Ramza

The trip to King's Landing took his troop a fortnight of hard marching, yet somehow they had reached the royal city before the King and his entourage. Their first priority had been finding lodging, a task that had helped them discover how the monetary system in Westeros worked. The gold Dragons were the most valuable coin. The silver coins came in two denominations – stag and moon. Unfortunately the copper coins came in three denominations – star, groat, and penny. A single dragon was worth 30 moons, 210 stags, or 11760 pennies.

Kenneth had simplified things, "We're only going to deal in dragons, stags, and pennies."

With their rooms paid for Ramza split the team up. Marach and Radd were to check out the underworld, Cid, Beowulf, and Ramza would check out the blacksmiths, Ken and Wilfrid would explore the taverns and pubs, and Bert and Pauline were to look for the ingredients needed for their potions. Everyone else would secure the team's room and take stock of their remaining inventory.

He knew without even having to do the math that they were burning through their coin. Yes, they would manage, but if Radd and Marach were right they would need more and soon. If they failed to secure funds before a war broke out then they would be at a disadvantage.

Steel Street was home to all of the blacksmiths and their shops. He had counted over four dozen different signs, though a third were just stalls with open forges. This particular shop was the fourth that they had visited. In two of the others they had seen some quality daggers and short knight swords but no mail worth noting. After some haggling they had managed to purchase ten quarrels with twenty arrows each, two score of throwing knives, and a dozen knives for five dragons. They had seen a few Mythril blades, or Valyrian blades, but those had been too costly.

The other shops had been valuable in that they had revealed that few in Westeros could actually work Mythril/Valyrian steel. The dozens of Valyrian steel blades they had seen on display were but daggers, and none of them had been created by the smiths who displayed them.

They had also learned of the apprenticeship system in which a master took on an apprentice or two (for a fee), teaching them the basic skills and teaching them the knowledge needed to become a master. Not all who apprenticed became masters, though clearly there had been more than a few masters in King's Landing.

"This is quality mail," Cid stated loudly.

The stout old man behind the counter smiled broadly. "It ought to be, it's mine." With a glance he sent the slender serving girl to fetch some wine.

"I see few Valyrian blades," Beowulf countered as he eyed the weapons on display. The few smiths they had visited before had each told them that Tobho Mott was the best smith in all of King's Landing. Each of the three had apprenticed under the Master Smith.

The balding man shrugged, "Any smith can display them, but few actually know how to forge them." The look that he gave the girl suggested that she serve them the cheaper wine.

"You can forge Valyrian steel?" Cid asked dubiously.

Again Mott shrugged, "I know the enchantments and ingredients needed to forge them, but none know how to repair a broken blade. Most masters know how to use the broken blades to forge smaller blades, but that is it. Still, such blades are never as strong as the original."

The trio knew what he said was true as two of the other smiths they had previously visited had said the same. Yet those smiths had not the skill to re-forge the broken Valerian blades. "Could you forge a blade if you had the materials?"

The smith took a moment to consider this, "Perhaps. I have the tools necessary, but"

"But you need the ore," Beowulf finished.

The smith shook his head, "I need dragonfire."

The girl set three goblets on a serving tray only for Ramza to put his hand over the third one and shake his head.

It was the Templar's turn to shake his head, "You need a fire that burns as hot as dragonfire. We can show you what you need to create a fire that burns that hot."

The Templar motioned for the squire to step forward. Ramza left the serving girl so that he could approached the counter and pulled out a bundle before unwrapping its contents before the master smith. Two bars of silvery metal measuring two inches wide, two inches tall, and six inches long lay on the counter along with a two flasks of dark fluid. With a nod he signaled to the smith that he could handle them.

The bars were nearly smothered by the man's powerful hands. "I have never seen metal such as this. I thought it silver until I lifted it. What is this?"

"This is Mythril, though you know it as Valyrian steel," Ramza stated as he stepped back. "Each bar should be able to forge one knight's sword." As if to prove his point Ramza reached for his sword and unsheathed his runeblade. The weapon was hardly the strongest blade that they possessed, not as ancient as some of the others, but it was one readily produced in Ivalice.

Examining the blade the smith compared its weight to the each of the bars of refined metal. "I have seen few blades of such quality."

"With four bars you can create a suit of chainmail stronger than even your best suit here," Beowulf stated. "If you truly do know the enchantments and runes needed that is."

Again the smith considered the trio. "But I cannot forge the blades without dragonfire."

