Exams almost over so should hopefully be back to writing soon. We're a little over halfway through the book now, but a sequel is well in the works. Enjoy!


"You know Alyeth!" Jagare felt Lyanna's hand relax on his arm, but he wasn't convinced. Alyeth may have won Lyanna's trust, but Jagare dealt in facts. Cults did not run off facts.

"You wear the garb of a cultish priest" he growled menacingly. "Why should we trust you?" The priest's gaze turned to Jagare, and although Jagare would guess he was little more than forty, he felt the gaze of a man who had soaked in the wisdom of the world ten times over.

"I am impressed that you know of my ceremonial gauntlets and pauldrons. But we do not like the word cultish." Jagare glared at him, and Tommo spoke from beside him.

"Yeah, that's what all cultists say. So, what do you prefer? Madman? Fanatic?" The priest tilted his head at Tommo, who gulped.

"Druid," he remarked simply, before turning back to Jagare. "You should be more on your guard; danger lurks around corners you cannot see. And I will not always be there to protect you." Jagare then snapped. Not only had someone just almost killed Lyanna and his unborn child, but then this Essosi priest had dared to suggest he needed to be protected. Jagare roared and grabbed the man by his robes, pushing him against the wall, impressive as he was a good few feet shorter.

"I. Do. Not. Need. To. Be. Protected" he snarled, seething with rage. "Now you're going to tell me why some fucker who looked like a Faceless Man reject tried to assassinate us!"

"Her, not you." His hand raised and he pointed a bony finger at Lyanna. "Killing you would be too hard, waste too many resources. They know of your prowess."

"And what of my prowess" hissed Lyanna. "I'm just as fucking dangerous as Jagare." The druid inclined his head.

"I would not suggest different. But Jagare plays a different role than you, and with Jagare dead the prophecy could still be completed." Tommo groaned at the word prophecy, and Jagare did not blame him.

"Why do they want Lyanna dead" Jagare croaked, relaxing his grip on the man's robes and stepping back. The very thought of Lyanna's death sent chills though his spine. The druid eyes drifted to Lyanna, studying her.

"Because she is in a vulnerable state, and they can kill two birds with one stone." Jagare relaxed his grip and backed away. But his expression was still fuming, and it was nothing compared to Lyanna's.

"Who are you...?" Jagare murmured finally. The man brushed some dirt off his robes and clasped his staff in one hand before bowing deeply.

"My name is Romanus; I am a druid in service of Hades Tears. I was contacted by Alyeth the moment you left Lannisport. She knew that if she could find you, they would as well." He took a moment to gaze down the alley, but he seemed assured no one was following them. "I understand it is against your better nature to trust me, but I did just save you and your child" he gazed at Lyanna carefully. "You trusted Alyeth, and I implore that you trust me. I am here to protect you."

"But why" demanded Jagare and Lyanna simultaneously. They quickly glanced at each other and even in the heated moment he couldn't help but smirk slightly. He then turned back to Romanus and continued.

"I am a bastard of the North and Lyanna's just a the daughter of a lord. Were of no importance to anyone-" he cut Jagare off with a throaty laugh

"No, oh no, your much, much more important than that." His gaze twinkled and his mouth turned up slightly. "More important than you could ever know." His hand entered his robes and drew out a roll of parchment. He handed it to Jagare and bowed slightly. Lyanna snatched it from his grasp angrily and unrolled it. Her features softened slightly, and she handed it to Jagare slowly. It was a diagram, old and weathered. It showed what looked to be a great axe, but it was unlike any design Jagare had ever seen. As if reading his mind, the priest spoke again.

"The design is an old Valyrian one, but before that, it came from the far east. From Asshai. Those words at the bottom" he pointed at a scribbled scripture written by a heavy hand. "Those words are vital; you must never forget them."

"Rȳ suvion se perzys, letagon bisa egros naejot dohaeragon aōha jorrāelagon" mumbled Jagare, his pronunciation terrible. It must have been truly awful as Romanus winced when he heard it.

"Perhaps find a Valyrian speaker to help you learn the language. It means 'Across ice and fire, bind this blade to your soul'." The confusion on all their faces made Romanus sigh, with a shake of the head. "You will understand later...ah yes" he withdrew another scroll from his robes and this time handed it to Wendall. "You are the navigator correct? This is for you." Wendel took the scroll with a large gulp and shakily unrolled it. His eyes grew wider when he saw it.

