then turned back to the smith, asking him to recommend a knife suitable for someone using a longsword and a knife at the same time.

After showing the Knight of Roses a few samples, Tobho sold him one of them and then he and Ranma finalized their agreement. After that, the two men left, with Loras going back to the keep, while Ranma wanted to explore the city for a bit. In actuality, he was meeting up with his uncle for lunch in the city at a tavern the man had found where they could hopefully talk without being overheard. Even with the job Vayon had done vetting the servants here and replacing as many of them as he could with those that had come with them from Winterfell, neither Brynden nor Eddard trusted anything they said wouldn't be overheard.

Brynden and Ranma were at this inn ostensibly because it had the best Vale mead in the city. Vale mead, made in the highlands of that mountainous land, was better and more alcoholic than any other sort but it went sour quickly, so exporting it was tough. Brynden had ostensibly gained a taste for it during his tenure as Knight of the Gate. He was also friends with the innkeeper from a while back, before said worthy had moved to King's Landing, and the noise and bustle of the tavern room covered their conversation.

"So, anything new to report?" Ranma asked, his lips hidden behind a mug of mead. The honey added to it made this the only alcoholic beverage he actually liked the taste of, despite the need in his new life to fake it at times. "Father will be in meetings all day and he's been so exhausted of an evening we won't have times to talk about anything then.

Actually, that was only partly the case. The rest was that, despite his natural intelligence, Eddard Stark was ill-suited to thinking in terms of secrets and plots. So while he was bearding the small council about its open graft and running a small investigation of his own into Jon Arryn's death, Brynden and Ranma dealt with the more subtle side of things in very different ways.

"The Queen has been sending bought agents through the city, searching for something, asking questions. No one was willing to tell me what that's about, but it is something to watch out for." Brynden took a sip from his own tankard, letting it obscure his lips as he added his next nugget of news. "I have also found out two important bits of information. One, that Grand Maester Pyrcelle took over Lord Arryn's care almost as soon as he fell ill and sent the Lord's own healer away."

Ranma frowned at that. One of the first things they had found out was that Pyrcelle was a loyal voice for the Lannister cause on the council. Varys and Petyr were more or less neutral, but Pyrcelle wasn't. Whether he reported to Tywin or Cersei was up in the air though, as he and the Queen, did not always agree when she took part of the small council discussions. "And the other?"

Brynden actually hesitated. "I don't know if this is actually important or not but Lord Arryn apparently had a mistress in the city. Or at least, he was seen a few times visiting a brothel, although he was only seen talking to the mistress of the place and her daughter. It is a very high end establishment, so getting any information about him out of anyone who worked there will be next to impossible, but a few other clients gossiped about it."

After a moment spent tugging at his pony tail, Ranma muttered. "See if you can find out who owns the brothel in question by tonight. If it isn't owned by Littlefinger, then it might be a clue to something. I'll try to sneak in and see what I can find out. The name of one of the girls wouldn't be Alayaya, would it? That name was mentioned on a message Lord Arryn had left on his desk."

"Yes it would, though I would take anything found there with a grain of salt." Brynden cautioned. "They had the key and plenty of time to clean up anything incriminating. Anything that was left there was left for a reason, like the poisoned book."

"Agreed, but it could still be worth a look. Other than that, be on the lookout for Northmen down on the docks at the Inn called Davey's Rest. If you hear of any, don't try to contact them; come and tell my father." At Brynden's intrigued look, Ranma chuckled a little. "My father might not be good at skullduggery but he is good at thinking ahead and Lord Manderly does have a trade fleet…"

Brynden nodded, hiding a smile behind a hand. "I see." He shrugged. "Other than those silver stag bits of information, I haven't come up with anything just yet. It's very hard to make any headway here; there are so many people who already have agents. Varys has personal agents as well as hundreds in his role as Master of Whispers. Petyr has both his own and agents of his office, the Queen has some, the High Septon has some, and Lord Renly has a few in the higher end districts. The Gold Cloaks have quite a lot of influence as well. I've also found at least a dozen 'king of thieves', small time criminals, who have agents here and there."

He sighed sadly. "As good as I am at noticing things, at reading people; this isn't a task I've ever even tried to do before. It has definitely been touch and go. Still, I'll keep at it. There is something big hidden here, some secret that the Lannisters are hiding. I'm not certain if it's connected with Lord Arryn's death but I don't believe in coincidences like that." What he didn't tell Ranma was that it was also personally dangerous. His life had been threatened more than once since coming to the city, and he had been assaulted twice.

Both times, it appeared to be a common mugging gone wrong but he had his doubts, hence why he now went around with five of the Riverrun men disguised as common toughs. They were actually sitting at a nearby table even now, waiting for him to finish talking to their Lord's grandson.

After that, the two men finished their mead, then parted company, with Ranma heading back up to the Red Keep. As he did so, Brynden made his way around the city to the market district, wanting to meet with a money lender to see if he could find a banker or someone else who was trustworthy enough to bring in to help Eddard and Ranma go through the tax ledgers.

OOOOOOO

Ironically, at the same time that Brynden and Ranma were talking about the difficulties the Blackfish was running into setting up his circle of contacts, Petyr Baelish was contemplating that very thing. I've been able to stymie the Starks push so far, Petyr thought. But The Stark pup and the Blackfish are proving difficult to get a handle on. I'm almost certain the boy's found a few entrances to the secret passages plus the Blackfish has made a few contacts and even created a safe zone for himself. He isn't making any headway beyond that, yet, but he is still too bright for me to be happy about allowing him to continue his activity in the city.

That doesn't even consider the headway Eddard's making in cleaning up the books and the small council. It's only a matter of time before he pushes for Janos to be replaced and, without him, I'll lose that cover among the Gold Cloaks. I'm also concerned with how much headway he's made pulling the Crown out of debt. He and Renly are now loosely allied and he is sometimes able to talk the Queen into agreeing with him. Plus, his push toward standardized ledgers and book keeping is worrisome. My own position is secure so far, I have too many cutouts in the books I gave them for them to connect me to the debt I've devised. Yet, if that push continues, I may have to use all of my cutouts, both in the books and in terms of pawns.

I thought Eddard would already have been following up on the clues I left him but he is surprisingly suspicious of the obvious. A good attitude, but a very unexpected one coming from a damned Stark. Couple that with the fact I can't be seen doing anything to Robert's bastards here in the city, since the bitch Queen already knows about them all. I need to be subtle in any further attempts to push their interest in that direction.

Is it Brynden's influence I wonder? That man has always perceived more than those around would suspect. While he isn't at home in this realm of secrets and spies, he knows enough to at least, as the sailors say, tread water. And that steward of Starks has done too good a job clearing out the servants in the tower of informers, both mine and others. I only have one left and she's a scullery maid with no chance she could leave or remove anything in their rooms without being found out.

I need to aim the Starks at the Lannisters further, yet I dare not do so in such a way to show my own hand. That will be a little tricky. I suppose it comes down to figuring out which of my operations to sacrifice to keep Eddard amused and myself free of at least the 'lions' share of their suspicion, which has so many different meanings here.

Petyr chuckled, then rang for a servant.

OOOOOOO

That evening, after Brynden had subtly told him that brothel in question, named, 'Flowers of All colors' of all things, wasn't owned by Petyr, Ranma moved over the rooftops of King's Landing, cloaked as always in his Umi-Sen-Ken in search of it. This was made more difficult by the nature of the brothel in question. It didn't advertise itself like most such establishments, being very expensive and discrete as well, relying solely on word of mouth among its noble, or at least very rich, clientele.

Eventually he spotted the small sign outside the large building declaiming his target. It was a very large building, two stories tall and at least as long as four regular houses. It had a single entrance protected by a silk awning right under the sign and all of its windows seemed to have blinds covering them.

Ranma jumped down to the street, waiting a moment by the doorway, clad in his stealth technique, for it to open. A moment later, a small group of richly dressed men entered. Ranma recognized one as a courtier but the others he didn't know. In any case, their opening the door allowed Ranma inside.

They entered and almost immediately came to a halt due to an argument in front of them. Inside was a large sitting area with a small bar, dozens of large cushions and chairs, and scantily clad young ladies moving around the clientele with a large staircase leading up to the second floor. Both whores and customers had moved well away from the source of the commotion.

Two heavily armed and armored bouncers stood with a statuesque black woman in a green silk vest with what looked like peacock feathers of yellow and green sewn into one shoulder. In front of them was a squad of four Gold Cloaks. They didn't have helms on, and seemed to have come here for some fun, but something had set them off. The two girls they must have been sitting with, a young black woman who wore an orange silk dress with a gold choker around her neck and a girl with dirty blonde hair wearing a cream colored dress, were being held by their arms by two of the men. The second girl had a bruise already beginning to form on her face.

Ranma however noticed that one of the Gold Cloaks, a man at the far back of the group, was looking around the room as if searching for something. He looked between his search and the girl with the bruise out of the corner of his eye.

"And I tell you we have already paid! If you gentlemen wish to partake, you will have to pay for yourselves and agree to the rules of the house just like any other customer! Protection payment is the way of the world but I will not pay one copper star more nor will I let you beat my girls as if they were common trollops!"

The Gold Cloak who had been looking around answered her, apparently the leader of this group. He snarled angrily. "And I tell you, woman, if you don't want further trouble you'll let us UNG!"

The 'UNG' was caused by Ranma having moved around the courtiers to where he stood right behind the Gold Cloaks. While he couldn't use ki techniques while clad in the Umi-Sen-Ken, he could easily punch, kick, or anything else. So he simply smashed the Gold Cloak leader upside the head, knocking him out easily.

The three remaining Gold Cloaks whirled, looking for whoever had attacked them, glaring at the courtiers who were the closest to them, having come right through the doorway. This allowed the two bouncers to move forward and, before the trio could do anything more, they found the bouncers with drawn blades at two of their throats.

The third man was the one holding the black-skinned girl and she took the opportunity to wrench out of his grip. He tried to grab her but a thrown rock came out of the air to slam into his forehead, sending him senseless to the ground. The girl laughed aloud, a tinkling sound in the air. "It would seem the Rock-Hurler has decided you should go, gentlemen."

Now the two conscious Gold Cloaks had blades at their throats and the unseen presence of the Rock Hurler. Speculation was rampant in the ranks of the city watch on what the Rock Hurler was, some kind of spirit, a single name given to dozens of people 'fighting the good fight', whatever that meant, or something else entirely. What was known was it was no respecter of rank. Several Gold Cloaks going about their regular business had been accosted before this and not a single clue as to who the attacker was had been left behind.

They decided to do the intelligent thing and raised their hands. A moment later, they were being escorted out of the brothel and a runner was sent toward the nearest barracks carrying an account of what happened. That way it would be their word against hers and the proprietress, whose name was Chataya, was well known among the noble and rich. The Gold Cloaks would be reprimanded severely for making trouble in what was one of the most nobly favored brothels in the city.

While her mother was dealing with this and the Gold Cloaks, the black-skinned girl was looking in the direction the rock had appeared from. There were no clients of any of her fellow girls in that direction and she wondered how it had happened.

After a moment, she turned back, only for a whisper in her ear to halt her movement, her eyes going wide in shock before she regained control. No one was close enough to overhear the voice and luckily business had once again begun around her so no one noticed her sudden start. "Is your name Alayaya?"

Alayaya froze, then nodded slowly, making as little movement as she could. The unseen voice responded promptly. "Good, I work for the Hand, Eddard Stark. From the old Hand's notes, you were one of his informers. I'm here to follow up on a rumor that Lord Arryn came here. What did he talk to you about?"

For a moment the Eastern Island girl stood, weighing the nature of the rumors of the Rock Hurler against the unseen nature of this voice and his proven capabilities. Whatever magic was keeping her from seeing the man she didn't know but it was obvious he could take action despite it. She decided to trust that at the very least, the voice meant her no harm, and replied by flicking her hair at the stairs. She moved in that direction, stopping to gather the injured girl to her, then moving on to a room on the second floor, following after the other girl.

This room wasn't made up as a normal prostitutes room would be, instead it was a nursery. There were five cradles in it, though only one was occupied at present, and there were even a few toys around. Whores did, after all, sometimes have children despite the moon tea and other methods to protect against that. Chataya took the pragmatic view that it was better to offer aid right here rather than kick out girls who might have many devoted customers because they didn't drink their tea. If the men didn't have to suffer, there was no reason the women did.

"I told you your baby would be fine, Mheagan." Alayaya smiled, watching the other girl play with her baby. "Though, I still say having him in the first place was a mistake." She nodded her head sharply to indicate to the unseen man that this was what Lord Arryn had been here to see.

"I don't get it," the voice confessed behind her confessed.

With Mheagan's back to her, Alayaya groaned a little, even as her lips twitched upwards at the amusing note of confusion in the whispered voice. Suddenly feeling a little braver about all this, she leaned back deliberately and almost shivered as she felt her back hit a warm solid surface. It was very solid and she could feel through her thin silk dress that it was powerfully muscled under an equally thin shirt of its own.

She was forced to move out of the doorway when Mheagan came toward them carrying her baby. "I need to go change Baara and then feed her before putting her down again. You don't suppose the mistress would let me out of working the rest of the evening?"

"Not a chance. My mother might be kind to us all but she is also a star-pincher of the first order. I'll head down in a bit and tell her you're busy but that's all." A moment later, they were alone, and Alayaya looked around. "Where are you now, Rock Hurler?"

"Over here." Ranma said, from where he was leaning against the wall by the doorway. "Why would Lord Arryn be interested in the baby? I mean, she's cute and all but I'm certain he'd seen babies before."

Alayaya actually giggled at that before moving in the direction the voice was coming from. She held up a hand, waving it around until she hit something solid. She touched what she hit, feeling the muscles of a man's chest under her fingers. There was something about this whole situation that was exciting, like the tales of her ancestral home that her mother had told her; about how jungle spirits would sometimes come alive to mate with a man or woman they desired. The idea of an invisible lover was thrilling to her.

Still, the black-skinned courtesan kept her mind on the task at hand. "If it were not for the good you've done throughout the city, I would not even think of sharing this with you. But that girl, she is a bastard daughter of the King. He was here a year and a bit ago and Mheagan didn't take her moon tea in time."

Ranma frowned in thought, wondering what would interest the Hand about one of the King's bastards. I mean, I've heard there's something like a dozen of them around, spread from here to the Neck and down to Dorne. What's one more? Still, it's a part of the puzzle, just like that book we found the evening we arrived here. Something about the bastards and the Baratheon line? I'll pass it on to my father; this is a bit too odd for me.

He was interrupted as Alayaya's fingers moved up from his chest, questing for his face. "I don't suppose I could convince you to dally with me a while? My mother's stories always said the jungle spirits were… ardent lovers. Can the same be said for one who has some of their tricks?"

Ranma shivered a little at her continued touch. It had been a long few months since he and Dacey had been together back in Winterfell, especially with the Queen and her little acts adding to it. Even a few of the servants had hit on him, making it worse. Still despite that and the blush suffusing his face, the heat of his body now threatening to break his control of the Umi-Sen-Ken, he answered in the negative.

"I'm afraid not. Sorry." And he really was. Despite his dislike for her profession, this girl was extremely attractive, with medium sized breasts, long, toned legs and a face that was simply beautiful. She was also seemingly gentle, sweet and intelligent, which added to the attraction. It would no doubt have been an amazing time. "I'm not one to have casual dalliances, no matter how tempting."

Alayaya sighed but did not leave off her questing hands. "Pity."

Ranma caught her hand in one of his, then dropped a large bag of gold dragons onto a small table set by the door beside him. "For your troubles, lady, and if you hear anything, get word to the inn 'Mountain Honey'. More will be paid then."

When she opened the bag, she gasped. Inside was enough money to pay for her time for a week of pleasure. "Are you sure I can't interest you in staying?" When she turned, however, she saw that the small window in the far wall was open, letting in the night breeze.

OOOOOOO

Two weeks after that incident, a party from High Garden arrived. There were fourteen knights from the Reach who were going to be entering the tournament in various ways, though none had as high a standing as Ser Loras, but that was beside the point. They had served as guards for Lady Margaery, her two maids, and her chaperone, septa Nysterica.

This was the first time Ranma was going to be introduced to his prospective bride and Ranma's first impression of her was that she was very pretty, with thick, curly brown hair falling to just above her bosom, large brown eyes set into pretty face with unblemished skin accenting a slender and shapely figure. In the formal stilted world of the welcoming ceremony, which both he and Robert surprisingly agreed were rather stupid, they couldn't get to know one another. That evening however was different.

As her prospective fiancée Ranma was allowed to escort her to a ball accompanied only by her chaperone and Loras, who stayed several feet behind them. The ball this time was being thrown by the Queen for their arrival and the arrival of several other parties for the tourney over the past week, not just from the Reach but also from the Stormlands, the Crownlands, and even from the Westerlands. This included Lancel Lannister, her cousin, who was going to take part in the melee and the joust, representing their family along with Jaime. Most of these were lords and ladies, and they roomed in the keep, filling it almost to capacity. Those of not so high a status got first choice of the inns in the city prior to the event.

Ranma didn't particularly like the look of the knights that had arrived from the Westerlands, particularly Lancel, who looked just as arrogant an asshole as Joffrey without as much reason to be. Thankfully, he had been taken aside by the Queen within an hour of his arrival. She ordered him to steer clear of Ranma and his father if he couldn't act as befitted his station on pain of sending him back in disgrace to Casterly Rock. Cersei still felt that Ranma's physical abilities were too dangerous to rouse if they could avoid it.

Margaery smiled at him, reaching forward with her hand to grasp his and leaning in close to kiss his cheek, a move that caused her chaperone to hiss behind them but Margaery was an old hand at this. "Good evening Ranma, we did not really get a chance to talk earlier. I know you have as many questions for me as I do for you. This whole marriage idea of our parents came out of the blue to me, though obviously I can see its advantages. I trust you do not find it too arduous?"

She tilted her head so that her hair fell to the side coquettishly and Ranma chuckled a little. She was acting like a sort of mix between the Queen and Nabiki, hiding so much while trying to be friendly, poised, and seemingly outgoing, but definitely manipulative. He decided to lay it on a bit thick to see how she responded. "On the contrary lady, I find myself well pleased with the arrangement so far. Of course, I am not going to immediately say I am in love with you but at least the rumors of your beauty understate the case."

Margaery smiled pleasantly at the complement, while her own eyes roved over Ranma. Despite the fact that he wasn't exactly dressed in the height of fashion, he still was pleasing to the eye. He was wearing leathers and a jerkin the same as any workman would here in the South, though of quite a bit higher quality. The wolf's head on his belt buckle was distinctive and certainly set Ranma apart. So too did his handsome features, which were rather startling to her.

She had been prepared for a stern Stark face. Ned was certainly known as dark and somber but Ranma's features were very handsome despite being almost pure Stark. And those eyes, those deep dark blue eyes that she could almost feel herself falling into. Suddenly the idea of marrying this young man wasn't so distressing. The fact he had his hair in a style almost like a Dothraki ponytail was sort of strange though.

Margaery Tyrell had been around fighting men most of her life and could tell from the way Ranma moved that he was one. She had also asked Loras his opinion on the young Stark upon her arrival and had been frankly surprised by the way that Loras spoke of them. There was actual admiration there for his martial skills. The fact that Loras had never actually beaten Ranma, save with several others fighting him all at once, had shocked her. She could count on the fingers of one hand the number of people in the Reach who could fight her brother on an even footing and the number was even smaller for those people who could beat him.

"You know," Ranma muttered to her as they walked, "I've never done this before, this whole meeting a stranger and trying to get to know them since you might be married to them thing." This statement actually included his previous life. Most of the times when he met a fiancée something else would come up and conversation had become somewhat easier, or they were 'friends' (for however short a time) before said announcement was finalized. How did you break the ice in this situation anyway? Ranma decided to go with his strength and simply asked out loud. "Er, so, tell me about yourself."

Margaery chuckled but found the direct approach rather refreshing. "Well, I'll start with the small things first I suppose, other than the things you already know such as my age and family." she smirked as Ranma snorted. "Besides that, I like to garden. I spend as much time as I can outside in the rose gardens of High Garden. I make my own perfumes when I can. I'm somewhat decent at embroidery and dressmaking, though nothing to write home about. I've heard your sister Sansa is excellent at both of those, I might ask for some pointers."

"Sansa would love that, I think she'd love talking to you at all really. She and Myrcella get along well, and the idea of talking to another highborn lady from the South, especially from the Reach, will delight her. After all, your home is known as the home of chivalry and fashion, even to us in Winterfell. But that's not really what I asked. I asked you to tell me about you, not the socially acceptable things you do."

Margaery looked at him with shock for a moment, somewhat appalled by how direct Ranma was, yet, at the same time, enjoying it. "Such a question isn't normally asked, at least not at this point in the courtship."

"I don't play by the rules." Ranma replied blandly. "So tell me, what do you think of Kings Landing for example, how much perfume do you have to put on daily to ignore the smell? Beyond gardening, what do you do when you can get away with it. Do you have any books you like?"

"I like horseback riding and I take care of my own horses when I can convince the stable hands to let me." She did indeed, though this was also an excuse she used so she could practice kissing with some of the stable hands, the handsome ones her own age anyway. One of them in particular had been very young and handsome, though of course she never let it get any further than kissing. The ramifications of not having her maidenhead would be a political nightmare for her family and could be grounds for the annulment of the marriage.

"In terms of books, I like history books, romances of course when I can find them, new ones for preference. I don't normally have to put on much perfume to ward away the smell but I do have an extra strong perfume I use exclusively while I'm here. I've been here a few times over the years since the Rebellion, mostly with my father, so I knew what to expect." She didn't actually answer his question about King's Landing since that could too easily segue into politics. That was an area she didn't want to go into with the Stark heir, not if she could help it.

Ranma looked at her as she spoke and Margaery found it rather flattering that his eyes did not stray down to her bodice, which in her current dress was rather on display. "I prefer my own feet really, mainly because I can out run any horse I've come across, so far." He paused as they came to the doors into the dining hall, where the festivities it would commence. "So tell me, and I'd like the truth milady, what was your first reaction to this whole marriage idea?"

The brunette heard a faint cough behind her and groaned mentally. It would appear as if her older brother had said something he shouldn't have and Margaery frowned, trying to think of a way to salvage it. Yet, something in Ranma's eyes made her pause. He was asking for the truth not an embellishment or some kind of pretty, flowery response.

She decided to go with honesty for the moment, at least. "I was against it. I didn't see the point to it. Winterfell and the Starks are seen as sort of weak here in the South. Yes, you command the North and the North is large but that's all it has going for it. You can't match the coinage of any of the other nations, you can't match the trade, and you can't match the manpower. It's estimated that, at best, House Stark could raise two thousand men before impacting its own lands horribly and the majority of them would be untried smallfolk. I can name several houses in the Reach alone that could exceed that, let alone my own house."