Beowulf tapped the forgotten flasks even as he leaned on the counter. "The flasks contain oils that should only be combined in a cold forge. When they are combined they will burn as hot as dragonfire and should burn for a fortnight, just long enough for you to forge two swords."

Ramza watched the smith's eyes widened in astonishment – such knowledge was far more valuable than even ten thousand dragons. It could even buy him a castle and title. There were only six noble houses with Valyrian blades – Stark, Tarly, Corbray, Drumm, Harlaw, Mormont, and Celtigar. If he could successfully forge a new blade of Valyrian steel he would be famous. But –

"You tell those who ask that you have been slowly purchasing Valyrian daggers and knives so that you could forge your masterwork," Beowulf interjected. "It's true enough, is it not?"

Grabbing the runeblade the Beowulf tossed it back to Ramza who promptly sheathed it.

"You give such a blade to your squire," Tobho remarked.

"In the east we found many such blades," Cid stated "along with the ore we used to create those bars."

"If your blades are as fine as his, then what would you have of me?"

"We need a smith to repair our armor," Beowulf stated. "Even the finest plate can rust if not properly maintained."

"You are looking for a smith to tend to your weapons and armor," Mott muttered. "Someone who is not a master but is skilled with a hammer."

Wrapping the bundle he picked it up. "I might have someone for you."

"We'll send our man tonight," Beowulf stated. "He will help you with what you are doing, and when you're done he'll return with our man."

Eddard

The long ride to King's Landing was finally over. Had he not convinced the King to allow him to ride ahead so that he could set up his new household within the Tower of the Hand he would never have reached the royal capital before the others. Only Lord Renly had ridden ahead with him bringing word of the King's return so that the masses would have time to gather and pay their respects.

He had not expected the Council to meet right away, discuss a tourney in his name, discover that the kingdom was 6 million dragons in debt, nor had he expected to have Littlefinger bring him out to a whore house to meet his wife. There were so many things to consider – the debt that Robert had incurred during his reign, that the Imp had hired an assassin to kill Bran, what he needed to do to protect his family, who he could trust, and who had killed John.

Thoughts of Jory's boast that his men were each worth ten of their counterparts from the south were quickly quashed as he recalled the "friendly" sparring match between the troop of sell swords and the Lannister knights. It was comforting to know that they hadn't joined up with the Lannister contingent traveling with the Queen from Winterfell was twice the size of his Stark contingent. They had helped Arya and thus earned the scorn of the Queen.

If the Imp had hired the assassin to kill Bran then he would likely send another since the first had failed. His trip up to the Wall would bring him back down to Winterfell. With even fewer men he might be content to wait until he returned to King's Landing or at least left the North but that would mean that his assassins would have to travel far to kill Bran.

And then there was the issue of the King's debts. Taxes were never popular, but they might be necessary so long as they taxed only the lords. Tywin had more than sufficient funds beneath Casterly Rock – hell they had loaned the Royal Treasury four million dragons. An unjust tax against the Lannisters would do nothing but make the Wardens of the East and West try to rise up against Robert.

There was only so much he could do. He would have to leave the debt to the Master of Coin. Somehow Littlefinger had managed to keep the kingdom afloat. He could at least trust the man that far. He did not trust the courtesan to help with the matter of John Arynn's murder or even of Bran's assassination.

The giant bronze gates seemed to welcome him back into the Tower of the Hand. Bone tired, he knew that there was much that he still needed to do. First he needed to arrange for a ship to head north as soon as possible. Catelynn and Sir Rodrik would be on that ship, but there would also be supplies for the Night's Watch and Winterfell.

His first official act as the Hand was marking the men in the dungeons for candidates to be sent to the Wall. He knew that the Night's Watch was sorely lacking in strength, but they were also lacking in support. As the King's Hand he was authorized to offer free transport to any who would be willing to relocate themselves to the lands under control of the Night's Watch. Any taxes that they paid were collected by the Night's Watch to help support them in their defense of the Wall.

He had also given his lady wife instructions to contact the Stark Banner men so that they might fortify their castles and increase the training regimen and patrols of their men. Rob would need to fortify Winterfell as well. He hoped that it would not come to war, yet in the pit of his stomach his fears gnawed at him.

The sound of steel on wood caught his ear, luring him away from the tower and towards the yard. A familiar figure worked in the dim dusk light, stabbing and slashing at the practice dummy with a sword in her left hand. "Whose sword is that?"