"Well, what is it?" asked Tommo, his usually cheerful demeanour subdued and serious.

"I-it's a map. No, a path, it's a ship's path."

"One of the original trade routes of Valyria. Not many Westerosi captains have attempted it. None have succeeded. Those of Valyria did so, however, which is why the map starts at the port city of Volantis." His eyes raised to the sky, where the sun had just drifted behind some clouds. The wind picked up slightly, and despite his Northern heritage, Jagare shivered slightly. "Your journey will take you to the far east, whether you wish it or not." His eyes darkened. "I sense the reluctance in you, Jagare Snow. But do not think for a second this is some kind of trick. My gods have ordained that you shall go east, and if you disobey their command, fate will push you there herself." Jagare scoffed in annoyance. Fucking fate.

"You'll find that we take great pleasure in denying fate of its grasp" hissed Lyanna. Romanus chuckled slightly and nodded.

"Yes, correct. You escaped from a forced marriage and Jagare escaped being executed." His eyes brushed over Wendel and Tommo. "You escaped being killed by your family in a 'hunting accident', and you escaped being trapped in the North forever." They were all silent now. Wendel's face had drained of all colour and for the first time ever, Tommo looked speechless. Jagare felt his heart beating within his chest and his breathing felt sharp. How. How could he know?

"D-did you t-tell Alyeth?" Jagare mumbled at Lyanna who looked like she was trying to swallow a boulder. She shook her head. Romanus raised his eyebrows at them and folded his arms inside his cloak.

"At the very least, you should hopefully believe our power. But fear not, Jagare Snow. We are on your side." From within his robes, he pulled a strange bronze device and then looked at the sun. "I have strayed too far and been gone too long. I must leave you now." He bowed his head at the still-stunned group of them and then went to leave. "I should remind you, Jagare, and all of you at that; you did not deny fate with your actions. That was the original path for you. But if you do not go east, that will be fate dishonoured. Do not tempt it." And then he was gone, disappeared into the darkness of the shadows. Jagare felt his fists clenching against something and pulled his hand up to see the diagram of an axe. It was magnificent, to tell the truth. Two separate blades formed the axe, and the hammer had a blade as well, both attached to a long staff. Either end of the staff was topped with spearheads, and it was wrought with gems and skulls. It was ginormous, in fact, the only way it could have been wielded as if the metal was….

"Valyrian Steel" muttered Jagare. The others turned to him with questioning looks and he shook his head in dismissal. "Wendall, that map he gave you." Wendel held it out with shaking hands, his face white and gaunt. Jagare felt a stab of pity for him. The memory of his home must have been painful. Jagare took the parchment and studied it. Larger than most charts, it showed a path along the south coast of Essos; around Valyria, into Slavers bay, through the Jade Gates and finally resting at Asshai.

"Burn it" came Lyanna's voice, with hints of iron and steel. "Fuck him, telling us what to do." She took a step closer to Jagare. "We promised each other, that never again would we submit and take orders from another." He nodded slightly and rolled up the scroll, eyeing the three of them carefully. They all looked drained and exhausted, both emotionally and physically.

"We should get back to the ship" he muttered. "Put everyone on alert and have them start to prepare us to depart. Let's get out of this fucking city as soon as possible." There were agreements all around. The rest of the day passed quickly and like a blur to Jagare. He was reprimanded by Cragg for travelling without any guard but waved him away with a small apology before retreating to his cabin and the solitude it gave. The diagram for the axe he had hidden in a book that was neatly resting on his desk, and the map he had allowed Lyanna to burn in one of the lamps. She was right. No one commanded them anymore. Both Tommo and Wendel had requested to accompany them on the mission tonight, but Jagare had refused. It would be just him and Lyanna. Aeron had been insistent that they go back into the city with force and find out the nature of the assassin that attacked them, but Jagare had no such wishes. It would be an impossible task. The rest of the afternoon he spent thinking and sleeping. Eventually, he was woken up by the smooth dark eyes of Xavi, telling him that the time was near. Apparently, Lyanna had already dressed and was waiting in the stable for him, so Jagare rose swiftly. He dressed in his finest clothes to not insult the Hightowers, a plain tunic and breeches with a plain black tabard, and then came above deck into the humid evening. He squinted at the low dazzling sun and through his blinded vision he saw sailors moving around the deck, readying sails, and untying ropes. At least his crew was in the right mind. He walked towards the stables, and over the cawing of seagulls, he heard a soft voice singing. He smiled to himself. Lyanna never sang often, but when she did it was beautiful. He entered the stable and the melody stopped. She glared at him, stroking the mane of her chestnut mare.