"But then we began to think about the political aspect. Your father is a close friend of the King and we thought that perhaps he would be joining his house to yours before word even reached us that Prince Joffrey was to wed your sister. This way we also join with the King's family and become that much closer to the crown. Personally, I don't look forward to Winterfell, if we do get married. I have never felt the cold as I'm certain my brother told you." Margaery turned to glare back behind her and Loras chuckled, waving her off. He had long since become immune to her glares, mores the pity. Her grandmother's glares could curdle milk but Margaery had never really gotten the hang of them,.

"Physically," she went on turning back to Ranma, "I have to say that I'm glad I am to wed someone of my own age. Too often ladies of standing are married off to people much older than ourselves. So while I am somewhat displeased with the idea of moving to Winterfell, I cannot say I am displeased with the match itself." Ranma nodded and they continued on their way. "So tell me about yourself?" she said nudging him in the side slightly.

Ranma had wondered what exactly to tell her when she asked that question. Telling the truth never even crossed his mind. Her response to his last question, however, told him a bit more about her. There is a mind behind that pretty face, though if she is trustworthy, I don't have a clue about.

Luckily, if he decided that he and Margaery would not be a good match, his father had given Ranma permission to back out from it. His mother would be unhappy, rather a vast understatement there, but Ned at least would understand and there were other considerations at this point as well. "Well, beyond the obvious, I am somewhat of at a savant when it comes to anything combat related. I have been from a very early age. This has got me into quite a bit of trouble at times but for the most part has served me well. I like telling my younger siblings fairytales, most of them I make up myself and they're a big hit. I regaled the two younger Royal siblings with them coming down from Winterfell and they loved them. I suppose if I wasn't my father's son I could've become a bard somewhere."

"That reminds me of a song I've heard about you, detailing the fall of House Bolton. Was there any truth to it?"

Ranma growled a little, a sound that was rather more primal than anything else Margaery had ever heard, and it sent a little shiver through her. "There is some truth to it I suppose. The fact that I was captured by Lord Bolton's bastard son is true enough, though there were no flowing locks and there was certainly no damsel in distress. The damsel was in fact Lord Bolton's true born son Dominic and I refuse to speculate as to why he changed his role in the affair to that of a woman."

For a moment, that phrase didn't register and then Margaery burst out with laughter, while Loras looked a little irritated, for some reason, behind her. She sent a teasing glance his way and then snuggled into Ranma sighed cooing gently "I don't know either." before pulling back at a hissed warning from the septa. She noted that he had stiffened at her touch, moving away slightly.

Ranma realized he was missing something there but shrugged it off for now. "Anyway, I like to travel, though mostly by myself or with a few other people who can keep up with me. Most of the time when I travel I have to do so as my father's voice but it's still fun nonetheless."

As he went on to describe his friends, Margaery listened intently, rather shocked by what she was hearing because she could see through the friendships to what they represented. Oh, she didn't doubt that the young men were friends but what really was happening here was the Lord of the North strengthening ties to every other highborn family in the North, making his own position that much stronger. It was a startlingly subtle way of strengthening your position. Though Margaery could tell that Loras was more concerned about the Wolf Sworn, as Ranma rather jokingly called his friends, than she was, rather than what they represented.

The rest of their discussion was made up of anecdotes from their childhoods, the two of them getting to know one another, which Margaery, rather surprisingly, found was more fun than she thought it would be. She was careful however to not become too friendly with the boy, despite her flirtations. The fact that Ranma too seemed to wish to keep her at arm's length was a surprise but his self-control surprised her. When she leaned in for a kiss, Ranma turned his head slightly to kiss her on the cheek rather than the lips. When they left her brother and the septa behind for a moment as they made their way into the holdfast, Ranma didn't try anything and he always made certain they stayed at a decent distance form one another.

During the festivities, they separated as Margaery went to sit with Loras at one side of the Royal table while Ranma sat with his father. Studying them together, it was clear to Margaery that the two of them were close, though neither was exactly easy to read. She wondered if the way they stood out was deliberate or not. Even here in a royal setting, the two of them dressed simply as they could get away with. Where most gentlemen wore doublets and hose, fine silk shirts, and pantaloons, the two of them wore dark leather pants and simple jerkins, well-cared for and clean but out of place here. She was almost certain that it was deliberate, yet it seemed so out of character for the Starks from what she knew of them and their family.

Prince Joffrey Baratheon was at the opposite end of the spectrum, however, and she studied him intensely. She was very well aware of her grandmother's injunction to see if she could somehow seduce him and convince the Queen, at the very least, into backing a marriage to her rather than to Sansa Stark. On the surface, that job seemed to be relatively easy. The boy's eyes had followed her the moment she and Ranma entered the hall, like many others, and even now, while he was supposed to be speaking to Sansa, Joffrey kept on glancing her way.

The obvious adoration and possibly love, she couldn't say for certain, in Sansa's eyes for the Prince was rather off-putting. The country girl didn't seem to realize that Margaery was checking Joffrey out and vice versa but after a few minutes, Margaery stopped, sighing mentally.

Physically at least, Ranma was a much better prize than Joffrey. Joffrey was handsome in a sort of… lukewarm way. He certainly was dressed in the height of fashion and she saw he knew his way around the court as she watched them later that evening. But after Ranma's discussion with her earlier, that didn't appeal to her as much as she had thought it would. There was just something so real about Ranma, as if he was the most solid individual in the world, a poor description perhaps, but still one she could form even mentally into words.

Perhaps it's because he seems so exotic to me in comparison to what I'm used to. He is direct, where others would be using the flowery rhetoric other suitors have attempted. He wants to know what I think not just what I say. He watches me, my face, not my body. He is so composed, yet there he is now, laughing and playing as if he didn't care that they were in the middle of the court, where all eyes watch constantly. Margaery thought as she moved away from her brother, who had claimed the first dance.

This was an old family ploy, allowing her more time to analyze the flow of the party and figure out if there were any factions at work among the womenfolk and for a moment she left off thinking of her possibly betrothed to see what she could see. There didn't seem to be any factions, among the women at least. Every woman she saw was in some fashion either paying homage to or dancing attendance on the Queen if they weren't with a man or dancing in truth. Even Sansa was. As a betrothed, there should be a clear limit on how much time she should spend with her betrothed over her family but either she doesn't realize that or doesn't care. Odd, is that something I should put down to her being from the North or how besotted she seems by the prince?

The only exception to this rule was the young Princess Myrcella. She chuckled lightly at watching the Baratheon princess giggling her way around the room once more on Ranma's arm with Ser Jaime, let off for the evening, smiling and waiting his own turn. Ranma seemed to treat her as a younger sibling and it was attention that the young girl was eating up. I can understand that. I doubt the Queen or King have much time for the younger siblings and, judging from the stories he had told, Ranma was a perfect guard and big brother figure. Sort of like myself and Willas. Despite their deference in ages, Willas, the oldest Tyrell sibling, had always treated Margaery kindly and with great affection, always making time with her and telling her stories.

The glances the young girl sent Ranma's way from beneath her long eyelashes however told Margaery that her feelings were definitely not sibling-like. "Oh dear, someone seems to have a crush." she murmured tilting her head just slightly to the giggling girl in Ranma's arms as the pair went by.

Loras chuckled. "I have seen the same thing, though I will say that Ranma hasn't done anything to encourage her one way or the other. Well, other than dancing with her at occasions like this. That is more to defend himself from the affection of the ladies of the court, though it also serves as a warning to others." His face and tone became grimmer with those last words. "If I could direct your attention to one of the Kingsguard, Ser Maryn Trant? You can see him over my left shoulder, at present."

"He is an odious looking fellow." Margaery kept her own voice light and airy, lest they be overheard. In the hustle and bustle of the Hall, this was an almost certainty but tone sometimes mattered more than words, though it was a warning to Loras as well. He took it with aplomb and nodded faintly.

"He is that. Luckily, he isn't assigned to one of the siblings. I shudder to think of what he might try. He seems to be one of those that like little girls. Fortunately, Ranma seems to have missed that or the King would be short one more Kingsguard."

"Surely he wouldn't be so foolish as to simply attack the man with no proof."

"I have spent time talking with him and I have come to the conclusion that young Ranma is almost frighteningly direct at times. And if he is direct with Ser Trant, the man's body will be found in the morning, dead. He killed Ser Greenfield in Winterfell did you hear?" After that, Loras related the public story of what had gone on in Winterfell.

"I see." Margaery murmured, now a little worried at how many enemies Ranma's attitude would add to the list his family already had. Her brother wasn't one to know anything about politics, really He let that to his lover, though obviously she wasn't supposed to know that but it was one of the worst kept secrets in High Garden. "And what does Renly think of him?"

"Sharp, intelligent, direct were his words, I believe." Loras showed no concern about his younger sister asking her that question. It wasn't exactly a secret that he and Renly were friends, after all. "He hasn't made any enemies yet, but he will, Renly is certain. Direct people tend to not last very long here."

"Which makes me wonder why you've done so well, brother dear?" Margaery murmured wickedly as the song ended. The two of them bowed to one another once more and moved apart. Her brother merely laughed.

She made certain to dance with the Prince several times, getting the measure of Joffrey through discussion and the way he held himself. He was arrogant young man, she thought grimly. Yes, he was intelligent enough, yes, he could carry on a conversation but he didn't seem to be really listening to her. He didn't seem to pay particular attention to her words, only her body. When they touched one another as part of the dance, he did so with exactly the right amount of strength and energy, well-trained but there was still something about it that bothered her. His cockiness, too, is the kind that will get him or others killed and as the Crown Prince, it is far too likely to be other people. I must do some research among the servants here however, the better to discern his real character.

Margaery wasn't the only one watching of course. While Robert and Ned were oblivious to the games going on, Varys and Petyr were not. They both frowned wondering what kind of game High Garden was playing. The Queen too frowned, wondering what was going through Margaery's or, better yet, Olenna Redwyne's head.

Ranma too noticed, though he didn't do anything about it right now, merely watching out of the corner of his eye. Brynden had warned him about things like this. The Tyrells were known to always be on the lookout for ways to better their position and even marriages were weapons in the game of thrones, as Cersei had called it.

Later that evening, Ranma confronted Margaery in his usual blunt manner. "So, is it by personal preference you're trying to get close to the Prince or is that an order from your family?"

"You are smarter than you look, though even asking such a question is breaking all rules of decorum." Margaery replied with a faint smile, taking his hand as he once again escorted her back to her quarters in the Maidenvault. She would remain there with her two maids as well as her female chaperone, who, with Loras, was even now following them once more. "I was ordered by my father."

"You mean Lady Olenna." Ranma interrupted. At Margaery's cocked eyebrow, he shrugged. "The Blackfish is remarkably good at ferreting out information from rumor. He also apparently met your grandmother at one point. He gave me a quite interesting description of her and then warned me never to cross her, ever."

"Sound advice with dealing with any highborn girl." Margaery said rather wickedly smirking at him.

"So you are being told you're going to have to play both of us." Ranma frowned, moving back to the current discussion. "I will not lie, lady. That bothers the hells out of me. Not just the fact that you're willing to do it, or even can do it but the fact that your family made an agreement with mine to see if this could work and still ordered you to try for a greater prize." That last word was said with scorn, although Margaery could not tell if he was directing it at Joffrey or her family and her for making the attempt.

In fact, it came from both what Margaery was doing and his memories from his past life. Ranma could all too easily see both himself, much as he didn't like to admit it, and Akane, leading on more than one person, in how Margaery acted. Not to mention Genma, who would have no problem breaking one agreement for a better one.

"Such agreements are not worth the paper they aren't even written on, Ranma," she said and flinched slightly at the look in his eyes. Normally, if someone looked at her like that, Margaery would become angry or even respond hotly but there was something so disheartening about it coming from the Stark heir.

She went on anyway. "Your honor is seen as something old-fashioned and useless, most particularly in Kings Landing. The game of thrones is at its most serious here." she went on noting that Ranma seemed to recognize the phrase, although why he flushed a little she didn't understand. "Family is everything, getting closer to the throne is the goal. If I can, I will woo Joffrey away from your sister, for the betterment of my family's position.:

"I might prefer you over him and indeed I do," she said earnestly looking at him and holding both of his hands in hers, though that wasn't something she would have considered sharing and actually being honest about, as little as a day ago. "But family comes first and the great game means I must make an honest attempt."

Ranma sighed heavily, looking down at her. "I cannot condemn you for following the rules of this game as it is played out here in the south. But neither will I play along with it. I do not play games, lady, not of this sort. Not with my heart or with my honor."

"This isn't a game! That's just a stupid name that someone came up with long ago. Politics is deadly serious. Who would you have closer to the throne, us or the Lannisters? Or Dorne? They have no knowledge of the rest of the Westeros; they care not for our ways of life. We must, my family must move ourselves closer to the crown."

She neglected to say that High Garden was both one of the most powerful of the realms and, yet in a way, the most vulnerable. It had none of the natural defenses of the Vale, nor did it have the equivalent of the Moat like the North, the protected pass into Westerlands, the deserts and the mountains of Dorne, or even the harshness of the land to dissuade invaders in the Stormlands. The Crownlands, The Riverlands, and the Reach were the most vulnerable and open of the nations. The Reach was the richest land of the three and could field larger armies without damaging their economies than any of the other lands but still they were vulnerable defensively.

"If we wed," Margaery continued, "If we wed, I will be loyal to death. You need never have any doubts about my fidelity or loyalty once our vows are said. I will never take any other man to bed. I will never do anything to dishonor you. I will be loyal to you and to our family, both sides, once our vows are said. But until then, I have to keep my options open and play the game the best I can."

"I said I wasn't preventing you doing it and I meant it." Ranma replied mildly. "Continue to act as you see fit, just do not expect me to treat you as anything more than an acquaintance until I know I can trust you. My heart is only open to family and friends, lady, and by your own words I cannot trust you with it yet."

By this point, they had covered the walk to the Maidenvault and Margaery felt her minders moving up from behind them as they came to the entrance. Margaery nodded. "I suppose I cannot fault you for that." Ranma smirked at her, causing Margaery to actually flush a little, then raised one of her hands to his lips, kissing the back of it gently before turning without another word and walking off.

Margaery watched him go, her thoughts rather more clouded than they normally were. Ranma was much more handsome than she had thought he would be but she could have easily ignored that. Handsome men were a copper star a dozen. But he was also much more observant. He didn't have nearly enough knowledge to make sense of the court or the factions, and he seemed uncaring of how much influence mattered. Despite this, she found herself rather interested in him. His direct manner, his honor, his sense of humor, once he got past that initial moment of confusion and embarrassment, was rather fun.

She wasn't certain the two of them would get together. She had told the truth, despite her own misgivings about Joffrey having now met the boy, she still had to make a strong try for him. Yet, it was obvious that Ranma would not be willing to simply play along. Margaery would have to make an honest attempt to be with Ranma as much is with Joffrey, which was a prospect she didn't find bothersome at this point.

For now, the Rose of Tyrell shook off that thought, concentrating on a note she would be sending her father, really her grandmother, via raven the next morning. It was going to be interesting what the 'queen of thorns' made of this.

OOOOOOO

Myrcella had hated Margaery at first sight. To be sure, she had met the older girl one or two times and had gotten along with her as well as could be expected from such a wide difference in ages. Yet the moment Margaery showed up, hanging off Ranma's arm as they came into the hall, Myrcella had hated her. Since they had arrived, Ranma had made time to be with her when he could, solidifying their friendship and making Myrcella's crush on him grow further, into something she felt she could rightly call love. He had tried at first to make time to be with Sansa but Sansa still refused to apologize, causing an ever widening rift between them with every week that passed.

She had been ecstatic when instead of monopolizing the beautiful (even Myrcella had to admit she was that) Margaery's time during the dancing section of the evening, Ranma had made time for her just as much as he had that first night upon their arrival in Kings Landing. She was also very pleased that he didn't seem to be as taken with her beauty as, say, Joffrey was. Joffrey seemed to oscillate wildly between staring at Margaery and staring at Sansa, who Myrcella could tell were indeed the two most attractive girls around their age there.

Throughout the evening Myrcella was torn on what to do. On the one hand, she could see that Margaery was flirting with Joffrey almost as much as she seemed to flirt with Ranma. In fact, she seemed to switch almost entirely to Joffrey once Joffrey made his own interest in her apparent. Sansa had looked rather hurt but haven't done anything about it and seemed mollified when Joffrey apologized later about having had a little too much wine. In a way, Myrcella had to hand it to her brother. He was becoming very good at hiding his true personality behind that friendly face.

Maybe if the façade was the reality, I wouldn't be ashamed to share blood with him. Myrcella thought coldly, as she was assisted into a simple everyday dress by one of her maids. Her loathing for her brother had solidified in the time they had spent on the road and it had not changed for the better since their arrival back home. Though he was very careful to never show anything more of his real personality to Sansa, their mother or anyone else, Myrcella knew the beast underneath the disguise. If Margaery is willing to make a play for him, that might actually work to my own advantage. If nothing else, I need to make certain Ranma isn't taken in by her.

With that thought foremost in her mind, the young Princess moved from her room in the Royal suites down to where Ranma could be found every day exercising with a few men from Winterfell. Not many were up this early since most had begun to follow local costume to sleep in as much as they could, most particularly the men-at-arms, who were free on their off hours to visit the fleshpots of the city, though Myrcella wasn't supposed to know about it.

So focused was she on her mission, that the Princess didn't even notice when Ser Oakheart followed her like a silent shadow from the moment she left her room. Even here in the Red Keep, every member of the Royal family still had his or her shadow among the Kingsguard. Ser Oakheart in particular took his duties seriously, assigned to Myrcella nearly 24/7, with only Ser Jaime and Ser Moore spelling him, mostly at night. Ser Trant had at one point been on the detail for the Princess as well but he and Oakheart had argued about his actions during that time and Ser Barristan had changed the man over to guarding only the King.

Ranma was indeed already up, running around the inside of the outer fortifications of the keep, moving as fast as a sprinter despite having already completed several circuits. He'd already been up for several hours and had taken off his shirt to better preserve it for later in the day. Unlike Sansa, Ranma didn't have so much clothing as to go out of his way to destroy them.

He slid to a halt as soon as his spotted Myrcella, moving quickly in her direction with a smile on his face that again caused her to flush, along with his shirtless chest. It made her wish yet again that he was smiling at her for reasons other than welcome. There was this warmth hidden underneath Ranma's Stark features that was astonishing coming from someone from the North or, indeed, anyone really. It called out to her, aided by his looks and the fact he saw her, Myrcella the young girl, rather than the daughter, the Princess, or any of the other hats she was forced to wear.

"Hello, little princess," Ranma said in his most informal manner, bowing grandly to her before grinning. "To what do I have the pleasure of your company this morning? You normally sleep in after an evening of dancing like that. Is something wrong?"

"I…" She paused and flushed even further under his blue eyes. "I hoped to speak with you before you met with Tommen later." This was her cover but it was also a bit of a truth. She wanted his opinion on what was bothering her youngest brother. "Have you noticed a change in his attitude since coming home?"

Ranma nodded seriously, moving over to where he had left a towel before he began his run. He started to towel himself off, never noticing how Myrcella seemed to follow the movement with wide, blushing eyes. By the time he turned around, she had managed to gain control of herself. "I have, I thought that maybe one of the courtiers or one of their kids was doing something that keeps making him angry. He seems to wish to handle it himself however and until he comes to me for help I'll let him. I can't solve all of your problems for you two after all, you can't learn that way."

"I suppose…" Myrcella replied hesitantly. Normally, she would simply put it down to Joffrey but he seemed to be spending most of her time targeting her or with Sansa, which was what Myrcella wanted. But the really was worried about her younger brother, he seemed so angry these days whenever he was with her, their mother, or their father, who was spending more time with him. Robert and Tommen's relationship had grown closer since coming back, though Tommen still tended to read a little too much for Robert. The King had even taken the young boy out on a few hunting trips. "It's just I worry."

She came closer to him, touching his arm lightly, as she had seen her mother do at times to a few men. "I also wanted to warn you about Margaery. I," she paused, then went on hurriedly. "I saw her flirting with Joffrey last night."

Ranma looked down at her, smiling faintly as he ruffled her hair. "Thanks for watching out for me, Merry, but Margaery and I talked and I warned her that so long as she was willing to play these games for her family, I would respect her decision but I wouldn't let her close to me."

Myrcella breathed a sigh of relief, for much more than the words. "That's good." They stood there for a moment then Myrcella realized that she really shouldn't be alone with him regardless of whether or not she was physically safe with him. She could see Ser Oakheart well out of hearing range, but they had turned around slightly from her arrival however so that she was mostly hidden by Ranma's bulk.

Knowing Ser Oakheart couldn't see her and feeling greatly daring, she leaned up and kissed him quickly on the lips before darting around his startled form. "In that case, Lord Stark, I bid you a good day." With that ultra-formal ending, she raced off, blushing hotly.

Behind her Ranma stood there rather stupefied for a moment then shook his head with a chuckle. I guess she's got a crush. I wonder what I did to deserve that? I was just being me. Hopefully she'll get over it; I wouldn't want things to be awkward between us.

"Well that was interesting." said a voice behind him and he turned to see Margaery coming towards him from around a bend in the tree line of the Park where he had just been running, followed by one of her chaperones. "You look like a poleaxed deer." she said critically.

Ranma barked a laugh, shaking his head. "What, no flowery, impassioned words this morning, my lady?"

"You seem to like plain speaking; I shall do my utmost to oblige you. Was that the first time she tried something like that? The Princess should be careful. Loose lips could sink her ship, if she is seen to be flirting with you in such a manner."

Ranma laughed a little louder at that. "I wouldn't worry about it. That's the first time she's tried that and I have no doubt it's just a silly little crush. My sister, for example, used to have a major crush on your brother Loras just from the tales we heard about him in Winterfell. Alas, her preferences changed to Joffrey when they met. What was your first crush, my lady?"

The Tyrell maiden joined his laughter, shaking her head, yet she answered readily enough that she had a crush on one of the knights that served her father, a somewhat older man but who was among the most dashing she had ever met. In her mind however, Margaery wondered if the princess' crush was really a simple crush or something more serious. Still, if the little girl thinks she can handle adult matters, then I may have to disabuse her. She never even noticed how possessive her thoughts about Ranma had already become as the two of them walked off to the morning meal.

OOOOOOO

Melisandre, priestess of R'hllor, had always felt definite in her path. Ever since she had first begun to have visions of the Azor Ahai, the warrior of light, she had known her path was to find him. Her furor for R'hllor and desire to convert the heathens had alienated her from even other Fire Lord worshipers but she cared not. If they did not see their duty to convert those heathen followers of the Seven or other Gods, then she would make up for it with her own efforts. Her visions had brought her to Dragonstone and she set to converting Lady Selyse Florent, Stannis Baratheon's wife, to the worship of R'hllor, the better to get access to her husband. Of course, this way she would also already have a powerbase before having to prove her powers to him.

Of late, most of her attempts to see the far future had produced little usable information despite her best attempts. The short term future she could still see and interpret easily enough but the rest was a muddle of images. Too many for her to separate, of lions, wolves, and stags, all locked in battle and of a strange image, a wolf-man holding a kind of fire, not R'hllor's holy fire, in his hand. It was as if the future was in flux constantly. Something had changed, something R'hllor refused to, or could not, share. That was worrisome and when that thought first occurred, she had wondered if she had somehow failed her god. Such a thought was so foreign though that it could not remain in her head, however.