Startled, Arya missed her thrust, nearly falling over her own feet as she stumbled into the old dummy. Regaining her feet she turned to her father. "It's mine."

He'd seen her practicing with the sell swords on occasion, at least when they had traveled with the King's entourage. Holding out his hand he waited for her to hand him the hilt. "Where did you get this?" He half expected it to have been a gift from the sell sword troop, yet none of them ever used a Bravos blade. Then he spotted the smith's mark – Micken. His own smith had armed his own daughter and somehow he had not known about it.

There was much that he ought to say, that he should say. Had Catelynn been here she would have said much, yet these were dark times. A girl she might be, but was that all she would be? Holding the hilt out to her he waited for her to reclaim her blade.

"I can have it?" her voice was trembling.

He nodded. "It is your sword. But if you are going to learn to use it you will need a proper master. I know not the use of a Bravos blade, but I will find someone to instruct you."

Taking the blade from him she eyed him cautiously, clearly expecting a trick. "What do we say in Winterfell?"

The paused, still cautious, "Winter is coming."

Again Ned nodded. "Winter is coming. We all have a part to play. I would be doing you a discourtesy by not having you trained properly. But know this – this is not play. Remember what Cid said before the King – you will need to know when to draw a blade. Do not play at swords, master them. If I hear that you are playing at swords I will take your blade from you."

"I won't draw Needle until she's needed," Arya pledged.

"Needle?" he smirked even as she nodded. "Well, take Needle back to your room. It is late and I expect that dinner will be ready soon."

Marach

The sound of steel shod hooves against packed earth blended with the sound of steel clashing with steel. The practice yard was full of activity as the young sell swords sought to perfect their craft. Their stay in the inn had lasted less a few days before young Kenneth had realized that it would be cheaper for them to buy a tent and pitch it on the common grounds along with the other unbound knights who were gathering in King's Landing for the Hand's Tourney.

They had elected to take up the name "Stormriders" as the name of their troupe and some had added storm behind their individual names to differentiate themselves from the other bastards. Thus their illustrious leader was now Ramza Snowstorm, just as he was now Marach Sandstorm. Temperance, Pauline, Kenneth, and Wilfrid were now Stormwaters. Bert and Rose, the twins, who had been taken Storm as their surnames had adopted the adaptation 'Dark' so that they were now Bert Darkstorm and Rose Darkstorm. Their banner was a blue-grey flag with a black cloud, white gold lightning and either a snowflake, raindrop or hailstone to represent each of the members of the troupe.

Once they had figured that they could enter five warriors into the melee Marach already knew that Cid, Ramza, Radd, Temperance, and Meliadoul would represent them, while Ramza and Temperance were entered into the Joust, and Pauline in the Archery contest. The purse for the winner of the Joust was 40,000 dragons with second receiving 20,000. In contrast the Melee would receive only 20,000 with no second place, and the Archery winner to receive 10,000 dragons. Winning any would be more than sufficient to last the troupe a good while considering that they now had to pay wages to their smith and cook/stable boy. The temporary work that the others had picked up assisting the City Guard with the swelling number of lords, knights, squires, merchants, bards, and other travelers brought in just enough coin for the troupe to maintain their current expenses.

The boy Gendry was skilled with a hammer and had learned quickly how best to maintain their weapons despite being awed by the Valyrian steel that the troupe employed. Mycah on the other hand was having a hard time keeping up with his duties as the cook and stable boy. As none of the troupe had actual experience tending a horse they were forced to rely on what the stable boys had taught and showed them.

Marach was actually glad to not have been chosen to be part of the tourney. He'd ridden chocobos enough to know that he did not like riding them into battle, and horses were worse than chocobos. They lacked the intelligence and offensive or defensive capabilities that the giant magical fowl possessed, and they stank. Chocobos would preen each other with their beaks but horses needed to be washed, brushed, and groomed by a stable hand.

Besides, his duties kept him busy. Using the same magical skills that he'd employed while hunting and tracking Ramza, Marach had quickly learned to spot the magical trail and network that someone else had established. Using his frogs he'd managed to ensure that the common grounds were free of the magical spiders, allowing him to release his hornets to take out the spiders in the harder to reach nooks and crannies of King's Landing.