"You know that others are not allowed to hear me sing" she muttered derisively. Dressed in a silken grey gown that fit smoothly over her body. He blinked a few times before coming back to reality.

"Y-you…you look beautiful Lyanna." She smiled at him softly and took a few steps towards him, doing a small twirl.

"Do you like it? I got it in Lannisport when you were off fighting." She sighed sadly. "Although I love the freedom that comes with wearing whatever I like, it's been a while since I've worn something this…ladylike." He grinned at her, reaching out to take her hand.

"Well, I am certainly not complaining. You look amazing." She smiled again sheepishly.

"Well, you don't look too bad yourself, Captain Snow." Gliding her hand up across his arm, it settled on his shoulder, and she pulled herself in to kiss him. He melted into it like a hot knife through snow, and for a blissful moment, all his troubles disappeared. But some troubles are simply too big to disappear that easily.

"Lya" he started. "About today-"

"No." She shook her head. "No, we forget about it." She pulled away and looked him straight in the eye. "We burned the map, killed the assassin and now we forget that the druid exists, Ale be damned. We leave tonight and we speak of it no more. Okay?" She looked at him almost pleadingly, as if begging for none of it to have even happened. Jagare thought for a moment, his mind torn. Lyanna was right that no one would ever command them again, but the priest had given off an aura of power. When he spoke about fate, Jagare felt something stir inside of him. He had a disturbing feeling that the priest might have been telling the truth. He had felt it once before...a weary traveller had come to the gates of Karhold, a skinchanger from the mountains. Lord Karstark had fed and boarded him in honour of the Old Gods, but upon meeting Jagare the man froze, and muttered a phrase to him. 'A touch of destiny'. They never saw the man again, and Jagare had forgotten all about it until now. Was it possible...he was meant for something more? He shook his head and shoved the thoughts far down in his mind.

"Aye. Your right. We forget about him. About it." Both of them rode off the ship surrounded by guards of both Ironborn and his own guard alike. As well as them being crucial to the plan, the attempt earlier had left both him and Lyanna more cautious of the secrets hiding behind the city's flowery masks. Cragg rode at the head of their party, with Xavi, Angie, Brik, and Merri, all surrounding them. Lemnos had even decided to accompany them and Jagare had hurriedly agreed after seeing the furious look on his face that he and Lyanna had been attacked without him there. The last thing they needed was Lemnos tearing through Oldtown slaughtering half their guard. Their party moved slowly through the city, as the sun dipped even lower along the horizon. Eventually, it was blocked entirely by the looming castle of the Hightower, which seemed to block an entire section of the sky. The crest of the tower was aflame with light, the beacon that guided ships into port through the mist and darkness. Red flames. Turned green when they called their banners to war. Would they spy green flames tonight? Jagare allowed himself a small smile at the ginormous structure.

"Larger than the wall, the highest tower in the known world" he murmured to himself. The castle itself jutted from Battle Isle, a spire of rock made of oily black stone reminiscent of Valyrian architecture, one of the greatest mysteries in the known world. The island was located where the rivers of Honeywine and Whispering Sound met. There was but one bridge to the island, a gateway guarded by a small, square keep. The gate was open and as they trotted inside a familiar face came to meet them.

"Captain Snow" came the stoic voice of Leyton Hightower, free of his armour and dressed in Hightower garb. "The Lady will be thrilled that you came to join us this night." Jagare was impressed, Leyton's face gave nothing away. Jagare dismounted from his horse and used the moment to look around the courtyard they had ridden into. Around twenty to thirty men stood guard, watching all coming and going from the castle. They were eyeing Jagare's party carefully, not that he could blame them of course, many of his guards were Ironborn whose appearance was never the most subtle.

"As I am honoured to be hosted by your most noble of families" Jagare finally replied, sweeping into a low bow. "I apologise that some of my companions were not able to attend tonight, they were not feeling well." Leyton eyed him carefully, then nodded.