Soon Stannis would come to see her power as well. Soon Cressen would make his misguided attempt to poison her. His faith in the Seven would not save him from R'hllor's fire and, after that, the Azor Ahai would come to believe in her powers. Together they would march forward into destiny.

OOOOOOO

After she arrived, Ranma split his time between his normal routine and spending time with his fiancée, though this was no great hardship despite his decision to not get emotionally involved with her at this point. Besides Margaery was very intelligent and some of her comments, now that she knew she could play it straight with him, were rather biting when it came to Kings Landing.

Her sense of humor was fun most of the time, though Ranma noticed a certain tension whenever she and Myrcella were in the room. He liked Myrcella and he didn't know why Margaery thought that her little crush was anything really important. And later that week, Margaery's initial reaction to Fenris hadn't been her best moment.

OOOOOOO

"Ranma," Margaery said sweetly as she closed the door to his room, calmly, very calmly. "Why in the Maiden's name do you have a monster in your room?"

"Oh, that's just my direwolf, Fenris." Ranma replied from where he sat in the sitting room, smirking at her after setting aside one of the ledgers of the Gold Cloaks that his father had asked him to look at. Janos' bookkeeping skill wasn't exactly organized but he was uncertain if this was deliberate or not yet, much like his father's impression of Petyr Baelish. Margaery and her minder had come in to spend some 'supervised time' with him. She had offered to play him in a game of chess and had gotten up to get the game board from his room. "Don't worry, he won't hurt you. Well, he might lick you to death but that's about it."

"This is a very expensive dress I'm wearing Ranma." she muttered, calming down a little from her shock. "He better not try to lick me." She reopened the door and gulped again at how huge Fenris appeared simply sitting there in front of the door. She had been around her brother Willas' dogs many times but even though they were hunting dogs, big and tough, they weren't this big or this wild looking. Sitting up on his hind quarters Fenris as he was now, he was almost as tall as Margaery, and much more massive. "Um, good dog?"

The growl that sounded from deep within that cavernous throat signaled something she said bothered him.

"He doesn't like being called a dog." Ranma said, waving one hand to indicate she should get out of the way. "Something about status, I think, or maybe he doesn't like the assumption he's domesticated."

Fenris padded around Margaery, his nose lifted haughtily in the air as he moved toward his bonded human. Ranma grinned, rubbing the wolf's head for a few moments, paying particular attention to his neck fur as the large beast rumbled happily. Margaery watched the two of them together for a moment, then decided that Fenris was relatively harmless and went to get the board.

It took Fenris two and a half weeks to get accustomed to Margaery and the particular smell of rose and honeysuckle that she used in her homemade perfume, primarily it must be said, because the honeysuckle reminded him of a bit of an adventure he had many moons ago during the trip down to this man-place. Bees may be small but their stings hurt!

But to Margaery that was time well spent. It had taken her only two days to realize that Fenris was much more intelligent them any normal animal should be. He was also much more dangerous, going by the fact that he alone was able to fight Ranma on an almost even footing while seven men-at-arms couldn't do the same thing. She had seen both of sorts of matches since her arrival here and understood what that meant.

Still Fenris was a little too large for her and he didn't seem to care one way or another about her either. Where Fenris would let Myrcella or Tommen pet him, scratch his ears, and even curl up with them, acting like a furry sofa for the children while they watched Ranma exercise before Tommen took his own turn, he would only let Margaery pet his head.

Myrcella seemed to take this a sign so while she didn't flirt with Ranma she made a point of spending time with him. But this did not go unnoticed.

OOOOOOO

Myrcella entered the Queen's chambers with a bit of trepidation, not knowing why she had been summoned. "You wanted to see me, mother?"

Cersei sat on a small window seat, gazing out over the city with a grim sort of set to her mouth, though her eyes weren't exactly tracking until she heard her daughter's voice, upon which Cersei came back to the here and now. "Yes, come in, sweetling, and close the door. The two of us need to talk."

That did nothing to settle Myrcella's nerves but she sat across from her mother willingly. The relationship between the two was somewhat odd. Myrcella knew Cersei cared for all her children, yet she always took Joffrey's side in any argument. She was stern, always making certain none of the children acted improperly according to their station, yet still allowed Joffrey to act out far more than the others, though that had changed somewhat since their trip back down from Winterfell.

Since Myrcella had noticed her favoritism, she had become more distant with her mother. Still, there was much the young Princess admired in her mother as a queen and a woman. Some she didn't, of course, but she tended to ignore those unless they impacted how she treated the children.

Cersei looked at her and tsked. "Grab up that hairbrush over there, your hair looks like it needs a good brushing." Myrcella obeyed and then came back, turning around so her back was to her mother, sighing faintly as the brush began its work. Some of their best moments began like this so it was a good sign that Cersei was so mellow right now.

After a moment of familial silence, Cersei began to speak. "I have heard rumors from the servants, from Jaime and others, that you are spending a lot of time at the Tower of the Hand. Specifically watching young Stark, Loras Tyrell, and others exercise. And that you seem to be spending time with Ranma, as much as you can."

"I, yes, mother." Myrcella nodded her head.

"Good, you didn't try to lie to me." Cersei's voice was now tart but there wasn't any kind of angry edge to it that the princess could detect and her hands kept working on Myrcella's hair. "I have heard no reports of you acting like a strumpet or anything of that nature, which is good, you are still acting as a princess aught, if a little too willful. But do you honestly think this fascination with the Young Wolf will go anywhere? You know Joffrey is to wed his sister. There is no way you would be able to marry him. Tying the two families together twice would be politically impossible and you have yet to have your first bleeding, unless you have something you wish to share? And whatever little game Margaery Tyrell thinks she's playing, Robert would never allow the betrothal between Sansa and Joffrey to be broken."

And whatever my own thoughts on the matter either, Cersei thought, with well-worn anger. I can see the benefits of such a marriage far outweighing that of getting a Stark married to a 'Baratheon', but no. Robert's too Stranger-be-damned set on uniting his and Eddard's line.

Myrcella flushed at the mention of her period, which she indeed hadn't yet had. Her body had developed somewhat more in the past months but she was still a child, something she wavered between being thankful for and cursing wholeheartedly. "No, mother, I just… he's just… I know nothing will happen, mother, but will you let me have my first crush for a time. Can you remember yours?"

The Queen actually smiled for a moment, though her eyes were far away, remembering how deeply in love she had been with Prince Rhaegar after her father told her they would wed. The Dragon Prince had been seen as the height of chivalry, handsome, kind, intelligent, and strong. Even as his father descended into madness, everyone had held out hope that Aerys would hand over the reins of the kingdom to his son. She had been besotted with him for years before he decided to marry the Dorne princess, Elia Martell, even after she and Jaime had begun to experiment with one another.

She had understood at the time that it was a political decision. Her father's position as Hand already made their family too powerful. There had to be balance but it had struck her sore nonetheless. Looking back on it she wondered how much of her life would've been different would've been better if that marriage had gone ahead. I wouldn't have had that damn 'wise' woman and her prophecy hanging over my head for one, though I wonder if Jaime and I would have begun our affair even so.

And it isn't as if I haven't had a few dreams of Ranma myself. That endurance… Stop that, it will never happen and you cannot afford to see him like that, not when he could become such a dangerous enemy. Ned Stark is like a damn wolf himself on the scent and eventually he might be able to uncover why I had Jon Arryn killed. I can't allow my response to that to be clouded sentimentality.

For now, Cersei ignored her daughter's question and kept to the meat of the matter. "I won't say you can't spend time with Ranma sweetling but that is all I will allow. If I even hear a murmur that you have been alone with him or done anything to 'get his attention', we will be talking again and that conversation will be far less pleasant. I won't let my daughter act like some lowborn trollop; you are a lion and you will act like it."

Myrcella could have asked what a trollop was but she could read the context well enough, though she thought her mother was acting rather unfair. She had seen the way the Queen sometimes acted to get men to do what she wanted, including the way she too looked at Ranma once, though, of course, the Queen never went beyond glances or simple touches.

She idly wondered why their mother always went out of her way to call them lions when alone. Surely they had as much stag blood in them? But Myrcella also knew better than to point that out so merely nodded. "I know, Your Highness, I'll do nothing to dishonor our house."

"See that you don't." The Queen said, then moved on to a happier topic. "Now, your hair is becoming curlier than I expected it would naturally be. We'll have to change the styles we wish you to be seen in..."

OOOOOOO

While his son was making something of a place for himself in the city, Ned was busy at his new job. For the two of them, King's Landing would never be home. Winterfell was their home and it always would be. The crisp morning air, the homey touches here and there, the familiar stones around them, and the warmth of family; Ned and Ranma missed these things dearly. Sansa, on the other hand, seemed too busy running ahead to see what she was leaving behind.

However, Ned's job as Hand didn't leave him any time to woolgather. Indeed, it took up practically his every waking moment. Simply sorting out the problems that had been building up was a momentous task. Not only was the tax system and records horribly disorganized but the amount of graft that was there at the lower levels was astonishing.

"How did Jon Arryn let it get so bad?" Eddard asked himself, not for the first time since taking up his duties, a question that was never really answered to his satisfaction. "It couldn't have gotten this bad since Jon's death, while that was over a year ago now that still wasn't enough time for the kingdom to have gone through the massive amount of money they owed to the Lannisters and the Iron Bank. Jon had to realize that they were going toward bankruptcy. There literally was no money in the treasury to pay the loans back and not enough money coming in either. Taxes haven't been raised, not since Aerys died, but they should still have been enough to pay off any monies needed during the time Robert canceled them in order to boost the reconstruction."

Oh, Petyr had devised a few new regulations that meant merchants had to pay more taxes but all that money flowed back out to pay for too many items they shouldn't be, let alone the king's extravagances, which were much more considerable than Ned had thought before going over the books. Still, that was perhaps a tenth of the money being spent, considerable yes, but nowhere near the total.

He was also, unfortunately, still working alone on this. Brynden had failed thus far to find a trustworthy secretary/banker and Eddard, while being good at numbers and sums, wasn't up to the task in front of him. He still hadn't figured out if Petyr was a loyal servant of the crown or not but Ned had jailed several secretaries for stealing from the crown. That was treason and they would soon be given the choice of the Wall or the axe. The laws, too, weren't as streamlined as they could be but Ned had decided to put off that problem.

Needless to say, his job wasn't made any easier by Robert's desire to throw at tourney for him. The money spent on that, in particular the cash prizes, was exorbitant in his mind. Winterfell ran on less for a year than was being poured into the tourney. On top of that, Eddard also had to work on actually organizing said tourney. He had often joked with Robert about that over the past few weeks; that the best gift he could give a Hand would be to give him a few days off and take the reins himself. But Robert had merely laughed and told him that the tournament would be worth it and that he would enjoy it once it started.

That just proved to Ned that his friend didn't truly understand him. To Ned Stark, a good time was spending time with his family or a good book from Winterfell's library. War was a serious business and contests like tourneys didn't interest him at all. Of course, Ranma was looking forward to it but Ned knew his son was far more into battle and combat than he was and had proven that he could be serious when necessary.

Because of this workload, his investigation into the death of Jon Arryn hadn't really gone anywhere since they arrived. Oh, he had the book. The book was exactly what it said, a look at the noble families of Westeros, a genealogy book, yet for every family not just one. He wasn't far into his investigation of even the book but he it interesting, as was the knowledge that every Baratheon of the last five generations had black hair and blue eyes.

That was strange considering the Royal children but none of them had married into Lannister so it was inconclusive. Since he could barely read a few pages a day, given how exhausting his new duties were, that was as far back as he had gone just yet. It certainly wasn't proof of what the book's connection to Jon's death seemed to imply, especially taken along with Jon's final words. It was a horrifying thought even so, made worse by Ranma's description of the young baby of the whore's. He hadn't had time to follow up on that nor had Brynden had much luck finding out what the Queen's agents were doing, but he feared…

Regardless, there is something very wrong with Joffrey, regardless of his parentage. I have heard rumors about a cat that he mutilated when he was younger and he is cruel to animals when he gets away with it. I have seen that with my own eyes. I have also heard he bullies the servants a time or two but even that is not enough. That plus his arrogance might be enough for Robert to remove him as heir, however, despite being the oldest.

The others, on the other hand, are much more like they should be. Young Myrcella might be a copy of her mother physically but she has a sweet, gentle nature. Ned had also noticed her crush on his son but given her own older brother, it was easy to see why she and Tommen had grabbed onto Ranma when he was friendly with them. It wasn't as if Ranma really went out of his way either, he simply acted as he always does. It's why all the youngsters of Winterfell like him, not just his siblings. But the effect he's had on Tommen…

Tommen was turning out to be a mix between Renly and Robert in temperament. He liked to train since he be had begun with Ranma and had continued even on those days when Ranma couldn't spend time with him. He also willingly read when he could, like Renly was supposed to, and played hard as well, much like Robert, although his play had yet to become like Robert's, a good thing in Eddard's opinion. No, despite his looks those two are almost certainly related. I need more proof than this, proof positive that I can take to Robert about Joffrey and, much though it pains me to admit, possibly the Princess. I just hope there is some other reason that Jon died, if true this could rip the realm apart.

OOOOOOO

Prince Oberyn Martell looked over Kings Landing a few weeks after Margaery Tyrell and her party had arrived. He could've been here much sooner, but they had decided to put off his coming to Kings Landing until news of the tournament had officially reached them, to give him an excuse to be in the city. Now he stood here once more looking out over the royal city, wishing he was anywhere else.

That feeling had little to so with the squalid, smelly, and above all trash infested port of Kings Landing but it certainly was endemic of his real reason. The very limited sanitation in the city simply consisted of the 'better parts' of the city pushing everything into the river, which carried it into the port to join the rest of the refuse. It was a pity, because without the despoiled water, the port would have been decent. The sight of the rocky hill, on top of which the admittedly imposing Red keep could be seen, only made the image of the dirty port below it even worse. "Like above, so below." he quipped.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that ser?" Daemon Sand, Oberyn's squire asked. He was a handsome youth with a strong jaw, light blue eyes, and sandy brown hair. He was also attempting to grow a beard but he had been meeting with limited success in this endeavor, as yet.

Oberyn certainly wasn't going to encourage him; he much liked the young man better without a beard. "I said, so above, so below. The small council, the court, and their politics are a cesspool, where the shit rises to the top. The city and most particularly the port is a cesspool, where the refuse rises to the top and is then eaten by those below when they can. Like above, so below, you see?"

"At least you're used to the smell, Your Highness. I haven't been here before; it's the most I can do to keep myself from adding to the mess down there." Daemon pointed down to the water over the side of their ship.

"True, the city is a bit of an acquired taste. Did you bring enough perfume?"

"I did, though I don't know if I have enough for both of us and our stowaway."

The Prince chuckled. "She has my daughters Obara and Tyene to look after her. I imagine she won't run into too much trouble while here in the city so long as they stay out of the slums, at any rate."

He had known the moment she had arrived on the ship. Arianne wasn't really very good at hiding her intentions from her family, though she was surprisingly good at sneaking around. If Oberyn had to guess, the Prince thought that only he, his squire, and his two daughters were aware of her presence on board with possibly the kitchen maids back home knowing what she had done. Other than that, she had been able to hide herself remarkably well.

Still, she wasn't supposed to be here at all. If my brother finds out that I knew she was with us when we set off and did not immediately put her on shore, he will be very cross. Still, the girl was intelligent and it would be interesting to see what she can do on her own.

As the two men made their way deeper into the city; Arianne, Obara, and Tyene waited in the hold of the ship. Once Oberyn and Daemon were out of sight, the trio, wearing heavy, form-hiding cloaks, made their own way into the city.

In fact, the Princess of Dorne had planned rather better than either her father or uncle would have thought. The girls already had a destination in mind, a small hostel that dealt with high-end merchant clients who dealt in jewels and thus preferred to travel discreetly. It had its own security force; all of them experienced men-at-arms from the Vale. It was located on the Hook, a long curved road that led from the River Gate, which led out of the city south, then up to Aegon's High Hill. It was a relatively decent area, though not very rich, it was law abiding.

The three young women made their way through the city, being careful at first to let none of their features or feminine curves show. The wharves area was heavily patrolled but the area between them and the rest of the city was a hive of hovels. If you were on the main roads, you were safe enough but why take chances? They soon arrived at the 'Humble Hearth', which was the descriptive name of the inn.

Obara cracked her neck explosively, pulling off her cloak to reveal the short sword she had strapped to her side and a buckler strapped to her back. Completing the ensemble was a long whip, which she had tied around her waist like a belt. She was a tall, big-boned woman, who considered herself a warrior. She was decent enough with the sword she had, as well as in the use of the whip, though her preferred weapon was a spear, much like her father. "So, now that we're here, what exactly are we going to do, Arianne? You promised me excitement and I suppose hiding away like we have has been fun but I hope you have something else lined up for us.

Arianne dropped her own cloak on the middle of the three beds, smirking at the older woman as she stretched, her full chest pushing out for a moment as she popped some of the joints in her back. "Why dear cousin, what we do is simple, we snoop. Men never think that women, particularly women such as myself and Tyene, are capable of speech, let alone intelligence. In any case, we will be able to hear what is going on in the city, which way the wind is blowing and then see if there is anything we can do take advantage of it, either for sport, for family, or to irritate the Baratheon king or his cats and dogs. Hopefully we will find the animals are already at one another's throats, but if not, well, I'm certain that we can find a way to make trouble somehow."

"That sounds interesting, Ari, but I should warn you to watch what you eat in the city, even in the better quarters." Tyene was a fair skinned woman despite coming from the arid wastes of Dorne with golden hair, sky blue eyes who radiated innocence from every pore, a sense that was extremely false. The dress she wore underneath her cloak was her normal light green with creamy white highlights, a high modest bodice, and long sleeves, highlighting her innocence as Obara's leathers heightened her martial appearance.

She was a poisoner by preference, and had a wicked tongue on her that could ever so politely flense a person's hide or lie with the face of a virginal maid. "I have heard of the food used in the poorer sections of the city and, judging by the smell, we should only eat at the best, most expensive eateries. I would also like to stop by the markets; I didn't bring any supplies with me."

"Tomorrow." Arianne replied firmly. "For now, let us find a nice upscale alehouse, preferably by the perfumer's street or possibly the Street of Flour. I want up-to-date news, cousins, before we move into our hostel tonight."

After they found a suitable establishment, the odd trio discovered that the city itself was abuzz with the news of the coming tourney or, at least, the middle-class and upper-class were. The bottom class didn't care one way or the other, their subsistence existence not really allowing for time to wonder what their betters were doing.

They heard some odd stories about someone called the Rock Hurler, as well as some news they were interested in. They also noted where the Lannister supporters were staying. Tyene, in particular, was very interested in the stories, although she was also interested in the fact that someone from the palace was seen down on the Street of the Sisters, which held both the Great Sept of Baelor and the Alchemists Guildhall.

Obara was interested somewhat in the tourney, though as a woman she probably wouldn't be able to enter. While she wasn't attractive, she still had womanly hips and chest so there was little chance of her tricking her way into the tourney.

Arianne, on the other hand, cared not for either of these tidbits. What she cared about was that Margaery Tyrell and Ranma Stark had been seen together. Despite what she told her cousins, she was planning much more than making trouble here. No, what she wanted to do was see if she could in some way break up this upcoming marriage. Barring that, she would be willing to seize any opportunity to further Dorne's position, as well as her own, by weakening everyone else's positions, if she could.

OOOOOOO

Single knights and groups of men intent on winning glory for themselves and their family names began to trickle in from the Stormlands, Riverlands, and elsewhere in Westeros, outside of the North. Of course, the North was also going to be represented by Ser Jory, Ranma, and a few of the others from Winterfell, so that really didn't matter one way or the other.

Like he had been joking all along, Eddard still found himself in the unenviable position of being the one in charge of everything, which put even more of a strain on his time. He was so swamped, he was forced to turn over almost all it to Ranma and Ser Jory. While this got Ranma out of the city to oversee the construction of the various tents and stalls, it also cut into his training time tremendously, something Ranma didn't like.

It was early morning on one such day when Joffrey made his first mistake since trying to push for Fenris' execution. The Prince knew that Ranma would be busy all day with the preparations for the tournament and thought that perhaps it was a good time to escalate things with his younger brother. After all, soon enough he wouldn't have to worry about Ranma any longer. The specific item he had wanted from the alchemists was almost ready and could not be traced back to him, which was why it had taken so long. But for now, it was time again to put his little brother in his place.

Joffrey had become emboldened since coming home to the Red Keep, not only because he felt this was his place of power but because of how Tommen hadn't been reacting. At first, Joffrey thought he might run to their parents to spill out the story about the dead songbird but that hadn't occurred nor did he go to them after Joffrey upped the ante, leaving bits of dismembered animal in his room randomly.

He was all set for tears, which would work in his favor and prove to their father that Tommen wasn't a son he would be proud of. Not like Joffrey saw himself, if Robert could only see past his looks, which was the reason Joffrey felt the man never appreciated him like he should. The fact that Tommen hadn't done that meant he was too scared of reprisals, at least in Joffrey's mind, which meant Joffrey was free to escalate things further. The mantra of the bully was the same no matter your station or reality.

So when he came upon Tommen heading out of the Royal suites down to the Tower of the Hand, where he would exercise, Joffrey decided to twist the knife. He said jokingly, "I haven't seen your little songbird around lately, brother, did it escape? I would hate to think that it has sung its last refrain."

Tommen had been on tenterhooks for months, getting angrier and angrier every time he found a dead animal in his room, with no one to direct that anger at. While on the surface his older brother's jocularity was mostly in keeping with the older boy's sense of humor, if the term was used very loosely indeed, Tommen was in no mood to see it as simply a joke at his expense. So instead of reacting verbally or simply running away as Joffrey had thought, Tommen turned and roared, jumping towards him.

"Don't make jokes like that, you, you RAGH!" Other than that, there was nothing intelligible in his shouting but his charge took Joffrey completely by surprise.

Joffrey was a young man, spare and thin of body but still almost a grown man, who had kept up on some of the sword practices he had to do to keep in shape. Tommen was merely ten years old, yet a small fireplug of muscle thanks Ranma's training. The young Prince found himself bowled over by his little brother. He barely got his hands up in time to protect his face as Tommen began to pound on him.

All the younger Prince' training about where to punch, something he had only begun to learn in the past month and half, left him thanks to his fury. As strong as he was for his age, the blows weren't doing any real damage but Joffrey wasn't exactly a strongly built person, either, and they would leave welts and bruises that would last for days.

Luckily, for the older prince's body and ego, Tommen's wordless bellows of rage had been heard throughout the Royal suites. About thirty seconds into the assault, Tommen found himself lifted off Joffrey by a massive hand grabbing the back of his shirt. "What's all this!" roared a voice, their father's voice, in full fury. "I'll not have my brats arguing like this, rolling around on the floor of the hall like dogs!"