No, despite his skill with a staff, Marach's skill was in intrigue and shadow craft. As a warrior he was fairly capable, but within the troupe he was just in the top half. Everyone knew that Ramza was their best fighter though Cid was the most accomplished. The former Beoulve bastard had proven that one could be a jack of all trades and still be a master at some of them. His swordplay was second only to Cid, and even though he lacked the spark needed to become a Holy Swordsman but he did possess the darkness needed to become a Fell Knight. Even without those skills Ramza had been a terror on the battlefield as Marach and Meliadoul could attest. And yet Ramza insisted that he was nothing more than a squire.

And he was just an assassin. Marach smirked as he twisted the lid off of the jar. It was because of the domesticated queen that his network centered. Unlike plain bees and wasps these magical insects harvested memories. The worker's sting allowed it to absorb recent memories from its prey while their victims were none the wiser. There was no memory loss nor was there any pain involved. A warrior's sting allowed it to take over a smaller creature such as a frog, rat or bird in defense of the hive though Marach could also the possessed creature to deliver a message.

His concern at the present was filtering through all of the information that his newly established network had gathered. He needed to tag each of the Council members, the lords and ladies, and their stewards and work their way down from there to see who was in the business of trading secrets. The problem was that the population in King's Landing was vastly larger than anything he had ever had to deal with.

He waited until the queen had her fill of the magical honey before allowing her to crawl onto his finger. Gently he set her on his forehead. He had long ago become accustomed to the feel of her sting, but the rush of thousands of memories was overwhelming. The sheer number of people in King's Landing was becoming a problem once again. Even with the wasps bred to crave those with the most intrigue and secrets, but in King's Landing that appeared to be almost everyone. This was going to take some time.

Catelynn

The trip to White Harbor had been uneventful as the Lady of Winterfell had been forced to keep her identity hidden. Adorned in heavy scarves to protect against the autumn winds she had rarely spoken to any of the crew or the handful of passengers who had taken up Eddard's offer. Only a rancher with his two score of aurochs, one score of sheep, and his family of three were to head to the Gift.

Even her visit to Sir Wylis Manderly had to be done in secret less word of her trip to King's Landing spread to unfriendly ears. It did not help that the Spider had discovered her in King's Landing. There was something about the sly eunuch that she did not trust.

It was unnatural how he had known about the assassination attempt on Bran, and how he had known that she was in King's Landing. There was no way she would trust him, even with Petyr's assurances. Varys undoubtedly knew that she'd come to White Harbor and was even meeting with Sir Wylis. And who knew what secrets he shared and with who.

For a fortnight she kept thinking back to her meeting with Ned, Varys, and Petyr. He'd told her about the incident on the Trident and about the sell swords who had intervened on Arya's behalf. Something about them had interested Varys as well, though the eunuch had refrained from specifically asking about them.

Though young, they sounded like they were good with their swords. And Winterfell would need some good swords. True, the North was as large as the other six kingdoms, but they had far fewer swords.

It was one thing for a rancher to move to the Gift, but Ned was wary of hiring on swords. His banner men had hundreds of years of history with the Starks, but her Lord Husband was loathed to hire sell swords. His men were loyal to him and he in turn was loyal to them. Sell swords were loyal only to their coin.

Yet something about those sell swords had caught Ned and Varys' eye as well, but what?

Tyroin

The warm late summer rains had accompanied the youngest of Tywin's children as he returned to King's Landing via Kingsroad making him glad to have a nice warm bath to wash away the mud of the road. With the legions travelers in the capital to see or even participate in the Hand's Tourney he knew better than to seek comforts in a whore house. Lannister gold could procure him many luxuries, yet he was not willing to pay the inflated prices that they were surely charging in this market.

Speaking with the King about the Night's Watch and their many needs he helped Yoren secure a ship full of supplies and a promise from the King that allowed him to take on any of the men he could find in the dungeons for the Watch. Word of Lord Stark's offer had spread to many herdsmen and lesser merchants, a few of who were willing to be relocated to the Gift at the Hand's expense.

Leaving the Black Brother to find men in the dungeon the Imp decided to see the infamous sell swords that had so humbled the Lannister knights on the ride down from the Trident. Sell swords and free riders were nothing new, though it was said that those few who took up the blade at such a young age who did not flock some lord's banner often became brigands and bandits. The few tidbits of information that his sister's men had provided him were that this group of youths had traveled to Essos where they had encountered dragons.

He wasn't sure what to make of the claim, especially after hearing that the group had earned his sister's scorn by besmirching Joffrey's name and siding with the younger Stark daughter in the incident at the Trident. It did not help that one of their number also defeated the Lannister's Master of Arms and four of their knights at once.