"Very well, if you would follow me." He turned and walked towards the long stone bridge that stretched across the river.

"Gladly" spoke Lyanna in a honeyed voice, taking Jagare's arm and following him. The entrance hall of the Hightower was as grand as could possibly be. The ceiling was so high that Jagare could barely see it. Giant rafters stretched between the walls, which held ginormous mashes of crystals, reflecting the light around the room like the sun off the water. Polished white marble stretched underneath their feet and mosaics spanned over the surface, depicting figures, battles, and holy events. It was awe-inspiring.

"Truly magnificent isn't it!" came a high-pitched voice from above them. Upon a large double staircase, the form of Aimee Hightower appeared, her blonde hair plaited so fiercely that Jagare was surprised it hadn't torn the hair out of her scalp. She wore a dress of white, grey, and black. Odd colours for a Hightower until Jagare realised; those were the colours of House Karstark. Very subtle of her.

"It is certainly most impressive my lady" spoke Lyanna, whose voice had morphed fully into the perfect lady that her father had always tried to teach her. She could always do it, just never enjoyed it.

"A masterpiece" echoed Jagare. "Those who designed it clearly had great minds to construct such a complex array of beauty." She reached the bottom of the stairs and bounded towards them, nodding violently.

"The hall is as old as the castle itself! And everything in here has lasted for thousands of years. Battle Isle has never fallen before of course, so it has never needed to be rebuilt. But enough history, come! We are supping in the Maidens Ballroom." She grasped Jagare's arm as if to pull it along, but instead, she squeezed it tight and looked up at him with nervous eyes. He flashed her a small smile and nodded. Lyanna then swooped down and took her by the other arm.

"We look forward to it, my lady. Your company is most welcome, and both of us are very happy to provide our own." She winked at Aimee, causing a small smile to appear on her face. When they reached the ballroom, they were met at the door by a tall stern man dressed in lords finery. His hair was short and graying, but his posture was strong, and his eyes shone with the same green as Aimee's. Jagare immediately stopped and inclined his head to the man, who watched him carefully with an unreadable gaze.

"Lord Hightower, I thank you most considerably for hosting us tonight. It is the greatest honour of my life to be invited to sup with one of the noblest families in Westeros." There was silence for a few seconds before the man grunted in what seemed to be annoyance.

"I am not, Lord Hightower. That would be my elder brother. He is Lord of Oldtown. Yet while he is unwell, I shall rule in his stead." The mans face turned sour as he took in Jagare's appearance. Did he suspect something? Eventually, he spoke again. "My name is Ser Stannis Hightower. My niece has requested that I host you tonight and so I shall, as I believe that we should meet her demands in the short time we have left with her. However, I do not like you Captain Snow, and I do not want you in my brother's castle. We shall eat, you shall answer the lady's questions and then you shall leave. Do you understand me?" There was a long awkward silence before Amy shifted nervously.

"Uncle…these are my guests…they should be treated with honour and politeness, should they not." Jagare rose to his full height and remove his arm from Aimee's, taking a step forward. He had grown even more since he left the north and according to Wendel still had more to go. He was almost six and a half feet and towered over the old knight. Lyanna stepped to his side as well, and Jagare could tell her face displayed the same cold, fierce look that her mother often gave him. Polite yes, but with a ferocity behind it. Yet the old man met their gaze and, in his eyes, Jagare saw something more than just dislike of his name. There was something else. A thin, cruel smile emerged.

"Normally you would be correct, beloved niece. However, these two are not worthy of our honour." His gaze hardened. Silence reigned in the hall, and Jagare's brow furrowed.

"I had thought the knights of the Reach were the most chivalrous in all Westeros. We come here as guests yet you do not meet us with salt, bread and wine and furthermore, insult us." Aimee squeaked in shock, and Leyton was straining in his silence. Stannis eyed him with a soft fury.

"You dare...after what you have done, you speak to me of chivalry?" Jagare felt a pang of heat in his neck...what he had done...

"What accusations do you throw at us so carelessly" Lyanna asked coolly. Stannis barked a gruff laugh.

You may think that your cold, wasteland of a realm is isolated from the rest of us, but we are the largest city in Westeros and us great houses hear all that others may not."