At the sound of that voice, Tommen subsided nodding his head and let his hands fall. He soon found himself planted feet first on the ground, while Joffrey sniffled a little bit on the ground nearby. Robert stared down at him with contempt in his eyes before flicking his gaze over to Tommen. "Well, what happened here?"

Behind them, Myrcella and Cersei came out from deeper within the suites, having heard the noise and Robert's roaring bellow. Unlike Robert, who was all set for the day to head out to see the preparations for the tournament before getting in some hunting, the two ladies haven't quite gotten ready for their day. Cersei had hastily pulled on a robe to cover herself, which was the only reason that Robert beat her out in the first place because the King's chambers were several doors further down than the Queen's. They used to share a chamber but Robert had decided on this arrangement so he could more easily bed willing wenches than a frigid lioness.

Myrcella made to rush over to her younger brother, unmindful of the fact that her robe wasn't tied closed until a stern injunction from her mother made her stop. She looked down at herself then blushed before pulling the robe around tightly around her body. She shivered a little inside at the look she caught out of the corner of her eye from Ser Trant, who had been standing guard with Jaime on Robert's door. Jaime, however, stepped between the two, moving quickly in front of the Princess, motioning her back to her mother. Her mother's stern glance and hand on her shoulder forced Myrcella to go back into her room but it also forgave her slightly. The shouts and mindless screaming had startled the Queen as well.

Robert didn't notice this, simply staring down at his youngest son. "Well? What you have to say for yourself?"

Instead of trying to make excuses, Tommen stood up straight and stared up at his father. Ranma had been teaching him quite a bit more than just physical exercises; he also been teaching Tommen how to truly be worthy of being a noble and he said steadfastly, "I have no excuse father. My brother made an ill-timed joke and I overreacted."

Robert's lips twitched a little from their frown, pleased that his son owned up to it like this. More and more the stag in the littlest lion was coming out and he was happy to see it. That didn't mean he was any happier about the two boys fighting like this where any servant could see them. "And what kind of ill-timed joke was this to make you lose your temper, boy?"

"He made a joke about my songbird, Sir, about how he hadn't seen it lately."

Despite having his own strong suspicions in that area, the King hadn't done anything about it since his youngest seemed to be handling it well enough on his own, seeing it as another test of his youngest boy's mettle. Now he simply stared down at Joffrey, who was still sniveling a little as he sat upright on the floor. "Get up." Robert snarled contemptuously. Joffrey hastened to his feet standing there, trembling. "That joke is ill-timed, given what happened to his bird while we were all away. I'll hear no more jokes or quips about that. Are we clear or do I have to thump you as well?"

Joffrey shook his head rapidly; the fear of his father's wrath overcoming his desire to see Tommen punished and his anger at how Tommen had manhandled him, which was growing in him now that the assault was over.

Robert turned his attention back to Tommen. "On the other hand, we can't just have you attacking your older brother like this. He is the Crown Prince after all and some things just can't be borne. Do you understand me?"

Tommen nodded, looking down for just a moment before looking back up at him. "Good." Robert said nodding his head firmly. "You're confined to your room for the rest of the day. I'll send the maester to you to give you extra lessons and lines to write out, which will be all I'll do for this first offense but if it happens again boy, I'll take my belt to your back understand?"

The young boy nodded looking over at his mother who stared at both boys, her face unreadable at the moment. She was thankful that the King hadn't handed out a larger punishment to either boy and she decided to watch her oldest son more closely from now on.

She didn't understand what was going on there, having been busy herself with the small counsel as well as her own duties, responsibilities, and plots (of course). Cersei had been able to get a spy onto the Tower of the Hand's staff so was hoping that she could have the incriminating book that caused Jon Arryn's death removed before too long, hopefully before Ned Stark could push forward with his investigation. She also had her agents in the city 'removing' other pieces of evidence.

Joffrey knew when to back off. He decided then not to torment his younger brother with the dead animals any longer. He'd leave a few, spaced out intermittently so it seemed as if it had nothing to do with this assault but after that he would let it peter out. No, Joffrey was beginning to realize that the changes Ranma had made in Tommen were too deep for him to just go back to his old ways of dealing with him.

With that Robert dismissed both boys, but he gave Tommen one silent nod of approval as the boy turned away.

After that, Robert moved backwards, entering the Queen's chamber, an area he didn't normally enter without being drunk first. Cersei quickly closed the door behind them, looking at him thoughtfully. "Your son might have been up to his old tricks lately." Robert growled, looking at her angrily.

The Queen bit back an angry retort, not liking anyone to attack her little lion. But she was a politician, and had played this game for a very long time. She knew how to play for the long game, not just the here and now. "There is no proof of that, still I will have words with him about being more sympathetic to his younger brother. That joke was certainly ill-timed."

Robert looked at her. Seeing her unkempt like this made him remember how beautiful she was, just like she had been on their wedding day. It made it easy to see why she was still counted as one of the most beautiful women in all of Westeros. Yet for all that, there was no love between them, or even lust, frankly. She wasn't Lyanna, the only woman that Robert felt he could ever have truly loved, and there had been too much bad blood between them since. "What if I said," He said abruptly, "that I was thinking of naming Tommen my heir over Joffrey?"

Cersei had thought this might be coming for months now, well before they arrived in Kings Landing in fact. But despite that forewarning, her anger at the very idea nearly caused her to explode at him. Yet, her self-control was such that she was able to fight back the angry words. "I would say that it is premature. Tommen is a young boy barely 10 years old now. He has not even reached his eleventh nameday, while Joffrey is sixteen going on seventeen. He is also due to be wed, further strengthening the crowns position and uniting House Stark and House Baratheon."

In fact, it was only how deeply in debt the kingdom was and Eddard's insistence that they at the very least shave that by half before having a large wedding ceremony that was staving it off at all. Sansa had been bleeding for over three years now so there was no physical reason why they couldn't be married. Ned had grabbed onto that excuse with both hands, both he and Ranma seeing that match more and more as unfitting for their daughter/sister, no matter what she herself thought. The row that caused was now entering the stuff of legends among the servants of the Tower.

In fact, right now Sansa was commiserating with Joffrey outside on the lawn while his parents talked. She was going to have a stern talk with Tommen about his brother's dignity. Ranma would have a talk with him as well, which would be more along the lines of a critique of his form than anything else.

Robert's temper cooled a little in the face of his Queen's cold analysis. "Aye," he muttered, "you're right. But if Joffrey doesn't show himself to be a man rather than a little puling whelp before they wed, I'll name Tommen my heir and send Joffrey and Sansa out to one of my brothers. Hah, maybe Stannis could stick a spine up his ass!" For all that he disliked Stannis, Robert knew him to have a high sense of honor and to be a personally brave and intelligent man. "Stiff as a corpse, though."

Again, the words almost acted like a whip to Cersei, trying to force her to respond, to shriek at the very idea of her son moving away from where she could protect him. But her self-control once more came to her aid. "If it pleases you, that seems appropriate. I would say however," she hastened to add, "that we should not discuss this with anyone else. Let them both continue to act as they have, in that manner we will see whether or not either is truly changing."

Robert grunted again and headed for the door leaving without another word.

The Queen stood there for a moment in silence thought. In the end, it mattered not to her which son took the throne, though she felt that her eldest had the best mind of the trio and was the eldest, therefore should be the heir. And yet, she no longer felt as powerful or as certain in her position, not only with Joffrey but as Queen as she had a year ago. The fact that Eddard still had possession of the book worried her with each passing week, despite knowing how much time and energy he had to put into his duties as Hand.

The Starks were too powerful, too strong with the support of the King plus the ninety men they had on call here in the Red Keep for her to want any kind of physical confrontation, certainly not with Ranma added into the mix. Even with the men her cousin had led here from Casterly Rock, that would be an unwinnable fight, even if she was the only one who could see it.

Tommen with his friendship and sort of apprenticeship to Ranma would have the Starks backing, since the way he was acting seemed to indicate he truly was the King's son, even if his looks argued against it. Of course, if certain truths came out not even that would save her personally.

With that thought uppermost in her mind, Cersei left the room, not realizing that the entire episode had been seen by several servants, one of whom answered to Littlefinger. When he heard about it, he merely smiled, contemplating how best to use this to his advantage in his ongoing quest to topple all the other players from their high seats.

OOOOOOO

About a week after that incident, Margaery accompanied Ranma into the city to pick up his sword. It was more because she had her own shopping to do than anything else, as well as the fact that it gave her an excuse to get away from Joffrey. More and more she was worried about him, loathing the task at her grandmother had set her. She knew it was all for the good of the family but right now there just was no contest in who she would be willing to marry. That, plus the fact that Ranma was keeping her at arms-length until she proved trustworthy was driving her a little batty.

Of course, there were her grandmother's orders and pithy comments about Ranma and Joffrey to consider as well. 'Honest, upright, a Stark,' she said in her letter, 'a fool other men will follow, let him try to keep his distance, I am certain our rose can wind her vines around him.'

As for Joffrey, Margaery was still ordered to try and get close to him, until she had solid proof to back her uneasy feelings. 'For all your misgivings, the boy is a prize. He is heir to the throne, much better a match for you and for him too, if his father wasn't a fool, and such a man can be led by his appetites, whatever they may be, making out position all the stronger.'

Today they were walking through the streets, accompanied by her chaperone as always. No guards were with them as Ranma was guard enough all on his own. Soon enough, they were on the Street of Steel, winding their way up the hill. Margaery wrinkled her exquisite nose at the smell and further at the noise. Ranma chuckled. "You didn't have to come with me, if this offends your Tyrell sensibilities, you know."

Margaery huffed irritably. Ranma had been poking fun at her family in this manner for a while, seemingly amused by how her family held themselves to a high standard of beauty and decorum. Her shots back at his uncouth nature were taken with aplomb, leaving her with no set retort. "I am not so lack-witted as to let you out into the city without a minder, Ranma Stark. Who knows what kind of trouble your barbarian manners would get you into? I need to protect my family's investment, after all."

This had become a familiar refrain between them, oddly enough, a sign of the budding friendship between them. While Margaery was dealing with her issues, the two were becoming friends, something she would never have expected to be able to say of her prospective groom. He was kind, funny, honorable, which was part of the problem in getting closer of course, and intelligent something she would not have thought in all honesty.

Moreover, he had a level of charisma that was astonishing in one so young, a tried and tested core of strength, unlike the posing and the pomposity of other men their age she had met before. Those youths were too young to have fought in even the Greyjoy rebellion and they thought battles were like tourneys, with rules and mulled wine waiting for you. The difference between that and true toughness was something she never would have recognized until seeing the real thing in Ranma.

There was a mutual respect growing between them and, despite the fact her inability to get closer to him using her normal charms drove her up the wall, most of the time Margaery found herself enjoying this process more than she would some torrid whirlwind romance from a bard's tale.

For his part, the more time he spent around Margaery, the more Ranma compared her to Nabiki from his last life. They were both very observant, very intelligent, and devoted, Margaery to her family, Nabiki to herself. Though, where Nabiki had few real scruples when it came to her dealings with others, Margaery had limits she would not cross and her methods were entirely different.

Her political acumen was extreme, however, and Ranma had called on it a few times to aid him in his dealings with various nobles of the court, a few knights, and most particularly, Lancel Lannister, who had only obeyed his cousin's injunction for a week before trying to make trouble in the court. He found himself stymied easily by Margaery and Ranma.

That Margaery was attractive, there was no doubt but the mind and the personality was what interested him more than that. She was funny, gentle at times, sarcastic and snarky at others. Mutual respect and amusement as well as attraction seemed to be working very well as a basis for their 'relationship'.

The two continued to snipe good-naturedly at one another as they continued up the hill. They soon reached Tobho Mott's store. Entering the sales area, Ranma found the same young man manning the front. After exchanging greetings, Ranma asked, "I received a message that my sword was ready?"

Tobho's gruff voice sounded from the back. "Aye, it is and an odd job it was. Still, I'm happy with it. The cutting blade is good, lad, but I'm worried about the durability of it." The man came out, holding his customers finished blade. "Yer new steel strengthening techniques worked and, ye gods, the edge is something I could use like a razor but that very sharpness means it will be more prone to wear and tear in a long battle."

"Let me worry about that, old man." Ranma grinned, taking the blade and holding it up to the light. It was just as it looked in the sketches he had shown the blacksmith. It even had the lines, the faint wavy texture to the steel. The katana had a faint curve to it, was a little over 40 inches long, longer than a normal katana would be, with one side having an edge all along its length and the other down half of it. The point, too, was wicked and Ranma smiled as he looked down its length.

Ranma brought the blade down to one side, holding it there for a moment before performing Iaido, a fast draw cut, then bringing it back across just as swiftly, the noise of the sword through the air making a whistling sound. "Nice, very nice. The weight is perfect, the steel looks good too, and the cutting edge…"

He pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket. Throwing it into the air, he brought the katana up to slice neatly through it. "Looks good. I don't suppose you have some steel ingots I could test it on?"

"I've got a sword you can test it on, if you want. I wouldn't mind seeing what it can do, either." Tobho shouted toward the back for a moment. Gendry came out, carrying a simple, yet very well made longsword.

Margaery immediately noticed the young man's features and she frowned thoughtfully.

Gendry looked at the very pretty high born girl and flushed, effected by her beauty, before looking at Ranma. "I'll just swing this and we'll see if that fancy edge of yours keeps up."

"Hah, you just swing it, Waters." Tobho growled. "None of your lip."

That made the Tyrell girl glance at the smith sharply, noticing how the man had called Gendry a baseborn. Interesting and the man made certain we knew it. That possibly means he understands the Queen's views on her husband's bastards. Or could it be her policy against them is more… proactive than I thought. Something to think about, as is why…

Ranma, however, simply nodded at Gendry. The young apprentice swung the longsword through the air between him and Ranma. Ranma waited a split second and then swung his katana. There was a 'Spang!' as the two blades met. There was silver blur in the air, then a solid 'Thunk' as a foot of the longsword's blade impacted the wall. Ranma grinned. "I think the blade works, master Tobho." He held the blade up, showing that the edge hadn't even been marred. "So, how much do I owe you?"

A few moments of haggling later, Ranma and Margaery left, with Ranma having been told a time to expect his two 'odd short swords'. He had run into a man who used a similar weapon before, which was where he had gotten the idea for them.

Halfway back to the Red Keep, they were hailed from an open door bakery to the right of them. "Is that the maid of High Garden I see? And you must be young Stark? You've got your father's looks to be sure."

They turned and Margaery's eyes widened, recognizing the man from a painting she had been shown of her family's enemies. "Prince Oberyn." she said bowing her head and curtseying with all her formidable grace, despite being in the middle of the street with the hustle and bustle of traffic moving around her. She moved forward, forcing Ranma and her chaperone to follow. "I did not know you were in the city. When did you arrive?"

"Oh, a few days ago." the Prince replied blandly. "Alas, I do not have the sea legs to get off a ship and go immediately into combat so I had to arrive early and, as you well know how little affection I have for the Royal family, best to get here early and get a good room, yes? I don't suppose your older brother Willas is here, is he? I have a lot of respect for that man, particularly in animal husbandry, and there were some questions I wished to ask him of a new line of horses coming out of Essos."

Margaery laughed politely, though what he had said hadn't actually been funny and the mention of Willas was undiplomatic in the extreme since he had been crippled by a bad fall from a horse in a tourney against Oberyn himself. "I regret to say that my eldest brother is not here, though, if you wish, I would be happy to send any correspondence you want to him via raven. But I find I have forgotten my manners. Prince Oberyn, be known to Ranma Stark. Ranma, this is Prince Oberyn of Dorne."

Ranma nodded sizing the man up. "Uncle Brynden mentioned you were in the city, Ser, though he didn't tell me you were going to enter the tourney."

"Yes, I imagine he would, a most intelligent man, your uncle. A spear user like myself, at times as well, though not as speedy as I. I found it informative he was here in the city serving you and your father in such a fashion. It made a good first impression to be sure, though I have to wonder, are you three still able to wend your way through the pits of this place? Or have they begun to move toward you?"

"A little bit of the former, possibly more of the latter." Ranma shrugged, knowing not to say anything more. Brynden had told him about Oberyn's being in the city. Ranma and Ned were both of the opinion the man was here as the Dornish equivalent of a vulture, circling for opportunity. You don't trust scavengers, you keep them in sight. Luckily for the Starks, both Brynden and Eddard felt Oberyn was no threat to their position, yet.

Next to him, Margaery kept her polite smile from becoming rather more crooked with difficulty. So, Ranma can act circumspectly; where in the Seven Kingdoms has he been hiding it? Margaery knew nothing about how much of his skills and abilities Ranma was hiding even from his father, how much he had learned of the city, and how it worked over the last few months. Ranma preferred the direct approach, especially in matters of the heart (or betrothal). That didn't mean he couldn't be subtle or secretive.

She kept that thought off her face for the moment, studying Prince Oberyn closely as she could without appearing anything but the perfectly poised, demure noble lady. High Garden and Dorne were not friendly with one another; they had long been enemies over the Dornish Marches. This competition had been overtaken in recent years with the hatred Dorne and its Royal family held for all things Lannister since the Rebellion.

Still, Margaery wondered how the Prince would affect the power struggle going on behind the scenes here. The Lannisters and the general corruption of the court were very slowly losing ground against Ned Stark and his dogged, determined approach. With every month that passed, he pulled the nation slightly more out of debt to the Lannister family as well as the Iron Bank of Braavos. It was precisely what he had to do but it was only a matter of time before the Lannister faction began to push back, though, strangely, she felt the Queen wasn't interested in it or, at least, had something on her mind other than the battles occurring in the court and small council.

"Come, sit with me." the Prince said. "I have heard a wondrous tale of you, boy, was there any truth to it?" He raised a hand to the serving girl, who quickly returned with two mugs of beer.

Ranma rolled his eyes, then pulled up a chair readily, sprawling out in it with one hand negligently falling to the pommel of his new sword while Margaery and her chaperone took seats nearby. The smith had been damn good, even if he was slow. The sword was excellent, if as expensive as Tobho cautioned it would but Ranma would get his money worth when the smith finished his katars. Well, one would be Ranma's, he thought the other might be a good nameday present for Tommy, after he got his parents' (really his father's) permission first, or maybe one of the wolfsworn, as had been his original thought on it.

"Some truth, not so much derring-do as the song states. Any kind of battle in the enclosed space of a castle is more about blood and death than courage as I said to the giggling girl over there." Indeed Margaery was giggling. Any mention of that song would set her off a bit. "I rescued Domeric, the trueborn heir of Roose Bolton. I have no idea nor do I wish to speculate on why he changed his part in it to that of a woman."

The Dornish prince guffawed loudly at that, slapping his thigh. "I see! Well, in any event it should be interesting to see what you do in the tourney."

"Are you going to compete?" Ranma asked. "I've heard stories about how good you are with a spear. I imagine it would make the melee more entertaining."

"Alas no, I they have no wish to enter the melee or the jousting. I'm here for the wrestling and archery competitions. "I'm quite afraid that I would lose control if I were to face anyone who backed Robert in his rebellion."

Margaery's face went blank at this blatantly indiscreet talk but Ranma merely shrugged. "I can't say I like the man much. He doesn't seem to really be reign as I understand it, being more of a figurehead than anything else. But your comment seems to have had a bit more than sheer disgust there. I understand that Dorne's relationship with the Crown is bad, although I thought it was mostly the Lannisters you hated."

"I hate them all," the Prince growled, his self-control for fraying slightly as this well-worn topic came up. "I hate the Lannisters for what they did, I hate Robert for not punishing them for it, and I hate your father and your family Stark for backing it and that bastard's rebellion!" He reined himself and with difficulty. "Though at the same time," he went on, almost against his will, "I…can't fault your family for what they did. You were certainly given enough provocation."

"I can understand that," Ranma said nodding his head, showing no reaction to the Prince's sudden violent reaction. "But Robert was at war and it was the Lannisters who were at fault for the death of your sister and her children in the sack of the city."

"Hah!" Prince barked a sound that was in no way a laugh. "Death? You make it sound so clean. You have no idea what the Mountain and his men did, do you? It wasn't merely that they killed my sister Elia but what they did to her and her children."

A cold feeling began in Ranma stomach and he frowned. "I know the Mountain killed them in cold blood and I've never understood why Robert didn't demand his head at the very least but what else did they do?" He asked, not certain he really wanted to know the answer.

He didn't. "Ser Gregor Clegane and Ser Amory Lorch killed Aegon, Elia's young son, in front of my sister and then raped her as Lorch killed her baby daughter while she watched. The Mountain's soldiers bragged about it after!" he said, his voice harsh and grating, his hands clenched on the stein of beer he had been drinking from so hard that the wood actually creaked a bit under his hands. "I hate them, I will always. I hate Tywin Lannister for ordering it, for the slight of Aerys choosing to wed Rhaegar to Elia over his daughter the bitch queen. I hate Gregor Clegane and Lorch for doing the deed. And I hate 'King' Robert Stranger-damned Baratheon the First for not punishing even the murderers as he should have!"

Oberyn was silent, breathing deeply as he tried to get control of himself. "It is because the Mountain will be in the tournament that I dare not enter. I would have tunnel vision. I would charge him with everything I had and another Lannister supporter would take the opportunity to slip his sword between my ribs. Accidents happen all the time on the field of the tournament, after all."

Ranma went cold. Even Margaery, who had heard rumors of the real story about what happened during the sack of Kings Landing before, had been horrified by this simple, unadorned tale. Ranma too had heard a version of it before but certainly not the full story. Enough to make him hate the Mountain That Rides but now, knowing the full story, his emotions shut down almost as if he had entered the Soul of Ice. "I did not know that." he said quietly, his voice quiet.

Yet something about it made everyone in the vicinity, even those passersby who didn't even hear the conversation, shiver and move on quickly. Margaery and Oberyn stared at him, as Ranma's hand, with no apparent effort, crushed the stein of beer he had had been holding into so many splinters. Ranma didn't even notice, simply staring across at the Prince. "I didn't know but I do now."

That was much worse than what he had thought, that it wasn't even simply a horrible death caused by the heat of battle as maester Luwin had told him in their history lessons. This was cold-blooded and premeditated torture and rape, and the Lannisters and Robert allowed that monster to go free? No longer. Ranma's voice was so cold it could have frozen the water of the port. "I do now."

He stood up, bowing abruptly to the Prince. "We have to get back soon, so we will take our leave now, Prince Oberyn."

Oberyn was rather shaken by the sheer force of Ranma's voice and the unrelenting, yet cold fury it held. Truly it is said that Stark blood has ice in it. he thought to himself, shuddering a little. He knew his own temper ran hot and that in the heat of a moment he would do horrible things. Had done horrible things in his mercenary years. Yet, that voice had unnerved even him, a core of uncompromising purpose, something of the unstoppable nature of winter itself in it.

Soon enough, however, he recovered and shook his head, smirking a little at having done, albeit without plan or attempt, what he could to sour the Stark heir's opinions of the King and the Lannisters. A good day, still, I wonder what that young man will do now?