Yes, there appeared to be bad blood between them and the Lannisters, all of it on the Lannister's side

After some making some inquires it was clear that the troupe either cared little for money or they had no idea that they could have paid far less for what they received. A single dragon would have paid for twenty knights stay at even the best inn for a month, yet they had paid that much for just a week. The King's pavilion might cost ten dragons, but that was only because it came with so many amenities. The Stormriders had paid just as much as the King.

There was something about these sell swords that hadn't added up. They claimed to have come from Essos, yet they referred to it as Easteros, and they had traveled east along the Red Fork for nearly two months before encountering the King's entourage. Had they sailed with the Ironmen and come east along the riverlands? It seemed unlikely.

Then there was the fact that the troupe of 16 had captured over a hundred bandits in under two months. What was unbelievable was that they had done so in a single swoop, falling on the bandits' camp and capturing all of them without killing a single bandit or losing a single member of their troupe. The reward they had collected was not so much on the bandits, but on the treasure that the bandits had stolen in their time terrorizing the Riverlands.

Cersei would not appreciate that he had made arrangements to meet with the leaders of the Stormriders. Not only would it provide him with an opportunity to get a good measure of them, but it would also provide him with a starting point in his investigation of them.

Reis

Westeros hummed with unused magical power. It was no surprise to her that the land seemed to thrive and that the seasons and weather itself were, well, unnatural. As a Dragonkin she could feel the flow of mana as she walked and it was almost as suffocating as the stench in King's Landing. The closer the troupe came to the capital the harder it became for her and the others to use magic. Something was inhibiting their ability to mold mana properly so that their spells became unpredictable. Fire spells became Fira or even Flare, though it was also able to go the other way lessening the effect of the spells that they dared to attempt.

Their trip down the King's Road past the various holdfasts and farms suggested to her that some magi had long ago enchanted the fields. Those enchantments still worked, but they also fluctuated in their efficiency. It seemed that the closer they came to King's Landing the harder it was to properly invoke magic. Whatever it was that was hampering the flow of magic into humans had begun hundreds, perhaps thousands of years ago to the point that few people could use magic because most had given up on trying to learn to use magic.

And yet there was something powerful in the capital that called out to her.

She'd read the history of Westeros and their history with dragons and knew that the skulls of the Targaryen dragons were kept in the Red Keep. Though they had died out over a hundred and fifty years ago she knew that they had not died because of inbreeding nor had they been hunted into near extinction – but what was the cause of their demise? Could the thing that was hampering the flow of magic have played a role in their demise?

As she walked along the walls of the Tower of the Hand she felt the power in the air. Could the skulls of her dead kin hold the answers to her questions?

Eddard

The strain of his position was slowly wearing him away. The stiffness in his shoulders and neck were slowly creeping up his spine but soon his head would ache as he continued to argue with the small council.

It was a mixed blessing that the most important matters that were discussed today had to do with the Hand's Tourney. As little as he enjoyed such a needless event he knew that Robert would not call off the tourney. It was a major concession for him to have the entrants in the melee and joust pay an entry fee. With those minor funds the king would be able to host a banquet each night of the tourney and payback some of the money that the crown had loaned to pay for the event. Still, the number of entrants was impressive, though the purse was the largest offered ever. The sheer number of entrants would ensure that the tourney lasted at least two days, though it looked like it might go three.

With the meeting over John headed out of the hall. Behind him Jory and Alan fell into step behind him, matching his strides as he led them out of the castle. In a matter of minutes he was mounted and making his way down Steel Street.

With the Grand Maester and Littlefinger's assistance he was able to retrace his predecessor's last steps even if he had not been able to find the remnants of his household. Tobho Mott was a master smith, but Jon Arryn needed no smith as his household already had a master smith.

"This is it," Jory stated as they reached the smithy.

The trio dismounted and Heward remained with the horses as Jory accompanied him inside the shop.

It was surprising to see the shop empty of any customers given the smith's reputation and the fact that virtually all of the smiths in King's Landing were busy selling their wares or working on the armor and weapons that the hundreds of knights that were drawn to the city for the coming tourney.

The slim young serving girl took quick note of his badge and rushed to find the master. He appeared suddenly all smiles.

"Wine for the King's Hand," he ordered the girl. The aged master smith was a muscular man though not as powerfully built as most. The red hue of his skin suggested that he had been working a hot forge recently. "I am Tobho Mott, my lord. Please, please, put yourself at ease."