"Uncle...what are you talking about?" Aimee asked quietly. Stannis ignored her, his gazed fixed on Jagare.

"I suspected as soon as my niece told me of a northern captain, and ship of your description. And now that I see you...well." He moved a step closer to Jagare and he instinctively stepped back. Why would he do that, how dare he show weakness at a time like this? But Stannis' presence was harsh, powerful even. He was the other type of southern lord, not prideful and pompous, but cunning and sharp, manipulating those around them, and playing the game with deathly authority.

"I do not like what you are suggesting, Ser" Jagare breathed, his heart racing.

"You may not realise this, boy, but the realms are linked even through war and conflict. If the North falls and there is nothing left to reave, then the Ironborn start targeting the southern kingdoms more. The Riverlands moves men from its northern borders and looks elsewhere. The Vale can keep the Sister Isles undefended for a while, and will also look elsewhere!" Stannis took another step towards him, forcing him back once more. "Do you now see what I know?"

"You presume much" Lyanna spoke calmly.

"Presume!" Stannis boomed. "When the North is torn in war, the wall becomes inaccessible, leading to further executions of prisoners of war, which leads to more war. And you thought nothing of this before destabilising the entire realm and leaving it on the brink of civil war! Yes, I know who you are, Jagare Snow, traitorous bastard of the North." His gaze then whipped around to Lyanna. "And Lyanna Karstark. The disloyal daughter." Jagare's words had stuck in his throat and beside him, he felt Lyanna stiffen. Aimee had turned pale and looked on the verge of tears.

"Wh-what are you saying uncle..." Stannis didn't break Jagare's gaze, but spoke to Aimee nonethless.

"Your guests are none other than the most wanted outlaws in the entire Northern realm. But you were too stupid to realise, maybe King Durrandon will see fit to educate you in other ways." Aimee turned a nasty shade of green and Lyanna's breath hitched. A hot anger burned through Jagare's frozen mind.

"Cousin" came the voice of Leyton Hightower, who stepped up to gently take Aimee's arm, his face an impossible mask of calm. "You look unwell, should I escort you to your chambers?"

"I think that would be best nephew" responded Ser Stannis. His face muscled has relaxed slightly, but still, his gaze bore into Jagare like a knife.

"B-but what about s-supper?" asked Aimee, her eyes tearing up.

"It's okay, my lady" spoke Leyton gently. "We can have the same supper in your chambers. Just as planned." Jagare nodded at her slightly, forcing his tongue to unstick.

"You should go my lady. Enjoy your evening." Leyton met Jagare's eyes, and they both gave tiny inclinations. The plan would go ahead. After Leyton had led Aimee away, Jagare knew that he had to stall for time, so he rounded on the old knight.

"You dare to insult Lady Karstark and myself in such a manner" he whispered. "Outlaws we may be, but the powers of the Northern throne extend only to The Neck. Here we are free men." While many lords might have had them simply thrown out of the castle, Jagare thought that this one liked the sound of his own voice when lecturing those younger than him. And he was right, the gleam in the old man's eyes showed that he wanted Jagare to speak out. And that we would enjoy tearing him down.

"Oh yes, I dare, boy. Whatever nobility either of you had was lost when you abandoned your family. I could take your heads and send them North and would most likely be rewarded for it! Don't think I won't either, your measly guard versus the strength of the Hightower. We could burn your ship in the harbour and put your men all to the sword."

"You could try" growled Jagare. "You might find that we put up more of a fight than you think." Stannis snorted derisively.

"I doubt that. From what I heard the new King in the North has a deep hatred for you, Snow. The latest news is that his father died, bedridden. He has complete control now. If you begged and pleaded, I might let you take the death sentence here, in the eyes of the true gods, or I could send you back North to be tortured for your crimes." His eyes focused back on Lyanna. "As for you. The faith is more than happy to convert non-believers, I believe they have very extreme and capable methods to do so in fact. Or maybe I'll just give you to the castle garrison instead-"

"ENOUGH" roared Jagare, stepping forward to tower over the man, who still met his gaze strongly. He was vaguely aware of armed men stepping forward, hands on blades. But he did not care. "You go too far my lord" he growled. "You know nothing of the state of the North. I doubt you have ever left this noble fucking realm of chivalry and honour, where men stab others in the back, and the smallfolk are looked down upon for simply being born!" The knight was about to respond but instead, Lyanna stepped forward.