The walk back to the Red Keep was silence and Ranma said not a word as he dropped Margaery and her chaperone off at the Maidenvault before heading straight to the tower. There were five days before the tournament began and Ranma now knew what he was going to do.

OOOOOOO

After that event, in the days leading up to the tournament, everyone that interacted with him noticed the change in Ranma. There was an edge there, a sharpness to his movements. No longer was he going out of his way to have fun with Merry or Tommy. Now he exercised nearly all day, his movements sharp, controlled, and edged with a deep and abiding fury.

The third day of this had Eddard calling his son in to talk. "Something is bothering you, my son, everyone can see it. Even Tommen and Myrcella have been walking on tiptoes around you the past few days. Can I ask what is wrong?"

"Gregor Clegane will be in the tourney, correct?" Ranma said, turning from the window to stare at his father, his blue eyes dark as the depths of the ocean.

"He will." Ned responded, hesitantly staring at his son. "We received word from Castle Clegane several weeks back that he will arrive the evening before and to put his name down for both the melee and the tourney."

"You never told me the full truth, Luwin never told me what really happened in the sack of Kings Landing do Elia Martell and her children." Ranma said.

"No, I did not." Eddard replied simply. "There are some things too horrible to speak of, that was one of them."

"And you knew what my response would be to it."

"Yes, I knew."

"Then you know what I'm going to do."

Ned looked his son thoughtfully and nodded. "Yes, I do. It is long overdue, my son, though I am not so sanguine about risking you in a fight with that monster. Still, if something should happen to him, then I will thank the old gods that such a one has been removed from this earth."

Ranma nodded and the two men shared a firm handshake before Ned let his son go. He stared after the younger man for a moment, shaking his head. In actuality, he had worried, after Ranma's initial run in with the Bolton forces and what had happened then, that Ranma would have simply ridden off to hunt down the Mountain, despite the distance between castle Clegane and Winterfell. The mental scars left by Ramsay Bolton were deep and had never truly healed. Added to this was Ranma's sense of honor, something that Ned fully shared. Still, Eddard couldn't have allowed that, but now, in a tourney? Well, it would still make trouble but it would be much easier to handle. And I really will sleep better knowing that one more beast has been removed from this world.

OOOOOOO

A month after her discussion with Domeric, Daenerys did precisely what she had said she would; she goaded her brother into hitting her again. She did so this time by attacking his basic intelligence and goading him by comparing him to the many madmen and women their family had produced. Viserys had been pulled off her much quicker this time by a guard stationed outside her bedchamber, but the majority of the damage had been done to her face, making her once again unsuitable to be married off.

The old Daenerys might have cried out or become more fearful of her brother after his attack, even if it had been her plan in the first place. But Daenerys had changed; no longer was she that young woman, who was willing to let others control her. She wanted to control her life and physical pain like this was a paltry price to pay for that.

So a brief, painful, yet heartfelt smile appeared on her face when she heard magister Illyrio cordially ripping into Viserys outside her door. "I fail to see what kind of strategy you are following when you assault your sister so, Your Highness, perhaps you could enlighten me? Because from my perspective, these bouts of Targaryen madness do nothing but weaken our position." Daenerys' smiled slightly at that and the hissing indrawn breath from her brother that came with it.

Outside the Princess's room, Illyrio glared at Viserys, wondering if he might have been better served to separate the two Targaryens and ditch the older sibling to concentrate on molding the younger. But it was too late for that now and, in all honesty, these bouts with his sister were the only real issue he had with Viserys. "I have been pouring my goodwill with Khal Drogo out like water in the desert to apologize for this but this will cost us. Luckily, Khal Drogo was planning to leave soon on some kind of errand, something purely Dothraki that I don't understand. Regardless, he will be back in three months, by which time the Princess must be presentable No more delays will be allowed or else Drogo may believe we are slighting his honor. If that happens, the whole city might pay the price for your madness."

Viserys ground his teeth but he nodded. "You're right. I shouldn't have reacted as badly as I did. She's just a child, lashing out at her superiors because she doesn't like their plans for her." Illyrio nodded encouragingly, his spiky beard bobbling, but inside he was wondering if Daenerys knew precisely what she was doing. Viserys went on, moving away from the door to his sister's room. "Anyway, how far along are we with our other plans?"

"I feel we might have enough political clout." Illyrio pulled at his beard thoughtfully as he followed the older Targaryen down the passageway. "Money has never been in much doubt but we could use more aid among the magisters whose holdings are centered on the shipyard. We've bought a lot of new hulls but if we don't woo them, those hulls might be postponed as long as they can get away with to pay back that slight. Other than that, there are one or two magisters we might wish to appeal to in order to aid to our war chest."

"Very well, get me a list of them, as well as some information about them, and I will see if we can convince them of the rightness of our cause." Viserys had been doing very well with wooing the magisters to believe in his cause, now that he had a backer like Illyrio.

Most of these magisters were not on the ruling council, being slightly below that, but two were and their influence was decent enough. Not enough to truly change the balance of power in the city. None of them, for example, were linked to the 'city watch', the small standing army that patrolled the city streets and ostensibly protected the city from exterior threats but were in reality mere strong arms for the council. Nor were the magisters who dealt in foodstuffs, always a city's main weakness, represented.

Still, Viserys had charmed enough magisters to bring in about twenty times the amount of money and resources Illyrio alone could call upon. "I trust you to be your normal, urbane, convincing self." Illyrio murmured as the two continued on their way.

Behind them, a door opened slightly and Domeric came out, looking a little thoughtful as he turned to make his way to Daenerys' room.

Over the next few weeks, Daenerys busied herself by reading every single book she could get her hands on: about warfare, about taxes, about laws, about anything really; both from the Free Cities of Essos and from Westeros. The Westeros books were few and far between, hence why Illyrio had allowed Domeric into his house to make use of his knowledge. Still, they helped expand her knowledge of the continent that her family had called home for three hundred years.

While she was doing this, Domeric memorized the guard schedule and became friends with a few of them, trying to figure out a way into the magister's vault without having to fight his way in. If he had to do that, they would never get out of the manse, there were too many guards. He was decent with a blade but not that good. Of course, he was also called upon to put forth his input whenever Illyrio or Viserys asked his opinion on anything Westerosi.

He was writing up some notes on the Vale lands for Viserys when they were interrupted by Illyrio coming in, looking thoughtful. "We seem to have attracted another Northerner to use, ser bard. A Jorah Mormont is here to swear his service to the Targaryen siblings. Do you know him?"

At that name from out of the past Domeric's eyes widened in shock, while Viserys looked at him in amusement for his sudden lack of control. "Jorah Mormont? Yes, I know him very well or, at least, knew him well. He and I fought together in the Greyjoy Rebellion. We were among the first Northerners to storm the walls of Pyke."

"Is he trustworthy?" Viserys asked. "And is he so good with a blade that he would be an asset?"

"As a blade he is around my level, I think, though he was also trained as a troop commander, something I never had interest in learning. However, I doubt he would be able to tell you anything I could not about Westeros. You see, he is an exile. He fled his House's Island in front of a sentence of death for slavery. He was selling people from his own clan's land and others into slavery to pay for keeping his second wife in the comfort she had become used to."

Viserys rolled his eyes. He had spent most of his life in Essos, where the slave trade was a major part of the continent's economy, so he had never developed the Westeros attitude toward the practice.

The bard knew this and cautioned. "Do not make the mistake of assuming that the slavery issue is a small one. Even smallfolk in Westeros are free, the concept of slavery is anathema to nearly everyone both in power and not."

"Hmm." Illyrio murmured. "I'm going to have the guards escort him here, let us see what he has to say."

Moments later, Jorah Mormont was shown in. Like all his House, he was tall, broad shouldered, and strong. Also hairy, with a beard that had seen better days and hairy arms shown in the short sleeved shirt he currently wore. He had been stripped of sword and mail before being allowed into the magister's presence.

When he was ushered in, his eyes lit on Domeric and widened in shock. "Domeric Bolton! What by all the gods old and new are you doing here?!"

"I could be asking you the same question, Jorah." Domeric's voice was cold and Jorah flinched at it. "I take it your ventures into slavery have failed to keep your lady happy, so you are here to pursue another profession?"

Jorah winced further, then barked a unhappy chuckle. "You always did have a tongue on you. But no, I'm here for me. My wife left me; she's fucking some merchant prince in Lys. So much for love!"

It was Domeric's turn to wince. "Throwing away your honor and your family to keep her happy wasn't enough? Ouch. I apologize for my tone, Jorah."

Viserys barked a harsh laugh. "Such loyalty will eventually reap its own rewards, yet we are getting far afield of the real topic. Why are you here, man of the North, and what can you offer us to take you into our service?"

If anyone objected to Viserys' use of the royal 'we', none commented on it. Jorah shrugged. "I had thought to give you another perspective on Westeros and its people but I have no doubt that Domeric has already filled that role. I will say that I have connections still in Westeros, particularly in the Vale and Westerlands. Other than that, I am an able blade and a good leader of such. I have taken a hard look at Robert Baratheon's rule and I think that a return to the glory days of Targaryen rule would actually be best for Westeros in the long run, so if you'll have me, I'll be your sworn man."

That comment won Domeric some looks, since the bard had not in fact sworn any oaths to either Illyrio or the Targaryens and had been blunt about his being torn between them and his loyalty to House Stark. Viserys however simply nodded. "Blades we have but field commanders used to the Westerosi methods of war could be useful. Still, that is a long way into the future, so what information can you give us of Westeros to make employing you now useful?"

That conversation continued for a time, since it appeared that Jorah had some way of getting news from Westeros that was more up to date than Domeric's. The news that Lysa Arryn nee Tully had fallen into some kind of paranoid madness was interesting and potentially very useful. A land without a clear leader might be more vulnerable to conquest, despite its mountainous nature. The news that a King Beyond the Wall had risen was useful, as well, and something Domeric hadn't heard a hint of. It implied that, at worst, the North would be too busy defending that border to add its weight to anything happening further south, at best, forces from the rest of the realms could have been sent to the Wall, weakening them all.

Despite this, Domeric was more than a little suspicious of his former friend, which he confided to Daenerys later that evening. "His information is too new for someone who has spent years in Essos after his exile. I have no idea how he is getting it, he waves that off saying it is from contacts he made during his slaving years but that doesn't make sense. Those kinds of friends are fair-weather at best, why would they continue to share news with someone who has nothing to offer them back?"

Daenerys frowned, wincing internally at the pain this caused her face. "Could he be an agent of the eunuch? The master of whispers is supposed to be very subtle, after all, and these tidbits he's shared could simply be there to get us to trust him." Here she spoke of Viserys and Illyrio, really, not her, but the point was still applicable.

"Hmm… I would have said no before I heard of his crime all those years ago, but now?" Domeric shrugged. "You must understand how slavery is seen in Westeros, Princess. It is a social taboo on the order of, of, offering violence against someone once you have taken bread in his or your own house. It is something that would make you anathema to all right thinking people. His reasons were such that I can commiserate with him but never condone his actions."

The young Princess took this in, though inside she still didn't understand the Westeros reaction to slavery, having been raised from a young age here in Essos. Still, she understood enough to make note of it. "I see. How will this influence our plans?"

Domeric shrugged. "I'm waiting for an opportunity but I have come to the conclusion we might have to go for a smash and grab, as it were, and we are still going to be waiting some months before the ship captain you think will aid us is here to spirit us off. I will warn you, however, that this is a onetime proposition; when we try to break into the magister's vault, we won't be able to back out.

"I understand that." Daenerys actually smiled slightly, despite the pain of moving her mouth. "I understood that the moment I began to plan this out. We must, as the saying goes, risk all to gain all."

OOOOOOO

Two days after speaking to his father, the tournament began and Ranma signed up for the melee and the joust. Gregor Clegane would be taking part in both. Ranma cared not for winning any longer; that would've simply been fun and amusing but now he was a man on a mission. The years since the crime occurred did not change right and wrong and, because of his experience upon meeting Ramsey Snow, he could all too easily imagine the pain, anguish, and terror Clegane's victims felt.

The tournament was situated a morning's journey away from the city in a large clearing that was about two miles across. In the center, with wooden bleachers surrounding them and a two story Royal box between them, were the fields for the two main events, the jousting and the melee. The jousting area would also be used for the archery tournament, while the melee section, a wide, circular area of gravel, bare ground, and grass, would be segmented up for the wrestling and fisticuffs competitions, as well as a few others, like knife throwing, spear hurling, and others.

Stalls had been set up all along the edge of the tournament selling food, alcohol, whores, and many other things. At Ned's direction, the money those vendors earned would be taxed quite a bit so both they and the crown would see a profit. Well the crown wouldn't, not given the large size of the prizes Robert had insisted be given out to the winners of the biggest competitions, archery, melee, and jousting.

The crowds had gathered already, as Ranma arrived with his father and the few knights from Winterfell who were going to enter the tournament. Many had thought to enter but that number decreased, once they saw how grimly Ranma acted about his own entry. Ser Jory, Mattimeo Cluny, and Ser Thomas Willowtree, were the only ones who still intended to enter the melee or the jousting, while six others would be entering the archery competition. Twelve men from Riverrun were participating, spread out in the melee and in other competitions.

Willowtree was the fourth son of a minor House that was beholden to House Manderly and was the only Ser among them, other than Jory. He, like Jory, had won his Ser in the Iron Born rebellion for defending an ally. He was also the only person amongst the fifty men that had come south that believed in the Seven and he had been heavily disillusioned by the High Septon since their arrival here. In his own words, he desired some honest, wholesome battle to lose himself in.

Jory had his eye on a maid of the Queen's he had been flirting with the past few months and hoped to use the prize money to help in wooing her. Mattimeo wanted to make a name for himself. He was the youngest of the three, a humble, smiling lad who got along well with Ranma most of the time, though he wasn't nearly as serious about his martial skills as the others, knowing he would have to go home, eventually, to his family's coal mine.

That first day of the tourney was a half-day devoted entirely to the melee. This would allow those contestants who had also signed up for the jousting and were injured during it to heal somewhat over the two weeks of the tourney before the jousting began. Before that, of course, the tourney had to be formally begun by a speech from Robert.

Ranma stood among the other melee combatants while all around them crowds began to gather at the edge of the area set aside for the melee. He wore a half-plate armor, which bore his family's crest done out in black on the burnished steel and a single blue eye. At his side, he wore a simple longsword, borrowed from the Red Keep's armory.

For the melee, you had to blunt your blade as part of the security of the event so not as many people would die. Maces, hammers, and other blunt weapons were made lighter and had to submit to inspection for that purpose. His old warhammer hadn't passed inspection but Ranma had refused to blunt his new sword. That seemed almost like sacrilege, given the magnificence of the blade the master smith had forged for him.

The King's family, several nobles, and the Starks sat in a special two story pavilion that had been set up alongside the two areas for the main trio of events. It was covered with an awning that would give them shade from the sun, although all its sides were open. The chairs could be twisted around from one end to the other so that they could view both the jousting and the melee from the same position.

Margaery sat next to Sansa with Myrcella on her other side, a sitting arrangement that none of the three girls liked. With Joffrey sitting beside Sansa and then the special area for the King and Queen next to him, this left them with the current sitting arrangement, since Myrcella wanted Tommen to be sitting as far away from Joffrey as he could. Not that Myrcella was happy to have Margaery anywhere near her but her friend at least was a somewhat decent buffer so she wasn't tempted to claw her eyes out when she cooed about how handsome Ranma looked out there.

Sansa didn't like the fact that Margaery had been occasionally flirting with Joffrey but that seemed to have died down of late, which she was very happy for. She hadn't been prepared for it at all, though her womanly instincts had served her enough to step up her own flirting with him to keep the Crown Prince interests where it belonged (So much so that her father had taken her to task a few times). While Sansa was making herself a place in the Red Keep, getting along well with all the ladies and becoming the head seamstress of several projects, including one dress for the Queen that she was creating as a surprise gift for her, Sansa's relationship with her brother and father was not what it once was.

Neither of them saw the truth as she could so clearly. That Joffrey, despite not being what they thought of as a good match, was indeed a good match for her and would make an excellent King. He had the right attitude, the correct courtly manner, the looks, everything. Still, Sansa was looking forward to seeing her brother in the tournament. She also knew how easily he would overmatch and overwhelm any one person, so seeing him in the melee would probably be a better show than in the jousting.

On the other side of the raised seats for the King and Queen sat Ned, Renly, Ser Loras, Lancel Lannister, and Lord Jason Mallister from the Riverlands fortress of Seagard. Petyr, Varys, and the rest of the council as well as a few other highborn gentlemen and ladies from around the Crownlands sat behind them. A few maids and servants sat or stood around the edges of the box.

Ned had greeted Lord Mallister warmly. His domain, Seagard, was both a town and castle; it was built to defend the coast from raiders coming from the Iron Islands and was the site of many of the battles against the Iron Born during their rebellion. House Mallister itself was one of the most powerful Houses of the Riverlands.

Jason Mallister was an honorable man around Eddard's age with a chiseled face, brown hair, and eyes as sharp as the eagle on his family's crest. He and Ned had met before and respected one another deeply. Since the man's arrival a few days ago, the two of them had been sequestered, in the Hand's Tower. Ned shared with the man everything but his worry about the true parentage of the three royal children. Jason was sickened by the amount of graft Eddard was discovering but vowed to share his observations with Lord Tully when he could.

The new Hand still hadn't decided if Petyr was loyal but not willing to rock the boat, or working for himself. But that observation, as well as everything else Eddard wouldn't share even with a trustworthy friend like Jason, was a little much to send himself in a message back to Winterfell. And the ship from Lord Manderly, which had arrived two weeks ago, was an escape route, not a messenger service. The ravens, after all, could be sent anywhere the maester sent them and Ned didn't trust any of the Red Keep's maesters, most particularly Pyrcelle.

Oberyn was not among the occupants of the Royal Box. He sat among the crowd, looking around with interest as he tried to see if he could spot his errant ladies. They had done a very good job of disappearing into the city but he hoped to spot them here. He had begun to think maybe he was wrong about them being able to handle themselves and wanted to make certain they were still alive. The things his older brother would do to him if Arianne were killed here hardly bore thinking about. At last, he saw them among the peasants sitting in the merchants section of the seating and he sighed deeply in relief.

After that, Oberyn looked back at the melee competitors, easily spotting Ranma Stark and his own squire. As a relative unknown, Daemon Sand was able to disappear among the hundreds of other competitors, which would keep him safe. Relatively, anyway.

Robert stood up and after a short speech ended grandly, "This tourney is in honor of Ned Stark taking over as my Hand! For the honor of your families, for the money involved, and for the honor you'll show your King, fight well!"

With that, the horns blasted from all around and the groups moved off to their own tents at the far end of the two fields that would be used for the melee and the jousting, Ranma sharing a tent with his fellows from the North. They quickly pulled on their helmets on, adjusted their armor, and got their shields. Ranma looked at the other three before putting his own helmet on. "I probably don't have to tell you this," he said, his voice once more tinged with an icy rage, which sent all three of the other men backing away slightly, "but stay away from me out there. I'll try not to hurt any of you three if I can, but don't get between me and the Mountain that Rides."

All three men's eyes widened at that declaration and began to wildly speculation what it meant. Ser Jory was the first to put two and two together. "Justice long overdue, my Lord," he said reaching forward to clap Ranma on the shoulder. "I hope you get your chance."

Ranma nodded, reaching out and gripping the older man's shoulder then turned at the sound of the second booming bellow of the horns indicating the men needed to reassemble for the melee.

The melee occurred in a wide circular area, with every man set up along the edge of the circle. Unfortunately, Ranma found himself almost directly across from his target. As soon as the horns boomed again, every man (mounted or otherwise) would run forward twenty paces into the center of the circle, where they would start to attack one another.

Strategies for the melee varied. Many, such as Oberyn's squire Daemon, would move forward slowly, staying to the outer edge to pick off one or two opponents, staying away from the main battle and letting his opponent's tire themselves out.

Others, like Gregor Clegane would simply wade into it, using their strength and reach to smash their enemies. Gregor was truly a giant, nearly eight feet tall with massive shoulders and arms, weighing over thirty stone, nearly all of it muscle. He used a six-foot long, two-handed greatsword with just one hand, even on horseback.

Ranma didn't care about that, he merely cared that his target was in sight. As soon as the horns blared again, he leaped forward, faster than anyone there had ever seen a man in half plate move. Suddenly, he was in the direct center, his sword lashing out to smash aside a blow from a horsed knight from the Stormlands, his return blow bashing the man off his horse. He fell awkwardly, smashing his head into the ground, out cold. With that, the tourney began in earnest and the melee erupted around him.

Ranma whirled, faster than any man there could move, blocking a blow from another man who had entered the melee on horseback. Ranma had chosen not to do this, despite the height advantage it would give you, since controlling a horse would've taken away from his concentration

The man was so astonished at his speed that he hadn't even set himself in the saddle correctly to block a return blow and Ranma's strength almost lifted him off out of his saddle. Ranma gut-checked the horse, throwing it back and causing it to whinny. The man barely kicked out of the saddle before the horse landed on him.

Ranma had already turned away, taking on two more men, one with a mace and one with a claymore, bashing both hastily raised weapons to the side, his fist flashing out to smash into their heads one after another with lightning speed, sending them down to the turf. He raced on, dodging the clumps of combat he could, heading straight for his target.

By the time he got close, however, Gregor Clegane had already been disqualified, retreating with ill grace out of the melee area. Ser Thoros of Myr had been closer to Gregor than Ranma and, like he often did, the man made straight for him. The priest of R'hllor wasn't, as Ranma had noticed a time or two seeing him with the King, very priestly, enjoying many pleasures of the flesh. But he had never forgotten or forgiven Gregor's savagery during the sack of Kings Landing. So he made for the man, blazing sword held high, cutting down four others, whose horses weren't trained as his own to ignore his sword.

Unfortunately, the Mountain's massive horse was as spooked as the man himself by the Thoros's flaming sword. He rode out of the tournament angry and raging but unwilling to face the priest with his blazing sword. The jeers and catcalls of the crowd followed him, causing the man to grit his teeth angrily and mark the faces of the loudest hecklers for later retribution.

Just as he crossed the threshold of the area, Ranma came up behind the priest, cursing angrily. "Damn it, I wanted him!"

Thoros twisted in the saddle and blocked Ranma's blow to his legs quicker than he looked to be able to move. There was also quite a bit of muscle underneath that fat, reminding Ranma of the time he had sparred with Lord Manderly's son Wyman. The flaming sword, however, didn't matter to him at all so he didn't retreat when their blades locked. He pushed the priest hard, forcing him and his horse backwards, before elbowing the horse so hard it collapsed backwards. Thoros barely threw himself form the saddle before the horse landed.

Despite this, Thoros simply guffawed, his blade slicing forward to lock with Ranma's once more. "You'll have to get in line if you want a piece of the Mountain, lad. I can name over a dozen men here who would love to end his life. And you're too young to waste your life in the attempt."