He wore a simple black velvet coat with white hammers embroidered along the sleeve. "If you are in need of new arms for the tourney you have come to the right place. My work is costly but I make no apologies for that my lord. You will not find craftsmanship equal to mine anywhere in the Seven Kingdoms."

With a gesture Tobho led him to a couch as the serving girl poured them wine. "Any village smith can pound out a suit of armor, but my work is art."

He listened as the man went on about his skills and accomplishments, which lords he serviced and with what. "Did you make a falcon helm for Lord Arryn?"

Mott paused as he drank from his goblet of wine. "The Hand had visited me, with Lord Stannis – but I regret to say that they did not honor me with their patronage."

It was Ned's turn to sip from his goblet, allowing the man to fill the void.

"They asked to see the boy, so I took them back to the forge."

"The boy?" Ned echoed. He had not notion who the boy might be. "I would like to see the boy as well."

"He is no longer with me," Tobho sighed. "He is now signed on with a group of sell sword as their personal smith."

Sipping from his wine again Ned eyed the man.

"He stops by occasionally with one of the men in the troupe when they need a forge, or when he's free of his duties to learn more of working the forge," Mott stated.

Had Lord Arryn looked to add another smith to his household? "What troupe?"

"The Stormriders," the smith answered reluctantly.

He was hiding something, but what? Ned had heard of the Stormriders, though when he had known them they had yet to take a name for their troupe.

He had been careful to set his men about to make sure that no one followed but he also knew that the Spider would know where he went regardless. His business with the master smith concluded, he hoped that he would have the chance to speak with Cid and Beowulf about their new smith.

Ramza

The sound of steel on steel filled the commons though a few cheers managed to fill the gaps as the spectators shouted their support for the combatants. The taller of the two donned a black minotaur headed helm, making the squire almost believe that the smith truly was one of those powerful creatures. Only the heavy warhammer and shield, and the lack of cloven feet signaled that he wasn't. Minotaurs never used weapons as their brute power was often able to overpower any enemy. Even behemoths and dragons did not take minotaurs lightly.

Yet for all of Gendry's power he failed to land a telling blow against the significantly smaller Wilfrid. The mousy scribe needed extra padding just to wear the plate mail armor yet he danced around the larger boy.

The pair had been sparring for ten minutes with the scribe getting the better of the smith. Of those who had attended the academy with Ramza the scribe was the weakest physically. Mentally he was leaps and bounds beyond everyone else save for perhaps Kenneth. His keen mind and faith made him more suited to the mystical arts, an aspect of the troupe that they hoped to keep hidden from anyone not belonging to the troupe. Even Gendry and Mycah had not been shown that side of the group.

"Aim your blows," Radd instructed the smith. "Consider where you want to hit as well as where your target is going to be when your blow connects. This isn't a forge – your opponent is going to move because they don't want to be hit."

From his vantage point Ramza could see the various spectators – most of them knights and squires who were curious about the sell swords who had traveled Easteros. Yet from what Marach had told him more than a few were spying on them.

"Let them focus on our swords," he'd told the assassin. "They are less likely to notice our shadows then."

That the others had agreed seemed to ease his mind. Had he been honest with the others he would have told them that he was content to simply ride around the lands, escorting herdsmen and travelers to keep them safe while scouring the lands of brigands. King Robert had left a sour taste in Ramza's mouth. More often than not the man had been drunk, and his debauchery seemed to know no bounds. During the evenings on their trip down from the Trident the King was often busy with the harlots and whores, flaunting his infidelity before his Queen and her brother.

Yet the Queen was no better. She had insisted that Arya be punished for her direwolf's actions. She believed that her station made her untouchable and that her decisions were right simply because she was the queen.

Regardless of his feelings or impressions of them, he doubted that he would have to deal with either of them for too long. They would stay for the tourney, hopefully winning at least one purse so that they could pay for their supplies and perhaps move to the north. Even without Reis' magical connection he could tell that the closer they came to King's Landing the harder it was for them to use magic. With Marach and Radd checking for the underworld connections, Ken and Wilfrid checking the history of this land, and Beowulf and Cid checking the lords of the court the troupe was stretched thin.

For now they would focus on their immediate problems on hand. Once those were dealt with they would see what their options were.

A/N

I'll leave things there for now.

I hope you enjoy. Thanks for reading and please review.

Dreamingfox