"Do you know what it is like to be forced into a marriage, ser? Or be chained and caged by your father for your entire life. I'm sure you do that to your own nieces, don't you? Just like you are forcing poor Aimee to marry the Storm King!"

"That is the way of this world, and the role that women play in it" he barked, the colour in his temple rising. "You think that by disgracing your father's name you can change how it works! This is Westeros, and those are our laws."

"Your laws do not apply to us" hissed Jagare. "You disgrace your own name by what you are forcing Aimee into." The man raised his eyebrow.

"You speak to me of disgrace. Do you know what the person whom you keep on your ship has done? Have you no idea who they are?" He smirked at Jagare's confused look. "There is only one ship like yours Snow. I know where it has come from because I rejected its offers of an alliance. You keep a strange crew around you, and either you are far too trustworthy or as much of a fool as I thought." Jagare's throat tightened. Did he mean Aeron? The knight slowly walked a couple of paces towards them.

"You have nerve, bastard. Mayhaps too much. This world does not allow bastards to gallivant around the world like they did in the days before the Andals invaded. You will find that many do not take kindly to warships with exiled Ironborn docking at their ports, and dealing with other outcasts that pollute their cities." Jagare stilled slightly at that, then smirked. Lyanna noticed too, and stifled a slight giggle.

"So thats why you haven't killed us."

"What?" Stannis growlled. Jagare chuckled slightly.

"You heard that we talked to the priest...you're scared of him." Stannis' eyes widened for a fraction of a second before morphing into a tight scowl.

"Get, the fuck…out of my castle." They didn't need to be told twice, sweeping his cloak behind him Jagare turned and left the entrance hall, Lyanna swiftly on his heels. In the immediate courtyard, his guard were all standing around braziers warming their hands and sipping tankards of ale.

"Finished that quickly did you," remarked Lemnos, who was perched on a wall sharpening his longsword. Jagare could faintly see a smirk behind his thick beard and rolled his eyes.

"Don't tell Tommo or Aeron" he muttered. Lyanna nodded shakily.

"Yes, please don't." Lemnos rose to his feet and let out a dog-like laugh.

"HA! You may be able to talk all proper captain, but you're still one of us. Remember that." His voice dropped and he looked around cautiously. "Is the plan still going ahead?" Jagare nodded at him.

"She left to her chambers a few minutes ago, with Ser Leyton. They should be down soon, but I don't know how we will-"

"Jagare" muttered Lyanna. He looked up to see her pointing subtly at two figures that had just appeared from behind the hedges. One tall, one short. As they approached, he saw the smaller figure start to remove her hood. He sprung forward and pulled it back down quickly, triggering a small squeak of freight.

"I apologise my lady" he whispered. "But your hair will give you away instantly. You must remain low and silent until we reach the ship. You understand?" The hood moved slightly, indicating a nod. He looked up at Ser Leyton, whose eyes for the first time showed uncertainty and fear. Jagare clasped his shoulder and nodded at him. "Come let us move." Lemnos roused the guards by the braziers and Cragg came over to Jagare as they were crossing the long bridge that joined the island and the city. The darkness would help them cloud their appearance, but he was cautious nonetheless, and ready to ride like hell if it came to it.

"Captain" Cragg muttered quietly. "If worse comes to worst, we have enough men to take out the gatehouse garrison and ride hard for the docks." Jagare shook his head silently.

"It won't come to that Cragg."

"I know but if it does…" the silence spoke words to both of them. If they did have to flee from a fight, honour would demand the Hightowers chase them across the known world if need be.

"You will take my place on the horse" came the hushed voice of Lyanna, who was telling Aimee the plan to get past the gatehouse. "I'm taller and can blend in the guards easier. You keep your head down and hair tucked in…don't worry we'll get through this. You just have to have faith in Jagare. He knows what he's doing." Jagare smiled to himself slightly. Obviously, Lyanna didn't know he was listening, or she would never compliment him like that. When they reached the gatehouse, the entire party went quiet with apprehension, even the Ironborn silencing their raucous chatter. He had told them what was at stake on this mission. Jagare approached the knight in command of the gate and told him that they had been dismissed by Ser Stannis. He had tried to seem as angry as possible to make it realistic, but it came very naturally. The knight just smirked at him while he saddled his horse.