With that, Thoros broke their lock, thrusting quickly. Ranma dodged to the side allowing the lunge to go past before trapping his sword arm underneath his own. With a twist of his body, he broke the fat man's arm while, at the same time, smashing an elbow into the man's face sending him senseless to the dirt. "Young I may be but I'll do what you don't seem to be able to."

He left the red priest lying senseless on the ground, moving back through the tournament, smashing everyone aside. If he couldn't face Gregor in the joust, where the contestants were randomly chosen, he would have to fall back on plan B. For that, it would be best to have won the notoriety and the money from both the melee and the joust.

The battle continued. Due to the chaotic nature of the battle, no one in the melee realized how badly Ranma was simply overpowering them all. The spectators could see, of course, and Robert's guffawing bellow rang out every time he saw Ranma almost negligently smash another grown man to the ground before moving on.

Jaime was due to join the jousting along with several others of the Kingsguard but he was standing guard on the King's box for the first day of the tournament, which had been devoted to the melee. Now, he watched on as the Stark heir ripped through his opponents like a direwolf among sheep and frowned heavily. The lad was holding back! How good is he really? He can't be as good as I am, not in terms of skill at least, can he?

Ser Loras watched with worried eyes as his young acquaintance/almost friend cut a swathe through the melee. "Something is eating Ranma; I have never seen him be so serious. This should be fun and games to him, I know for a fact he holds back often in our duels."

Renly looked at him in surprise and Loras shrugged. "Ser Barristan joined us for spar once and, afterward, called him out on it. I overheard them talking. Ranma has depths of strength and power as well as skill that he has not yet shown. But this is something else."

Next to them, Ned merely smiled grimly, knowing what his son had in mind while Jason Mallister smashed one hand against the railing in front of him with every man Ranma smashed to the earth.

The three girls cheered, each in their own way, while Joffrey and his younger brother clapped. Joffrey was doing it only to be seen to do it, while Tommy was excited and awestruck. Inside Joffrey was smirking. He had his own plan for Ranma Stark and the tourney was the perfect time to put it into action. It wouldn't kill him by itself but it would humiliate and dishonor him so badly he might well be exiled, killed, or sent to the Wall as a Night's Watchman. Any of the three outcomes would please him greatly.

Among those locked in combat, Sandor Clegane was the first to realize what was happening and also the first to bow out because of it. He backed away, pulling off his somewhat battered helm as token of his withdrawal, revealing his heavily burned, scarred face twisted in anger. He had no wish to cross blades with the Stark boy and wasn't so egotistical as to keep in the battle just for the sake of it. Others followed, their eyes wide in awe, including Daemon Sand, whose sword Ranma had shattered, with a kick of all things, as Daemon tried to attack him from the side.

Twenty minutes after that, the second to last of Ranma's opponents collapsed senseless to the ground as Ranma simply smashed his shield against the man's own throwing him backwards before knocking him to the earth with an open palm blow to the chest. That left only Ser Jory.

As good as Jory was, they both knew who would win that particular battle. The other men from Winterfell had fallen before Ranma had proven his superiority but had acquitted themselves well, taking out five men in the case of Mattimeo, while Ser Thomas unhorsed seven and downed six before he fell. Now Ser Jory pulled off his helm, bowing to Ranma in token of surrender.

At that signal, the cheers of the crowd redoubled, shouting "Stark, Stark, Stark!" Though where the shout started from, Ranma didn't know.

He bowed slightly to the crowed then turned with Ser Jory following over to grab their fellows up from the mass of unconscious, wounded, moaning, and groaning contestants. Servants and healers came forward, as well. Unlike in tourneys past, Ranma's sheer dominance had actually kept many people from dying save for one man who had fallen off his horse to land awkwardly on his head and another whose head had been struck from his body by Gregor Clegane before he was forced to withdraw by Thoros. Despite being blunted, the Mountain's massive sword was still deadly.

Ranma pulled off his helmet and strode forward towards the King's Royal box. At a nod from one of the melee officials, he stopped at the correct distance, bowing formally.

Robert bellowed another laugh, staring down at the Stark who was so strange in so many ways, yet a consummate warrior, better than any he had seen, better than even most of the old Kingsguard. The present Kingsguard were staring down at him with approval in some eyes but with consternation and fear in others. "Damn lad, that was glorious! Well done, the most dominant victory I've seen in a melee since the first time Thoros used that blasted flaming sword trick!"

He tossed down a token, which was proof that Ranma was the winner. The prizes would all be given out on the last day of the tournament, right after the jousting was finished.

Ranma bowed, once again to the two Royals and once to the ladies before another one for his father, then moved off to help Ser Jory pull along Ser Thomas, who had a nasty gash on one shoulder from a sword that hadn't been quite as blunted as it should've been. Mattimeo had broken his arm, yet was holding his fellows' weapons under his other arm looking remarkably cheerful for all of that. The quartet made their way back to their tent as the crowd cheered for a few moments before dispersing to other amusements for the rest of that day.

During this time, Oberyn Martell met up with his squire, who apologized for his bad showing. His Prince waved this off. His mind on other matters, such as what about how Ranma moved through the melee was bothering him. He didn't figure it out, however, and he and his squire moved on to see if they could somehow surprise the three girls in their own mischief.

OOOOOOO

"You'll do it tomorrow evening. He doesn't have a servant assigned to his tent so put it in the food that is every contestant is given for their tents. Make sure you're not seen doing it." Joffrey glared at his ever so helpful servant. "Don't get caught."

The servant bowed and Joffrey turned to enter his room. He, his mother, and sister had come back to the Red Keep with many others, including Eddard Stark and a goodly portion of his men. They felt the time spent traveling in the morning was well spent in return for having stone walls to keep off the heat and actual beds. Robert hadn't come back since this gave him even more freedom to be with his doxies, forcing the Kingsguard to split.

Joffrey sat down on a window seat for a moment, staring up into the night sky as he thought. This was but one attack he had planned, there were others he could try but even he had realized that facing Ranma in battle would cost him far more in terms of men that he could pay without it being linked back to him. He still had retained a few men that Ser Janos had recommended from the Gold Cloaks for their skill with arrows but even that was too open for him to risk right now. Maybe if this attack didn't work he might try it, but not until then.

And it's not like this first tonic is the only one I've picked up from the alchemists. Such helpful fellows they were, if slow. Still, I have more than enough other concoctions if this doesn't work. And the Starks have made enough enemies here in the city for it to not be linked back to me. In fact, it would probably go back to Pyrcelle, that irritating old man. Mother's complained about him butting heads with the older Stark often enough and he would know how to do it too, wouldn't he? Or perhaps Petyr, the penny-pincher. I might wish to plant some evidence in those directions if the need for a scapegoat arises. But one way or the other, Ranma Stark will eventually be out of the way, no longer stealing the attention that should be mine! Though I still might have to deal with certain others…

OOOOOOO

The next week was given over to small events, while those who were going to participate in the jousting recovered from the melee. The archery competition would begin the next day and cover two days from midmorning to evening, while the rest of the time would be taken by smaller competitions. Ranma didn't join any of the smaller contests though he could easily have dominated them as well, though the archery probably wouldn't have been as easy. He had left that to Theon rather deliberately as they grew up.

Instead, he spent time showing Tommen, Myrcella, and Margaery around. With Ser Oakheart and Ranma guarding them, the King and the Queen knew that no harm would come to their youngest pair and Cersei knew that Myrcella really needed to get her crush out of her system. Seeing Ranma in the tournament yesterday hadn't done much to dissuade that crush, unfortunately. The Queen had hoped it would, given her daughter's gentle nature, but it appeared as if nothing had changed. She hoped that Ranma's treating Myrcella as a sister throughout the day would help end her crush as Ranma, with every kindness and brotherly act, drove home their respective ages and the way he saw her. Otherwise, the Queen would never have allowed her children to wander around the faire at all, let alone with so few followers.

"Well now, isn't that odd?" Arianne Martell said thoughtfully, looking up from where she Tyene had been perusing some admittedly excellent jewelry pieces.

Tyene cocked an eyebrow, then turned her head to look in the direction Arianne was looking. "Is that the younger Baratheon children? My, they really don't look like stags at all, do they?"

"Hmm, that is true though not what I was commenting on, still, I wonder…" Arianne frowned, then shook it off. "The rather attractive young man with them must be Ranma Stark. My word, he is a handsome fellow, if rather barbaric in dress."

"Should we follow them?" Obara asked. She fingered her short sword where it hung inside her cloak, feeling under-armed without her spear.

"Yes, I think we should. It will give us a good idea of how close Stark is to the children and to his prospective bride. While his being allowed to wander around with the Baratheon brats is telling, so is the fact Margaery is keeping her distance, not using her body as she could to flirt with him. If there is a distance between them, perhaps we can widen it and halt that marriage entirely." With a last look between them, the trio of women began to follow the royal party through the faire.

Margaery and Myrcella spent the rest of the day sniping at one another cordially over Ranma's head, while he made every effort to ignore it. Tommen won himself a few prizes with his hand eye coordination, winning a large and expensive bottle of perfume for his mother who took it with a warm smile that evening and a kiss on his cheek.

They sometimes came upon Joffrey, Sansa, their chaperones, and their large guard detail. At these moments, their trio of unnoticed minders faded further, yet keenly watched all involved from the privacy of the crowd.

At these meetings, Sansa always stared hard at Ranma, wordlessly urging him to apologize once more while not realizing that she was the one that had to make that overture first. In response, Ranma would simply glance away, shaking his head internally at how at home Sansa was here, how unlike a Stark she sometimes appeared these days.

Sansa was no longer a girl on the cusp of womanhood, she was a young woman, as much as Margaery despite being younger, but there wasn't a hint of her northern upbringing in her looks. Gone was the clothing she wore in the North, her hair was different, her gait was different, her jewelry was different, and she didn't even have Lady at her side as she walked around the faire.

Like Fenris, Lady had been confined to her room for much of their time here, though in her case she was quite happy to remain inside and be pampered. Sansa still spent a lot of time with her, she made a point of it, in fact, but Lady was losing the wildness that a direwolf should have. She also seemed to have stopped growing and was merely as large as two normal wolves combined now.

Fenris wasn't pleased with being stuck inside so Ranma had taken every opportunity he could during his work on organizing the tourney to let Fenris get away from the city for a time. The massive direwolf, now as large as a pony, frightened a lot of people at first but he was well behaved, so hadn't eaten anyone yet. He had raced off every night into the Kingswood to hunt and seemed to have picked up a craving for bear and boar in particular.

That evening, Myrcella begged her mother to stay with Ranma and Margaery a little later so she could join with them and the battered Mattimeo in a few rounds of chess. Cersei eventually allowed it after Ser Barristan volunteered to stay with them, though her initial thought was to have Lancel stay with them. But the antipathy he and Ranma had for one another made that a bad idea.. Still, with the septa Nysterica, Margaery, Selmy, Oakheart, and Mattimeo there, she felt it was safe enough to let her daughter stay..

Nysterica and Oakheart lost quickly against Margaery and Selmy. Ranma and Mattimeo were evenly matched at first because the guardsman took a purely defensive posture, wanting to whittle down his opponent as much as he could before trying to go on the offensive. This didn't work for long, but it made their match take twice as long as the others, which allowed Ser Barristan and Margaery to battle it out, with Myrcella taking on Ser Jory before he left for the evening. Jory had found a lady from a Crownlands minor House to step out with, a young widow who was here to see her younger brother in the archery competition. Myrcella won her round just as Ranma finished off Mattimeo and broke off to have something to eat allowing Myrcella and Margaery to face off.

That battle was vicious from the get go but Ranma was more interested in his food. Every participant's tent was supplied with food on the King's tab, though this time Eddard had pushed that expense over to the merchants' guild, since they were making money throughout the tournament. The food consisted of simple fair that would keep for a time, fruit, breads, oil, and cold cuts.

Ranma hummed for a moment as he ate some of the cold cuts. "Hmm, some kind of odd sauce on this. Very spicy though."

Mattimeo paused in heading off himself to visit a lady, not one, alas, that he actually was attempting to woo. In his case, she was the type you had to pay. "Really, I didn't notice anything earlier today. Maybe they changed the glaze or something for the evening."

"Maybe, still good though." Ranma shrugged and kept eating. Unlike the kids, he hadn't eaten as they went around, since neither Royal had thought to actually bring money, forcing Ranma to pay their way along with Margaery's. Oakheart had simply laughed and shaken his head when asked to pitch in.

Soon, Ranma was left alone with the southerners. The match between the two girls continued on, while the trio of men and Nysterica talked quietly. The Septa was an older woman, a few years older than Ranma's mother and, while not pretty, was very intelligent. She and Oakheart spoke of growing up in the Reach, while Selmy looked on as the two girls slaughtered one another's forces.

Ranma finished his meal and came back, watching the two girls. For a moment he paused, shaking his head as a wave of vertigo hit him. Margaery looked up at him as he stumbled. "Are you alright Ranma?"

"I, I'm feeling a little hot for some reason." Ranma passed a hand over his brow, feeling it come away with some sweat, as if he had been exercising hard for hours. "I'm alright, I think." A moment later he realized that thought was rather ironic as he felt response down below. Fuck, what the hell! I've got a hell of a lot more control than to let that happen out of the blue like this, what the hell is going on? Ranma hunched over, trying to hide his visible reaction to whatever the hell was messing with his hormones.

All the other people in the tent were now looking at him and the two girls were moving toward him. "Ranma, you look as if you've got a fever, come and lie down."

"Not a fever, something else…" By this time, Myrcella and Margaery were right in front of him, the Princess on his right, with Margaery directly in front of him. Her bodice was straining slightly as she leaned over to put her hand on Ranma's forehead. She smelled of rose and honeysuckle, and Ranma could see a faint sheen of sweat on her neck rolling down into her bodice…

He couldn't help himself; he leaned forward, pulling Margaery toward him. "Ranma, what…" That was as far as Margaery could get before Ranma had pulled her head down, leaning up himself to kiss her hard on the lips. For a moment, Margaery didn't respond, her hands smacking ineffectually for a second against his chest, but after a second she found herself responding, the sheer passion in the kiss making her react ardently, opening her mouth to Ranma's questing tongue.

Nysterica however and Barristan pulled them apart. "What the hell do you think you're doing lad! I know you two might become engaged but there are limits to what you can do!"

Ranma growled, he actually growled a little, and before Oakheart could pull Myrcella away from him, he was smacked aside by a single open palm blow to his chest plate. He 'oofed' as the air left his lungs, then landed on his ass at the far end of the tent. Ranma however had already turned away, his arms going around the shocked Baratheon Princess.

Myrcella was wearing one of her normal dresses, though her body had grown out a bit more since they had met in Winterfell, filling it out slightly so her budding chest was pressing outward, where before she had been flat. Her hips were also somewhat more pronounced. She smelled of vanilla and a hint of lavender, the kind of perfume a young girl would wear.

The princess squeaked as Ranma nuzzled into her neck. She could feel his arousal nudging against her stomach, then she squeaked again as she found his lips capturing hers. Unlike Margaery, the younger girl didn't have enough control to resist and she gave into the kiss, reveling in her crush kissing her, reveling in the sensations going up and down her spine, traveling to areas she had never felt anything like this from before. Her mouth opened in a moan and Ranma's kiss became even fiercer as their tongues twirled together.

The feel of her small chest against his, however, was just enough to give Ranma's rational mind enough of a kick to pull away. The younger girl fell to the ground, a wide, happy, and very out of it smile on her face. Ranma moved back, his arms around his body as his teeth bared, yet he sent a single command to Fenris. The direwolf, finally realizing something was going on rather than the human equivalent of a mating hunt leaped over the downed Oakheart to smash into Ranma, bearing him to the ground.

Fenris sat on him, allowing Ranma to gain some more control. He looked past his direwolf at Ser Barristan, who was standing staring at Ranma his old eyes shrewdly moving between him and the food. "Get them out of here, Ser Barristan! There, there was something in the food, I, I don't know what it was, but I can't…"

"Aye lad, I know, I have no idea what it was, but this isn't you." Ser Selmy picked up the still swooning Myrcella and followed the wincing Oakheart out of the tent, followed quickly by Nysterica and Margaery.

Margaery had enough presence of mind to grab up the plate of meat cutlets before heading out. She looked behind them for a moment, seeing Ranma on the ground, his eyes closed now as he tried to breathe deeply but it was obviously hard for him. His face was still flushed and Fenris was now having to fight to keep him there.

"Well now, it would appear our idea to watch them has paid off already. How intriguing, I wonder what has occurred." Arianne's voice was a mixture of interested, amused, and contemplative as she spoke, looking through the dark lit by the numerous fires and torches to the Stark tent. "Tyene, what do you think?"

Tyene had somewhat better night eyes than the other two and also a very quick mind. "Hmm, it would seem as if something has indeed happened. The young Baratheon girl is out of it at present, while the others all look worried and confused."

Obara grunted irritably at the two other girls simply talking about it, leaving it up to her to actually take action and find out what was going on. She moved forward with her cloak covering her features as she went by the Stark tent. A moment later, she had circled back and was back with the other two quickly. "The Tyrell girl is worried. She fears that the young Stark has been poisoned somehow, but whatever it did, made the 'chaperone' very angry." She said the word with some distaste, since betrothals were much more interesting affairs in Dorne with none of these silly minders, "I could tell the Tyrell girl had been kissed hard as well, and going by the torchlight, she seemed flushed. She was also carrying a tray with a few sweet meats on it."

"Hmm, Tyene, is there anything in your repertoire that would have an amorous effect on someone before starting its deadly work?"

"No, though I know many aphrodisiacs that could be placed in food. Many of them do have harmful effects." Tyene frowned in professional curiosity. "I wonder what will happen now? Many of them will stay in your system until you release."

Arianne frowned, but she was thinking well beyond the now. A moment later, there was a ripping sound that carried to them two tents over and then the sound of running feet heading out into the darkness away from the tourney and its surrounding tents at amazing speeds. "Tell me, do you think you could create an antidote for whatever it is?"

Tyene looked at her in surprise and Arianne smiled. "The Stark heir seems to have flown the coop, as it were, and I bet that whoever tried to poison him desired more of a reaction than what has occurred. But we can still use this, to give us an in with the Starks here, possibly even place you in their household."

"Devious, but I doubt the Tyrell girl will believe in the serendipity of me simply showing up out of the blue right as my skills could be useful." Tyene replied skeptically.

"Perhaps, but I bet the offer of aid will offset that. Obara, you go with her. Make no mention of my being here. You are simply two of the Sand Snakes having followed your father without his knowledge to see what Kings Landing is like. If pressed, admit to being here to see if you can make trouble for the Lannisters."

The two sisters exchanged a glance in the light of a torch but willingly moved forward. By the time they arrived, the group around the tent was becoming frantic or, at least, the two girls were. Oakheart and septa Nysterica were still trying to get their minds around what had happened.

At this point, Myrcella had recovered from her initial swoon at having been kissed like that by her longtime crush, taking the memory and storing it in her mind as a treasured possession to be viewed at a later date. Now however she had to concentrate, in order to help said crush. "We have to get after him! We can't just let him run around out there wild while whatever is doing this to him goes through his system! Who knows what it might do."

"Judging by how fast he raced off, I doubt any of us could catch him." Sir Oakheart said, shaking his head sadly. One of his hands was kneading his armored chest, that palm shot had been painful in the extreme. While it hadn't cracked his armor like that of Greenfield's body back in Winterfell, it still stung like the blazes. He also thought that staying here would keep his charge away from the amorous Ranma, which was a very good idea in his opinion.

Ser Barristan said nothing, staring out into the darkness wondering who had done this, and why. Actually he had a very good idea of why and he glanced at Margaery who had just peered into the tents to see Fenris still there. The large direwolf was pacing around, unable to understand what was going on with his bonded master, but understanding he couldn't help him in whatever was bothering him. Yes, I have a very good idea of what they wanted he thought grimly. It was only luck and Myrcella insisting she wanted to take part in their chess games. With her being here, my presence and that of Oakheart stopped the worst from happening.

"By the time we get back to the city and find an alchemist or maester to help us figure out what is in his system, Ranma could be days away." Margaery muttered to herself. She hadn't honestly believed the stories of how fast he could move until she saw him rip out of the back of the tent and race away faster than her eyes could track. If Ranma could keep up to speed for any length of time, then they had no chance of catching him. It wasn't like any of them could track him in the dark of the forest, either. "Besides I wouldn't trust either of those groups not to have been at least the source of whatever is doing this in the first place. No I'm afraid…"

"Perhaps we could be of assistance." said a soft melodious voice behind them. All five people gathered around the Stark tent turned to see two young women standing there. One of them was garbed in a heavy cloak but it could do little to mask the heavy shoulders and the warlike stance she took. Both White Cloaks tensed, hands going towards their ever present blades as their expert eyes spotted the short sword hidden under that cloak, as well as a the hump of what could be a shield on her back.

The other woman wasn't nearly as threatening, shorter of stature with an innocent and open expression on her face that was centered around wide expressive blue eyes framed by black hair. Judging from their complexion and accent, both of these women came from Dorne, which made both White Cloaks even more wary of them.

Margaery however concentrated on what they said rather than what they were, she would think about that later. "What do you mean you can help us?"

"I have been trained as a septa, though I have not taken the vows, and I specialize in healing and dealing with the poisons that are all too frequent in my country. If you have a sample of the food and can tell me the symptoms, I can try to concoct an antidote."

"Your names?" Ser Barristan asked grimly. He had a feeling that he knew these two or, at least, the older one. "Your features seem vaguely familiar to me, ladies."

"We are two of the sand snakes, I am Tyene, this is Obara."

"And why should we trust you?" Myrcella said, now having her own worries about these two. Relations between Lannister and Martell were deadly at best, and their relationship to House Baratheon was not exactly warm.

"I think we can wait to ask that question, if they can help Ranma, then let them do so now." Margaery said, commanding all three of them. At that moment, all her normal airs fell away, revealing the steel of the trained leader within, the one who had learned at her grandmother's knee, and none of these three had the immunity that Loras had developed to her powers of persuasion. "The symptoms were thus, one moment he was fine, the next he was sweating somewhat, flushed face and woozy of body. Immediately after that he seemed to lose control of his, base desires, shall we say?"

"Base desires?" Tyene shook her head. "I had thought the Reach the most liberal of the rest of the country, but.." she shook her head, finding amusement in that line even now.

"He came all over amorous, couldn't seem to control himself, and almost attacked myself and Princess Baratheon," Margaery said bluntly. "Are you happy now? Here." She thrust forward the plate she was still holding, which had two slices of spiced cold cuts on it, as well as a bit of sauce. "See what you can make of that."

All seven of them moved back inside the tent which was far better lit with a brazier in each of the corners. Tyene moved immediately over to the small stand that had held the food previously, setting the plates down. "Orange colored." she murmured then dipped a small spoon she took out of a small inner pocket of her cloak twirling it around on the plate. "Very viscous and thick, far too orange in color." She took a very small dollop of it, and placed it on her tongue tasting it for a moment before wiping it away quickly. "Concentrated bisti root, mixed with a few other ingredients. Concentrated!"

She repeated the word 'concentrated' for a moment shaking her head. "It's a wonder he didn't jump your bones immediately with this in his system, a testament to his self-control." she said almost admiringly. "If all of these slices…" She counted for a moment thinking of how many slices of meat had been on that plate before and shook her head. "That's incredible."

"What is it?" Myrcella asked looking under her arm at the plates. Tyene smirked at her a little, internally fighting down the urge to reach out and slap the Baratheon girl. The fact that she looked so much like a lion did her no credit in Tyene's eyes. While she personally had never known her aunt, she was, despite her out of wedlock birth, a Martell. You do not wrong the Martells without paying the price, even if you did so via omission rather than act.

Still, she answered readily for now. "In a diluted form it would be called the Lover's Reinforcement. The viscous nature of this sauce however tells me it wasn't diluted, making what is a normal aphrodisiac into a super-powerful one that can affect the mind, possibly permanently if not countered. I say again, it is a wonder he didn't simply assault you regardless of who was around."

Inside she was indeed impressed, though not for the Stark boy's willpower. This was a very bold stroke indeed. It would have discredited the Starks as a whole and Ranma in particular, and make them enemies of both the Royal family and the Tyrells. No chance anyone in the city would take the Stark's side if it came to light that he had been under the influence, in any case. Pyrcelle controls the maesters here and he's a Lannister creature.

"Can you aid him?" Margaery asked, staring at the girl intently. For all her skills however, she couldn't to detect any falsehood, any pleasure from a plan working correctly. This wasn't at an attempt to get on their good side in other words, though she was still very worried about the Sand Snakes and wondering what, by the Maiden, they were doing here.

"I can, though it will take time and several ingredients." She listed them off quickly to Obara who recited them back to her. "Fetch me those from our pouches and I'll need another one that I don't ordinarily carry with me, dried ox tongue. It doesn't keep well, though it doesn't have to be dried for this." She shook her head. "Concentrated." She shook her head again. "A wonder indeed."

"I'll go with you." said Ser Oakheart, standing up quickly.

Outside the tent, Arianne had taken a position along one side of it, so that she could listen in on the conversations. She had to lie down on the ground so that her shadow couldn't be seen through the tent sides but it was worth it. So the game is afoot she thought sardonically, though it remains to be seen how it will play out.

Obara and Ser Oakheart returned ten minutes later with all the ingredients that Tyene had requested. She pulled out from a small pouch an equally small mortar and pestle set, and began to grind up the ingredients while ordering Obara to cut the ox tongue, which was fresh rather than dried, as finely as she could. Slicing and grinding a number of roots and herbs into a fine paste, she added several different powders into the mortar. Tyene then placed the shredded ox tongue in the mixture and stirred it using the pestle. The final ingredient was a liquid from a vial that she pulled out from one of her pouches.

"Tell me," Margaery said casually, "do you always carry these ingredients on you like this? It must be rather irritating, after all."

"Back home to be sure, the smell sometimes bothers me in the heat, I must admit." Tyene answered in seeming honesty. "Here though, the heat is not so oppressive and the need to carry them far more prevalent. Most of these are very expensive, or hard to get, or both and in this city I have no wish to deal with the alchemists or the maester guild to refill my supply. This task is actually very expensive."

"I can understand that," Margaery said quietly, "and if this works I will reimburse you personally."

"Oh?" Tyene said, archly looking up with one eyebrow raised from her work for a moment before looking back down. "You actually have a coin purse somewhere in that dress?"

"Of course not, that's betrothed are for, but I can send my chaperone for it."

Said chaperone huffed indignantly but didn't say anything in response, a little rattled by the events of the evening. "Who did this?" she muttered to herself, shaking her head. "As much as I hate to admit it, lady," she said, looking up at her charge, "you're right about Ranma's personality. He's been keeping you at arms-length so well this was entirely out of character for him. Not to mention his assault on the Princess."

"Which we will not be speaking of further." Margaery said firmly. Luckily, Myrcella hadn't been kissed by Ranma as hard as Margaery. Margaery's lips were actually slightly bruised but Myrcella only had a faint blush suffusing her features still, at the memory perhaps, with no other visible sign of what had occurred. "If word gets out of what occurred here, no matter what was behind it, Ranma and his family will face severe repercussions. Even as little as what occurred could set the Queen in particular against him. This would do no-one here any good."

"That's true." Myrcella said. "My mother is rather respectful of Ranma but I think she dislikes the Starks for some reason."

Myrcella knew the reason, she had heard her mother scream and yell about it at her father when she was younger and had never forgotten that. It was harsh, knowing your father loved a dead woman rather than your mother and that was the reason why he wasn't close to you or your siblings, above and beyond not looking as he could have hoped.

Still, that seems to be changing in Tommen's case so maybe it will change eventually for me as well. Joffrey, she thought, should be taken by the Father for judgment and I have no doubt he will be found wanting.

"So none of us will say anything about this. If anything comes out, I will simply say what occurred, that Ranma tried to attack me but then regained control of himself. No mention of Myrcella will be made, am I clear?" Margaery cocked an eyebrow at them all. If Ranma had been there, he would have shivered a little at how much like Nabiki in full ice queen persona she looked like at that moment.

Everyone else in the tent nodded rapidly, then shifted uneasily until she looked away from them.

Five minutes later, Tyene finished her work, pouring the concoction into a large tankard with a lid on it that she had ordered Obara to get after she finished shredding the ox tongue. As a final step, Tyene threw in a lit match, closing the lid quickly. There was a brief burst of purple flame that appeared around the edge of the lid, then Tyene shook it vigorously once more.

She opened it to test its color, finding it a light greenish color with striations of red just as she wanted it to have. "Good, it's a bit thicker than normal but that's because of using the fresh ox tongue rather than the ground version. It will work to counteract the concentrated bisti root potion."

"That only leaves how we get this to him." Ser Oakheart mused.

Sir Barristan would've spoken up as well but he was too busy thinking of who could have been behind this. He did not like the conclusions he was forming. Still, despite his like for them, the Starks were not his charges and if he accused anyone the full story might well come out. That would damage both them and the Royal family, as well as their relation to one another, so he decided to keep his silence for now.

"That's easy." Myrcella said promptly pointing over at Fenris who was still pacing around one of the edges, snarling at anyone who came close. "We give it to Fenris to carry to him."

"I could rig up some kind of carrier with some straps." Obara offered, though her tone was skeptical. "Do you honestly think, though, that the wolf is smart enough to know what we're talking about? I'll tell you plain, I'm not approaching him. Look at him and how he's acting now."

"Fenris is a lot smarter than you think." Myrcella replied and moved over towards the wolf. She moved slowly, her hands outstretched in front of her, in token of peace. Fenris turned and snarled at her but subsided just as quickly. He rumbled a little as she moved forward but let the girl touch his neck and ears.

Obara went to work on creating a carrier for the tankard while Tyene melted a bit of wax around the edge of the tankard to keep it closed and the liquid inside.

While the two sand snakes were working, Myrcella began to talk soothingly to the wolf. "Fenris, we need you to take something to Ranma, something that will help him. You know he is in distress, you can tell, you sat on him before, remember? Can you do this for us, Fenris?"

Fenris huffed a little at being talked to like he was some kind of dog but licked her face in response and sat on his haunches waiting. Margaery came over, carrying the tankard and, beyond a little rumble and a look in her direction, Fenris was still. Margaery and Myrcella tied it in place, thinking that it would not be a good idea for anyone else to come close.

A few minutes later, they were done and Margaery rubbed Fenris's ears just the way he liked it. "Take this to Ranma now, quickly."

Fenris stood up, then pounced lightly on Margaery, being careful to keep most of his weight on his hind legs as his front paws rested on her shoulders, before licking her face. He then turned and raced through the flap that Ranma had created at the back of the tent in his desperate exit, quickly moving faster and faster.

Margaery growled a little, wiping the dog drool from her face as Myrcella giggled. She looked around and said warningly, "Not a word."

OOOOOOO

About forty leagues away from the tournament, ten leagues or so into the Kingswood, Ranma sat in the lotus position on an oak that had fallen. He was using the Soul of Ice to try to counteract whatever the hell was happening to him. Frost was forming all around him in response, an oddity in this area of the world. Distressingly, he was slowly losing ground. The Soul of Ice was more of an emotional control; the physical aspect was secondary and, while it gave him certain immunities to exterior sources of heat and cold, this wasn't heat exactly, it was a hormonal imbalance inside him.

It was working for now by causing major shrinkage, to put it bluntly, but Ranma had no idea how long it would continue to do so. He only hoped it would outlast whatever was in his system, though the constant thoughts of the beautiful women in his life that tried to break through, from Margaery to Dacey to Alayaya and even more unsuitable yet still pretty women such as the Queen and Merry, were draining him slowly.

About an hour after he arrived, he sensed Fenris coming near. Ranma groaned internally, wondering why the direwolf was seeking him out after Ranma had ordered him to stay in the tent, fearing whatever was messing with him could cross over their link.

Soon enough, Fenris was in sight, coming through the words like a shadow out of the darkness, his eyes glowing golden in the dim light afforded by moonlight shining through the dense canopy of the trees. He halted right in front of his master, looking up at him only slightly as he leaned forward to press his nose against Ranma's chest.

Ranma noticed that he had a tankard around his neck like some kind of emergency response dog from Switzerland, whatever they were called. He had seen them in a few cartoons when he had been going through his first childhood back in his old reality. He had stolen into houses to watch said cartoons but he couldn't remember what their names had been.

"What's this boy?" he asked, reaching forward and taking the tankard. It was bound up in wax around the edge of the lid but that was easy enough to break once he knew what this was.

He opened a sliver of their connection, not wanting whatever was going on his system to carry over their bond. In this manner, Fenris supplied him some memories. Two new females coming in, talking to the little one and the potential mate, creating some man-thing after much man-speaks, the little one and the potential mate asking Fenris to deliver it.

Ranma looked inside the cup and found himself rather grateful for the very dim light. It bubbled a little and he wondered who the hell Margaery had found to make this for him but if she felt it was a good idea, he was going to trust her judgment. Well, hers, Ser Barristan, and Fenris', anyway. "Bottoms up."

Ranma grimaced as he downed it, gagging a little at the taste. "By the old gods, that is foul." he muttered, but he kept on drinking the entire tankard. Then, with Fenris there beside him, he sat still, listening to the night around him.

Soon, Ranma felt it working, the feeling continuing until he felt his erection finally dying down. Fucking thing didn't even die down when I was in Soul of Ice and tryin' to fuckin' freeze my own balls off! He slowly released his control of the Soul of Ice and was rather amused to note that there was at least an inch of ice on the wood of the tree stump, as well as on the ground all around them. Fenris seem to have enjoyed the experience, if his huffing and amusement through their link was anything to go by.

About another hour passed until, finally, Ranma felt well enough to completely release the Soul of Ice and he stood up, cracking his back and shoulders explosively. "That was not a pleasant experience." he muttered his fingers digging into Fenris' neck affectionately. Now you, I think, deserve a treat. Since we're here in the woods anyway, let's go hunting."

Fenris shot to his feet eagerly, bounding off into the woods, with Ranma following quickly.

OOOOOOO

The next morning, Ranma was back at the tourney. He immediately sought out Margaery at the tent she shared with her family and their servants, a rather more elaborate tent than his own, but that was neither here nor there. He waited outside as Margaery came out, and smiled rather wanly at her, beginning formally. "Lady Margaery, I have to…"

She shook her head quickly. "Don't. It was amazing that you didn't react stronger to that Seven damned concoction or, at least, so one of the Sand Snakes, Tyene, says."

"A Sand Snake? I've heard that name mentioned with in context with Prince Oberyn's daughters."

"Exactly, though they profess to have been here without his consent. Consent I might agree with, knowledge, I very much doubt."

"Do you think…"

"No," Margaery replied firmly before Ranma could finish his sentence, "I could detect no hint that either woman was involved in the actual attack, moreover it wouldn't be their style. Though this particular snake could be indirect, the majority of them much prefer open combat or conflict, at the very least. Oberyn would stab his enemies in a second if he could get away with it but he wouldn't poison you. As I said, Tyene is different, much more subtle, but also too young to remember her aunt and be part of Oberyn's consuming hatred of all things Lannister. There is no doubt in my mind she might cheerfully poison any Lannister of Lannister supporter but you are neither; it would simply be too risky. I think she simply grabbed onto this opportunity to ingratiate herself to you and your family."

Ranma nodded. "Is she here with you or do you know how to contact her?"

"She remained behind in your tents, along with Ser Oakheart. Ser Barristan took Princess Myrcella back to the city and her mother a few minutes after Fenris left. He got a stern talking to but not about what actually happened. We contrived a story that she fell asleep during the chess competition and the rest of us were so intent on our games that we didn't notice. It's flimsy, but it will work."

"I'll have to apologize to her, too." Ranma said feeling very guilty about the entire thing, despite what Margaery said.

Margaery hummed in agreement, though inside she was laughing hysterically. That little girl loved every second of it and it hasn't done her crush on Ranma any good at all.

Later, Ranma interviewed the two Sand Snakes himself, though his first comment wasn't actually about the crisis the evening before. Instead, he said, "A whip, really? Is that a sexual thing or do you actually use that in combat?"

Obara spat to one side while her younger sister laughed, hearing someone else make the same comment she has made several times in their lifetimes. "I use it in combat, though I do use it on too-smart men, sometimes."

Ranma snorted and from there the conversation turned to what had occurred. After it was over Ranma looked keenly at Tyene. "While I'm thankful for your help, I'm not blind enough to think that this was merely a good septa act on your part. You want something. What?"

The poisoner/healer shrugged. "Our original purpose in coming to Kings Landing was to make as much trouble for the Lannisters as we could. Backing you does that since from the moment we arrived we've been hearing about how you're curtailing their influence. It also has a rather efficacious upside of leaving you their target for any retaliation instead of me and my family."

Fingers tapping on his thigh, Ranma thought for a moment, then nodded. "All right, would you be willing to take a job, a long-term one? This attack has made me realize that poison is one area of attack that none of us from the North would see coming. Poisoning food like that is anathema to us; there's so little food in the first place, after all."

What was left unsaid was this would let Tyene and Obara into the Red Keep and during their free time they would be able to ferret out any secrets they could. Ranma acknowledged this fact with what he said next. "As long as what you do on your own time does not impugn or otherwise cause trouble for the Royal family or my own, I doubt my father or I would care what you are up to."

Tyene paused for a moment, thinking, wondering if this was what Arianne had hoped would occur. "I will think about it. I'm not certain I would be safe that close to the seat of power, some other arrangement might need to be made, but I would be willing to perform such a duty for your family."

Ranma nodded, then stood up and stretched. "Good, now if you'll excuse me, I have a little girl I need to apologize to."

"She's not so little as all that," Tyene murmured, as if to herself, as she and her sister left the tent. Ranma pretended not to hear, though he had, and wondered what to make of that comment.

Margaery raised an eyebrow and shrugged. "I suppose that having them both where you can keep an eye on them is a good idea and if you're poisoned again, at least we'll know who to blame this time." Ranma rolled his eyes at her but did not gainsay that, and followed the Tyrell girl out of the tent.

Later Ranma did indeed apologize to Myrcella. Luckily, Tommy knew nothing what had occurred and was eager to continue their exploration of the faire. Jaime was assigned to them this morning, as well as Oakheart, and both men followed their Royal charges with faint but warm smiles on their faces, though Ser Oakheart was watching Ranma closely all the same.

The empty spot left by Greenfield was still vacant, with both the King and the Queen having several different candidates but not able to agree on any one. Cersei was simply waiting for an opportune moment to slip another supporter into the Kingsguard, but with Eddard there to back him up, Robert was making it much more difficult than usual. "I'm sorry I did that, Princess," Ranma said quietly, as he held the girl's hand while Tommy ran ahead to a stall that had a small archery competition going on. There were several children already there participating, though Tommen would probably prove to be their better. His hand eye coordination was very good, and his strength was growing every week.

Patting his hand with her free hand, Myrcella blushed at the fact they were actually holding hands and at the memory. That memory would be one of her treasured possessions for years to come. I know you see me as a little sister, she thought to herself looking up at him with adoring eyes, but little sisters grow up and we're not truly related. Maybe if you don't marry Margaery, maybe… She shook her head and said aloud, "It, it wasn't you Ranma. Let's just forget about it and have some more fun. Do you think we can find that stall that was selling small pinwheels?"

OOOOOOO

A few days later, Ranma waited calmly in his tent alone, since the other three men hadn't entered the jousting. Ser Thomas had participated in the archery competition, losing in the semi-finals. Ser Jory had taken part of the wrestling tournament, losing to Prince Oberyn who went on to win the competition, as well as the spear throwing. Mattimeo, with his busted arm, hadn't participated in anything. He stood with the other men from Winterfell and more than half the men from Riverrun, looking on as the final competition began.

Ranma looked over at Fenris, who lay placidly alongside one wall, grateful to have spent so much time away from the stink of the city and with Ranma. He would never understand why his pack leader had to stay in such a place and enjoyed being out in the fresh air, despite the cold rage that now emanated down their link. Fenris knew whatever it was, like the sudden spike in the mating urge he felt a few sunrises ago, his bond mate would handle it.

"I wish I could ride you out there today." Ranma said, allowing his cold purpose to dissipate once more as he ruffled Fenris' ears. Fenris huffed in pleasure, pushing his large head against Ranma's side.

They had actually practiced a few times in the Kingswood, in the past few evenings, but Fenris wasn't quite large enough yet to carry Ranma for very long, let alone into battle. He still didn't like the idea of Ranma riding his back, though he could see the point to it, and the idea of armor Ranma had shared once had a certain appeal. For anyone else, the idea was simply terrifying, as the reality would eventually become.

Ranma sat there for a moment, simply scratching his direwolf's head, letting the silence calm him as much as it could before his name was called. He joined the others for another benediction from the King and the High Septon, then moved back to his tent until his name was called. His opponent for that first contest was Ser Horas Redwyne, a knight from the Reach which had come with Margaery as one of her escorts.

He was a young man in his twenties who had hoped to win the competition in order to gain recognition so that he might start courting Margaery Tyrell, who was among the most beautiful women of all of the Reach. Horas didn't care that House Redwyne was already connected to House Tyrell, all he saw was Margaery's beauty and the size of her dowry. He had been incensed since he arrived at the way the Stark wildling and Lady Margaery seemed to go from flirting to coldly cordial and then to earnest dialogue. The northern lout didn't seem to realize what an honor had been placed upon him be considered worthy of Margaery's hand. He was angry and eager to put the Stark brat in his place, certain that the reason Ranma had entered the melee without a horse was that he couldn't fight from horseback.

In the first pass, Ranma disabused him of this notion. As the two horses charged toward one another on opposite sides of the tilt, at the last moment Ranma moved the balled point of his jousting saber as easily as if it was a rapier. Now it was aimed slightly up and to the side so that it would hit the upper right edge of his opponents shield at an angle. He did this so quickly that the man had no chance of moving his shield to block the new position and, while his own blow struck Ranma's shield square, Horas was flung from his horse with a cry of pain as the strength of Ranma's blow coupled with the angle threw him to the side.

He landed in the dust and Ranma quickly dismounted, then moved to aid him, winning a cheer from the crowd as he escorted the battered knight back to the tents. "Stark, Stark, Stark!"

Horas, despite seemingly taking his loss with good grace, felt his dislike of the Stark heir solidify into hatred. Damn you, Stark. I will have my revenge for this! I will win the Lady Margaery's affections from you, I swear it!

The object of his hatred sneezed as he sat in his tent at this time. Fenris stuck his large head out, looking at him quizzically. "Oh, just someone swearing vengeance on me, nothing big." Fenris huffed in amusement, then closed his eyes as Ranma began to scratch his neck. From there, the two of them watched the remainder of the jousting, Fenris huffing in amusement at the humans, their silly sticks, and their need to use four legged beasts to carry themselves.

The jousting was broken into several different rounds. Ranma had to go out once more before the day's rounds were completed and the winners went on to the next round, which was the following day. The next day, the tournament began at noon. He again handily won both his matches for the day and then had to watch in consternation as Ser Loras and Gregor Clegane tilted against one another.

Like Ranma, Ser Loras had won every match up to this point, handing out a white rose with every victory to pretty girls in the crowd. He had also handed a red one to Sansa, which had made Ranma sit up and take notice. The thought had entered his mind that maybe Loras would make a better husband for Sansa if/when he and his father were able to call her marriage to Joffrey off. Right now, Ranma had no time to think of such things.

The Mountain didn't use any special techniques or tricks; he simply was a Mountain That Rode. He would take all the punishment his opponent could dish out on his massively heavy armor, while hammering back with far more strength than most could handle. Normally this tactic worked but against Ser Loras, who was a master of the joust, the technique failed because he was able to move his shield and his position in the saddle in such a way as to deflect most of the force of Gregor's blows.

Loras groaned at the repeated blows, however, knowing he was going to be black and blue from them tomorrow. Still, he persevered because he had a secret weapon. He had chosen to ride a mare into this contest today and she was in heat, which would rile up Clegane's stallion. He wasn't certain why it hadn't worked, yet, but it would, if he could just hold on.

In actuality, the wind was against him, bringing the stallion the smell of Fenris, which overrode the smell of the mare, danger trumping hormones. This changed when Fenris went back into Ranma's tent to nap, tired of watching the humans at their silly play. Loras lasted another exchange, then, at last, the smell of his mare did its work.

"What, down you stupid AHHH!" the Mountain bellowed as suddenly, just as they were about to hit one another for what he was certain would be the last pass the pretty boy could take, his stallion reared. That threw off his weight so much that he couldn't even get his shield up between him and Loras's blow.

The tip of the Knight of Flower's lance took him high up in his chest, throwing him out of the saddle to land on the turf with a resounding clangor. Loras rode on, forcing his mare away from the stallion, then turned his horse around at the end of the tilt raising his lance in victory. He pulled off his helmet, waving at the cheering crowd with a smile.

Gregor, on the other hand raged to his feet, grabbing his lance from the ground. His temper, only very loosely controlled at the best of times, came to the fore now. He charged down the lane and around the tilt toward the victorious Loras. "RAHHH! You cheated somehow, you ass licker!"

Before he could get to Loras, he was brought up short by his brother and Ranma, who had both jumped into the jousting area to interpose themselves. His brother had his sword in his hand and the Hound was smiling eagerly. Ranma, too, was there, though he held only a broken shaft of a lance as a weapon, taken from a pile of them as he dashed forward. His eyes were dark pools while his smile was cold, yet as eager as the Hound's.

"You lost, Clegane!" Robert bellowed sternly, standing up from his seat in the Royal box. "Leave off!"

The Mountain glared down at his brother and Ranma contemptuously, then around at several dozen men who had also grabbed up weapons. His own men were well away, part of the crowd of smallfolk, and would have to hack through it to get to him. With no other option, he sneered and turned away, his anger festering within him.

As the crowd, which had stopped cheering as the Mountain charged, began to cheer once more, Ranma moved back to stand beside where Loras had just dismounted. "A good victory my friend but you have forced my hand."