"You just won me a bet Snow. Didn't think you would last five minutes in there." These fucking southerners.

"Didn't think I would ever miss the North that much" he muttered to Lemnos who was waiting next to him. "But these southern cunts…" Lemnos shot him a small grin.

"The Reach is the worst of them" he muttered. "Dorne is something entirely different though. They like us much more. I'm quite looking forward to Dorne in fact." Jagare raised an eyebrow.

"With that beard? Your face will melt."

"Ah, but that's the key captain. Dornish girls don't see many Northern beards cause of the heat. Gets them all excited see." Jagare shook his head and mounted his horse. He nodded at Cragg and the others, who slowly started setting out through the gatehouse. They were continuously watched, but Leyton's stocky build merged in nicely with the Ironborn, and Amy kept her head low and stayed silent, the guardsmen clearly thinking she was Lyanna.

"I would recommend making yourself scarce from Oldtown captain" came the voice of the commanding knight. He smirked at Jagare again. "Ser Stannis is not the sort of man to forgive a slight twice." Jagare turned his head forward again and did not reply. The party crawled its way through Oldtown, and with each step of his horse, Jagare was sure that he would hear shouts and calls. See swords and spears, torches alight on their trail. But they never came. When they reached the docks, the night had truly fallen. Normally, disembarking at this light would have been suicide, but the Hightower spilt light over the bay to guide their passage. They clambered aboard and Jagare immediately sent both Leyton and Aimee down to the passenger cabins.

"Martial will be waiting for you, find him and stay with him. Should the ship get searched again, he knows where to go and hide." Unexpectedly, Aimee sobbed and threw her arms around Jagare's waist.

"T-thank you s-so much. I do-don't believe what my uncle s-says. You're a GOOD man." Jagare awkwardly patted her on the back. She was so much smaller than him it certainly felt strange.

"It's my honour, my lady. Now go, the deck must be cleared." Leyton took her by the arm and pulled her along softly.

"Come, my lady, we are on the captain's ship, we must follow his orders." Jagare nodded at him as they descended into the bowls of the ship. He turned and made his way up to the stern deck.

"RIGHT, YOU LAZY FUCKERS. GET TO YOUR DUTIES. OARSMEN TO THE READY, RIGGERS AT YOUR POSTS. LET'S GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!" The ship sprang to life at Jagare's command as men rushed around the deck fulfilling their various requirements.

"Jagare" came a voice from behind him. He whipped round to see Aeron, sitting in the shadows, looking nervous.

"Aeron? What are you doing back there? Come on get up to the wheel I need you to steer us out of port." Aeron nodded mutely and joined him at the helm, taking the wheel as the lines were untied and the ship was pushed away.

"Did the mission go well? Is the lady here?" Jagare nodded, turning to scan the shoreline, and finding nothing the odd lone man coming back from the bar. No Hightower spears came after them that night. Leyton had assured them that there would be several signs pointing to the decoy's travelling east, but Stannis was too smart for that. He would at least suspect.

"Yeah, she's down below deck with Martial." Aeron looked at Jagare, his single eye wild and scared.

"No, no she's not." Jagare didn't hear his tone properly, too focused on the shoreline. Gods he was paranoid.

"What do you mean, I just sent her down there." Aeron shook his head.

"She may be, but Martial isn't." Jagare turned and scowled at Aeron, who cringed away slightly.

"Aeron what the fuck is going on. Enough riddles if something has scared you this much then tell me. Where is Martial, did he leave?" Aeron looked out towards the foredeck, the oars slowly starting to propel them down the river and away from the city.

"He's dead Jagare." His eyes widened in shock.

"Dead? But I thought Wendel healed his injuries, he was absolutely fine this morning. Fit and healthy." Then it clicked for him. "So, you're saying he was…" Aeron nodded softly.

"Go find someone to show you. The way they did it Jagare…" Aeron turned pale again and shook his head. "Just go." His heart-pounding Jagare made his way down the stairs he entered below deck and pulled aside one of the soldiers. The man looked at him gravely and lead him down to the hold and into a small space that was reserved for dungeon space.

"We found the body down here when one of the men was trying to find more hold space for the crates." The man swallowed with a shudder. "I've been in countless raids and battles but this...it's horrifying captain, look for yourself." Jagare pushed open the door and almost vomited on the spot.