Loras looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Really? And what exactly is that supposed to mean?"

"You'll see after the tourney ends, unfortunately." Ranma said shaking his head. "I wanted to do this the easy way but I guess, like everything else in my life, the hard way it is."

That made Loras's other eyebrow rise to join its twin, but he didn't press, and the two young men turned to watch the rest of the day's matches. At the end of the day, there were only four men left. Sandor Clegane had defeated Renly Baratheon in a surprise upset. Jaime of the Kingsguard had defeated Ser Barristan after a series of bruising exchanges, causing a rousing cheer from the crowd. These two joined Ser Loras and Ranma the next day, the last day of the tourney, and the semi-finals and finals of the jousting competition.

First to go were Sandor and Ser Loras. Once more, Loras won through after a series of passes. But, surprisingly, he declared himself too battered to continue, after this match and the match with the other Clegane. Still, he helped his downed opponent from the field, winning even more adulation from the crowd for this show of chivalry despite visibly favoring his jousting arm. Indeed, his prediction from the other day had born out. Loras was black and blue from mid-chest up and his jousting arm was badly sprained so it was no prevarication.

With that declaration, Jaime and Ranma's semi-final bout became the finals. The two men stared at one another from opposite ends of the field.

Jaime was determined to do all he could to unseat the brat from Winterfell, to demonstrate that he truly was better than Ranma. If Ranma had held back in that match all those months ago and the spars they had since, well, he just wouldn't stand for it. How dare the brat think that he has to hold back against me? Jaime was arrogant, but he also knew himself to be one of the best blades in the kingdom so his arrogance was well-founded. Jaime hated the very idea that someone was so much better than him as to hold back.

Ranma, however, wasn't taking him seriously. Jaime was too arrogant, he had a few tells and little motions that gave his attacks away, unlike Ser Selmy in the few spars Ranma had with the older knight. What was more important, at present, was that Jaime wasn't anywhere near strong enough to match Ranma in a joust.

So rather than ending with another series of momentous exchanges between two tried and true champions, the match ended almost before it began. The two men on their horses charged forward at the signal. Jaime's lance was aimed true as always, slamming into Ranma's shield over his chest with as much power as his momentum and arm strength could deliver.

Ranma flinched only slightly, wincing at the force of that blow, but his return blow caught Jaime straight in his interposed shield as well. Ranma hadn't held back much, just enough to make certain he didn't permanently injure the Kingslayer.

Jaime simply could not stand that kind of blow. He felt himself lifted and torn from his stirrups to be thrown through the air. Seconds of flight later, he landed painfully on his back some twenty feet behind his horse.

For a moment, there was no sound except Jaime's ragged breathing as the crowd looked on, both highborn and smallfolk astonished at what they had just seen. Sir Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, possibly the best blade in the kingdom as well as being one of the best jousters, unhorsed in a single pass.

Then the raucous cheering began as Ranma circled the tilt, getting off of his horse to go to his fallen enemy's aid.

Jaime smacked his hand away, pulling off his helmet and glaring at him. "How much have you held back, Stark!?" he spat angrily, nearly actually spitting, while one hand reached for a blade that wasn't there.

"A little bit I suppose." Ranma responded easily, pulling Jaime to his feet despite his protests that he didn't need the aid. "Sorry, but you're sort of in the way of what I really want here."

"What you really want?" Jaime said, his anger for the moment driven back by his bafflement at that comment.

"Oh yes. At this point I am on plan B. I don't want the money, I want a witness."

"That sounds truly ominous." Jaime muttered, his anger gone for the moment as he was helped into the tent set aside for healers. Two servants were already hurrying forward to help him out of his armor and Jaime realized he really needed it. Yesterday's match against Ser Selmy had taken it out of him and his little introduction to the mud and dust of the field just now had added to his accumulated aches.

"Really? I suppose that fits." Ranma replied as he helped Jaime into a seat. "You'll probably hear it from here. You should see it, however, especially considering your family has much to do with what I'm about to do."

Jaime stared at the boy, his green eyed gaze serious and angry, searching. But he couldn't match the cold fury in Ranma's eyes as he stared back and it was the Kingslayer who looked away. "As long as it has nothing to do with me or my sister, I don't care." He said finally.

"Good, I wouldn't like to have to kill you today too." Ranma said simply and then left the tent.

As he was helped out of his armor, Jaime determined that, yes; he probably did have to watch this and left the tent despite the protests of the servants who were trying to get him out of his battered armor. It turned out that the shield and his armored arm had actually been mangled enough that he had broken a bone there but he didn't even notice the pain for now, wondering what was about to happen.

Deep within him however, anger began to grow. An anger against Ranma Stark, and his easy assurance of superiority, an anger that would grow.

OOOOOOO

Five minutes later, Ranma stood in front of the King along with the champion of the archery competition (a yeoman from the Dornish Marches), Prince Oberyn, and the other winners of the smaller competitions. Each of them took their money with thanks, though Oberyn's was certainly said in as sarcastic a tone as he could manage when he thanked 'Robert' for his contribution to his nights of debauchery.

The tone and use of his first name caused Robert's teeth to clench but he didn't say anything, merely moving on. He knew the root of that attitude and there was nothing to be done about it. When Robert came to Ranma his good humor came back. With a grin he bellowed, "And now the winner of both the melee and jousting competitions, the overall winner of this tournament, Ranma Stark!"

He waited for the cheering to subside before reaching back to a servant who was nearly trembling with the effort of holding the money stack.

However, before he could do anything, Ranma held up a hand. "You may keep your money, Your Majesty." he said in a loud voice that carried everywhere, to the smallfolk surrounding the tournament's edge and the Royal box. "Instead, I ask a boon."

Robert turned back to him, his eyes suddenly serious, one eyebrow raised. "A boon?" He laughed. "Hahaha, and what would you have of us?"

Ranma looked up at the royal box. "Your Grace, could I ask that you send Myrcella, Tommen, Jeyne, and my sister away? They do not have to witness this."

The Queen frowned, wondering what the young Stark had in mind. She was unable to figure it out, though she had known from her spies' reports that something had happened to change his attitude sometime when he went into the city with the Tyrell girl. She also knew Ranma was a frighteningly direct individual and a shiver of mixed tension and fear went up her spine.

She nodded at two of her maids, who hurried the children away despite their protests but Sansa remained sitting stiffly, unmoving. "I am not a little girl to be hastened aside when serious matters are discussed. I am betrothed to the Prince! If he stays so do I!" she said stoutly.

Cersei raised an eyebrow in some approval of that, then nodded and turned back. Ranma frowned a little but shrugged. "The boon I ask, Your Majesty, is to witness what I'm about to do."

With that, Ranma turned away from the King and stared over at the crowd to where the majority of the day's contestants had gathered, including his target, surrounded by some of his own men. When he spoke it was in an ultra-formal way, that was utterly unlike his normal laid back manner, accenting his words even more, which given their content wasn't really needed. "Ser Gregor Clegane, I call you coward! I call you rapist! I call you murderer! I call you unfit to be a knight, unfit to be a lord, unfit to be a man! I call you to the field of honor and, if you do not face me now, I will hunt you down like the dog you are and kill you where you stand!"

Robert's eyes had grown wider with every word and a fierce light burned in them. He didn't know why Ranma had a bone to pick with the Mountain but Gregor was such a man that Robert would be well rid of him despite the fact that he had done Robert a favor during the sack of Kings Landing. "Are you sure you know what you're doing boy? You can't take those words back."

"I know what I'm doing." Ranma said coldly his voice now as low pitched as the King's as the crowd began to murmur exclamations of shock and surprise. Gregor roared aloud in anger, making to run forward, pushing aside his men and all those around him. "I also know what you refused to punish Clegane and Amory Lorch for, Your Majesty." Instead of being simply an address to Robert's rank, those words came out as an epithet. Robert actually flinched a little at the look of condemnation in Ranma's eyes. "This is justice long overdue."

Robert flared back, and was about to declaim angrily about why should he care about murderous, fucking crazy dragon bloods, when Clegane broke through the crowd, roaring. "I'll gut the little bastard! No man calls me coward!" The rest of it he didn't care about, since it was all true and he enjoyed every moment of it, but the coward part, that he cared about.

"Hold!" Robert bellowed, turning swiftly to face the charging Mountain. "This will be done in a proper manner! Go get your armor the pair of you, and return here within the hour!"

In her box, Cersei had leaned back, pursing her lips thoughtfully. Jaime, limping now from a bad bruise on the back of his thigh and his arm in a sling, came up into the Royal box. He sprawled down in a chair next to her, smirking evilly. "Care to place a wager on the outcome, my sister?"

"No." she answered coldly. Cersei knew that Ranma would win; it remained to be seen how, though. She knew he was faster than nearly anyone she had ever seen and speed against the Mountain would prove deadly to the beast. No, her mind was on what would happen after. "I wonder what our father will think of this when he hears of it."

"Will you shed any tears for that man?"

"Don't be disgusting." she responded sharply. "He's a tool of the family, a blunt, horribly effective weapon of terror, that is all. I'll shed no tears for him, though our father may see it differently. Gregor Clegane has ever been in his service, after all"

While the twins were conferring, other conversations abounded throughout the Royal box and the onlookers. Although they had all seen Ranma dominate in enemies, the legend of the Mountain that Rides was such that most were thinking that they were going to witness the young fool die and some were looking at Lord Stark where he sat, stoic and silent, with sad eyes. He simply sat, however, as if carved from stone, waiting.

Jason Mallister sat next to him, equally grim. He had lost to the Kingslayer in the second day of the jousting and had never gone up against the Mountain that Rides before . Yet he had heard of the man's skill and massive strength. He turned to his friend, his face creased with concern. "I hope your son knows what he's doing, Ned."

"My son has strength he has not yet shown, Jason. Have no fear." Jason looked at Eddard's almost serene expression and shook his head faintly, leaning back in his seat as he turned to watch the field of combat.

Not sharing her father's confidence Sansa was extremely worried, wondering if her headstrong brother had bitten off more than even a direwolf could chew. She now regretted never apologizing about that dratted pet of his and prayed to the old gods and the Seven that Ranma would live so they would have time to mend their fences.

Beside her, Joffrey simply waited in silence, his heart suddenly brimming with a wild, vindictive pleasure. His attack on the Stark heir had failed miserably but this would work even better and be even bloodier too. That would leave him with more resources to use against his other targets. Joffrey was using all his limited self-control to keep a wide, vindictive smile off his face. Ranma's ability to weather the effects of the potion that he had his servant place in Ranma's food had angered him greatly and made him very worried about how else he could strike against Ranma.

Ranma was still glowing too bright, taking too much attention that should rightly be Joffrey's as Crown Prince. Added to this, Ranma's continued support of Tommen was an ever growing irritant given how Tommen and Robert were becoming closer, something Joffrey couldn't stomach. But now the Mountain will deal with the Stark heir and I won't have to lift a finger!

Nearby, his guard dog had a very different opinion. He had dreamed of the day he could kill his older brother, ever since the monster had thrust his head into a brazier when they were children. But this, this was beyond his wildest hopes. A faint, but hopeful smile appeared on his face as he stared at the field, urging the battle to begin.

Prince Oberyn was there and he wondered truly how this would go. On the one hand, he wanted to be the one to kill the bastard but, on the other, this was going to be public and possibly humiliating. He had watched both the melee and the joust with watchful eyes and had made his own assumptions about Ranma skill. If he is strong enough to match Gregor, he might have a chance to win if he does it right.

Elsewhere in the crowd, Princess Arianne and her companions looked on as well, her eyes wide and mouth agape him at the suddenness of this. It was unheard of to not take the King's money like that, unheard of to use him as simply a witness to something like this. The boy was breaking all the rules and she loved it! I have to get closer to him, oh my god, what an asset he would be even if he was a Stark and all that implied. Father was wrong, so wrong! There is much we could gain from an alliance with his family and with him."

Back in the Royal box, Renly was looking on in shock. "You don't think he really has a chance against the Mountain do you? Not one-on-one and on the ground? The Mountain isn't nearly as dangerous in the saddle as he is on the ground and his strength is superlative. No matter how good he is, Ranma is still a young man, after all."

Ser Loras winced slightly as he shifted in his seat. Facing Sandor and Gregor one after another had really done a number on him; he was lucky he hadn't broken any bones. "I think that Gregor will never land a blow, Ranma's far too fast, and unlike, well myself, if I'm honest, he isn't flamboyant. I think this is going to be very quick and that the Mountain is going to find he can't weather a winter's gale." Renly raised an eyebrow at his secret lover's certainty, then turned back to the field.

Behind the Royals, Varys, Petyr, and others had formed their own opinions and were leaned forward eagerly, wondering how this would go. Varys was strangely neutral, uncaring if the Stark boy should die while, at the same time, uncaring of the Mountain's fate.

Petyr was hopeful. After all, one less Stark would suit him just fine, not even taking into consideration how it would throw Ned off his game. While the man didn't have a devious bone in his body, his dogged persistence had already helped the Crown's monetary position far more than Petyr had planned for.

Sansa was an exception to his hatred of all things Stark, he had plans there, but he needed the pot boiling nicely before even hinting at such a move. Margaery Tyrell's lukewarm flirtations had fit in well with his own plans and he was now waiting for the right moment to point Eddard in the right direction of his 'proof'. The day after his firstborn dies due to his own arrogance should do.

Petyr could almost be excused for not realizing how skilled Ranma was. He disdained soldiers and fighters in general, seeing the majority as useful tools but too one-dimensional to be truly dangerous. Added to this, was his disdain for all things Stark and his opinion they were too honorable for their own good. Plus, he had personally been countering Brynden's moves in the city to set up his spy network and Eddard's moves on the small council as much as he could without his self-interest becoming obvious so he hadn't noticed much about Ranma.

Yet, even Loras, even Ser Barristan Selmy, who was watching with a grim smile on his craggy face, didn't realize how much Ranma held back normally.

Soon enough, Gregor strode out of the crowd, his heavy plate clanking. He was an eight foot tall tower of gray steel and muscle, his family's colors, black dogs on a yellow background, visible on his tabard. He already had his helmet on, making him seem even more inhuman. In one hand, he held his massive six feet long blade while he wore a shield on his other arm.

Ranma came forward, the sword he had made for him out and resting along his thigh on one side, standing there in his regular chain mail without even a helm on. His blue eyes were as dark as the ocean as he stared at the dead man before him, his entire body relaxed, calm now that the moment had come.

The King stood between them and stared hard at Ranma's negligence. He shook his head sadly after moment and raised his hands. "This is about honor; words have been said that must be answered in blood. This can only end in death, there are thus no rules save for this: two men fight, one man leaves, and let might decide the right!" With that statement, he moved back to press himself against the outer wall of the raised Royal platform, staring at the fight.

"I'm going to gut you, brat!" Gregor roared, charging forward as fast as he could move, his massive sword raised.

Ranma stood there, waiting. "The King's wrong." he said simply staring at the Mountain as he closed. "This isn't a battle, this is an execution."

The sword came down on his position but Ranma stepped back two paces so quickly that it seemed to the onlookers as if he had moved using magic. His arms flashed forward, sword hand now empty of his blade, which he had dropped to stick out of the ground by his side. His fists caught Gregor's sword blade on the flat side at two points, smashing with all the strength he could put into the blows.

There was a shriek of tortured metal and, to the astonishment of everyone there, the blade shattered, bits and pieces flying off in every direction and leaving Gregor holding onto a sword with only a few inches of blade still sticking out of the hilt.

Gregor was undaunted, gripped in one of his berserker rages. He charged forward, trying to stab the edge of the blade into his opponent. "Die!"

But Ranma simply grabbed his sword arm right behind Gregor's gauntlet, not even moving as he took the impetus of the attempted blow. He held it there, as if his arm was a steel vice. Gregor bellowed again and tried to punch him but again found his arm stopped like it had hit a wall before the blow could land.

With his enemy's arms now in his grip (surprisingly difficult given how thick the man's wrists were covered further by armor), Ranma slowly stretched his arms out, pulling the Mountain's arms out as well.

"Stranger take you RAGH!" Gregor tried to kick out, not understanding at all what was going on. He had never fought someone with enough strength to match him, let alone overpower him like this.

That blow was blocked by one of Ranma's legs before he returned a lightning fast kick directly to the crotch. He had held back somewhat to that blow, just enough so that Gregor wouldn't be lifted out of Ranma's grip, but he still was lifted into the air a good few inches.

His opponent's bellowing roars turned into a scream of agony as his crotch was simply obliterated. His balls burst under the blow and his pelvic bone was not so much broken as pulverized. No amount of healing, medicine, or even the magic that was sometimes practiced in a few of the city states of Essos would ever give him back what he had just lost. "YAAAaaaaaahhhhhh!"

"That was for Elia Martell and all your other rape victims," Ranma said coldly, still gripping the Mountain's arms outstretched easily, despite his frantic attempts to break out of Ranma's grip to cup his demolished privates.

In the crowd, the Prince and Princess of Dorne both laughed aloud at the sheer fitting nature of that blow and looked on with the rest of the crowd, now understanding something that had only hitherto been apparent to a few of those from Winterfell. In terms of physical contests, Ranma had no equal; no one here even came close.

Sandor Clegane also watched, his eyes wide, and a large, happy grin, something no one had ever seen before on him, spread across his scarred face.

The Stark heir proved this further by lifting one foot to languidly press against Gregor's chest where he had collapsed to his knees, trying to bring his arms together to do something to his tormentor, trying to get to the pain that dominated his existence now, drowning even his almost constant fury.

Instead, Ranma pulled Gregor's arms taut. "And this is for young Aegon, Rhaenys, and every other child you've killed or tortured!" There was a trick to this, which he had learned from Genma once when the old man was particularly drunk and had picked a fight with a grizzly. You had to get the right angle and the correct balance of force, which Ranma did.

With a wrench and a roar, Ranma flung his arms back, ripping Gregor's arms out of their sockets. Blood spurted and Gregor's screams became even shriller while many a person in the crowd winced and there were cries and gasps of shock.

Many, especially Petyr and others who had dismissed Ranma's abilities as merely that of skill and talent, wondered how it could have happened at all, given the heavy plate armor that Gregor wore, yet even that had ripped and shredded at the shoulder. After this, the rumors of Ranma's strength would spread far and wide but, for now, the entire crowd, nobles, smallfolk, schemers, and Royals alike watched on, wondering how the Mountain would be put out of his misery. Even his own men, that band of like-minded individuals Gregor had taken into his service, watched on in horror at what was happening to their lord.

Now armless Gregor fell forward, only kept upright by Ranma grabbing him by the front of his helmet. Ranma then ripped off the helmet, throwing it aside. With one hand still keeping Gregor somewhat upright, Ranma's free hand reached down, grabbing up his blade. "I told you this was an execution, Clegane."

His sword flashed out, there was a 'shlick' sound, and then Ranma was lifting the head of Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain that Rides, one of the most feared men in Westeros, by the hair as his now headless corpse splattered into the wide puddle of bloody mud that had already formed around it. The head had been severed cleanly, like a man cutting off a small tree branch, blood spurting and flowing out of the gaping hole where his head had once been.

Ranma stood there, holding the bloody head out to one side. He stared out over the crowd seeing where Oberyn sat with the other former tourney participants. Locking eyes with him he silently told the man this hadn't been done for him or to curry favor; that it was about justice, nothing more.

He stared at the Lannisters, clustered in the Royal box, his eyes cold as the coming of winter and only the Queen could meet his gaze for more than a second before looking away. He stared, his eyes piercing the now silent Robert, then moving on to his father, who merely gave small, grim nod of satisfaction. Then his eyes once more swept the crowd, stopping at the clump of the Mountain's men, who all flinched backwards in fear, before tossing the head away and turning to go back to his tent, while behind him, the smallfolk began to cheer.

End chapter

I apologize to those who felt a little icky reading the part with Ranma kissing Myrcella. However I have decided to, outside of Daenerys, leaving the girls who will join Ranma and her up in the air for the moment, so while it will take a lot of time, maybe the little sister really will grow up. Hope everyone liked how I did Margaery, not certain I hit her personality right, but I'm happy with it.

I confess my speech to writing software seems to have degraded this time around, losing some of its notes on my inflection. Even with Jessolt's aid, I don't doubt there are more mistakes in terms of word choice then the other chapters, and I apologize. However, I want to send out an extra loud shout out to Jessolt for his aid on this chapter, it took us a while, but it is still awesome.

Will there be repercussions from Gregor's death, oh yes, but that is what happens with Ranma - he sometimes makes enemies where there need be none – yet he will respond and his terrifying skills and strength will force his enemies to tread carefully. Of course, that is only true of physical confrontations, as this chapter showed. Joffrey took a shot and nearly won the battle; it was only Myrcella, Oakheart, and Selmy being there that stopped Ranma in time for him to gain control of himself. And even if he can trust Tyene (a bit, for now, as he thought) he is still vulnerable in other ways, and even he physically can only be in one place at a time. And, how will Tywin react to the loss of a tool like the Mountain? This also means that castle Clegane falls to Sandor, who Tywin doesn't have nearly as much control over as Gregor…

I say again, that physically, Ranma has no equal, no one is even close at this point save Jon, and to a much lesser extent the wolfsworn. That will change in the future, the Others and others will find ways to challenge him physically, but it will not be easy.

I have some portions of the story of the Wall already written but when I tried to figure out travel times (I know, I know) they didn't add up. The larger the army, the slower it can move. So those portions will show up in the next chapter, after Tyrion and the others have been on the move for a little over two-thirds of a year. Can you tell I didn't want to bother with travel scenes again?

Theon too will have his adventures and there will be a few scenes back in Winterfell that will have been occurring concurrently with the majority of events in this chapter.

Can anyone tell me a few things, though:

Ravens are the method of long range communication but how often are they used? Am I correct in saying that Eddard and his distant family could exchange news once a month? Obviously, nothing Eddard didn't mind other people seeing but if I'm wrong about that, I'll delete that mention from this chapter.

I read a review that mentioned that Arya had become the avatar of the Many-faced god, but I haven't found anything about that in the original. Is it true?

A picture of the katana I based Ranma's blade off is at

newuniquejapan dot com slash a signed 1549 nagayauki dash katana dot com equals swords.

Anyway, thank you for reading and as always please review

In other news, I had an amusing thought for a Ranma/Bleach crossover sort of like this one. Ranma dies (old age, maybe, or Akane's cooking or whatever) and is sent into the resurrection circle, only something happens and he retains his memories. Now with his memories of a past life, Ichigo will strive even harder to live up to his name. – Saves his mother, has adventures well before canon, lots of other changes. No Zangetsu, replaced by a certain redhead and an embarrassing yet all too familiar unleashed mode and a power that has interesting repercussions. No hollow side, though maybe a certain neko will come out to play, and his zanpakto's released form would be a blast from the past. Pairing would be one Espada (Tia), possibly one human, one Shinigami, or two Shinigami. If someone wants to try to write this, I would be happy to help, though if not, I might, emphasis might, add it to my growing list of one shot concepts.