"Good gods" he breathed. The knight had been stripped naked and his entire body was red with dried blood. Someone had cut every single major vein in his body, and the flesh around the cuts had turned an ugly swollen purple. His throat had been cut so deeply that his head looked like it only needed a push to fall off. His eyes had been dug out viciously, with knife marks into his skull surrounding his brow. He entire mouth had been cut out, each one of his teeth laying neatly around him. The worst however was his stomach. It had been cut open in the shape of a square, his guts ripped out and then shoved back in. His…his genitals had been sliced so badly that there was only a large mess of blood and flesh sagging to the floor. In his stomach was the man's sword, sticking straight upright. By his own blade… Jagare felt bile rising in his stomach as he gazed upon the scene. He only moved when a small squeak behind him made him turn. Lyanna stood looking at the scene in horror and then without warning vomited into a corner. Jagare fell to his knees and looked away from the scene in front of him.

"Fucking hell" muttered Lyanna, who collapsed against a pillar. "W-who…what…?" Jagare shook his head and gasped for breath, rubbing his eyes, and forcing himself up.

"Who…whoever did this…it was personal…Fuck me." He forced himself out of the room and doubled over, his eyes still swimming, and the image of the brutalized Reach knight burned into his mind. Lyanna stood back up and placed her hand on his shoulder, firmly.

"Come on…we need to find out who did this." They did. They needed to find out who had killed him. Murdered him in cold blood, tortured him to a painful end. He was just about to reply when there was a loud thud from the end of the cells and a small scream. Jagare snapped. He had been woken up at dawn, almost lost Lyanna and their unborn child, riddled by a cult priest, insulted by a lord, and then seen a man ripped apart. The northern berserker in him broke out and with a roar, he yanked the sword out of Martial's chest and charged towards the end of the corridor, Lyanna hot on his heels. His vision blurred. Turning to the last cell he saw a figure holding a large pole and the air was filled with a yell, a scream, and a determined grunt. Martial's blade shattered as it connected with the pole and the sound was like an anvil singing. He fell to the floor and scrambled back to the wall, forcing himself upwards as his vision cleared once more. A mess of blonde dirty hair covered deep blue eyes and a fierce look. He blinked and rubbed his eyes and looked back at the pole. But it was no pole at all. Almost as tall as him, wrought with golden krakens and topped with three valyrian steel blades. The trident of the Greyjoys. And it was clutched in the hands of…Faythe? The stowaway girl looked at Jagare again, widened her eyes and yelped as she dropped the trident.

"I-I-I'm s-so sorry c-captain. I-I heard s-someone coming a-and I p-panicked." She started to shake, and tears formed in her eyes. Lyanna shot him a glare and moved forward to comfort the girl.

"You brute" she muttered. "Straight to the weapons with no thinking." Jagare frowned at her as he rose.

"Sorry, slightly stressful day." He moved forward and gingerly picked up the weapon. He was shocked by how light it felt in his hand, no more than a regular iron spear. He looked at Faythe again, and although it pained him, he put on a stern face.

"Where did you get this Faythe? We…we've been looking for this since we took the ship and could never find it." Lyanna turned towards him with a scowl.

"Jagare, cut her some slack, the poor girl's-"

"No" spoke Jagare quietly. "A man has been murdered; our child is not safe." Faythe's eyes widened for a moment and Lyanna shot him a 'what the fuck' look but he continued. "Faythe won't tell anyone, will you Faythe?" She shook her head so quickly he thought it would fall off. "See, now where did you get it." Faythe with quiet for a few seconds and then took a deep breath.

"Well…I-I was wandering the ship l-like I normally do…and well I saw the b-body" she teared up again, but Lyanna was straight to her with kind words and strokes of her hair. 'She is going to make a great mother' he thought. "A-and I panicked a-and screamed. S-someone must have heard me because I heard a voice. I-I thought it might have been the killer, so I ran, and I hid." She disentangled herself from Lyanna's arms and went back into the empty cell. It was only then he noticed that two planks were missing from the cell.

"I heard a noise…the wood was hollow" she muttered. "So, I knocked on it a few times, and the wood gave way." She pointed at the trident in his hands. "I pulled it out and c-cut myself." She held out her finger to show a thin line of blood running down her thumb.

"Nothing bites like valyrian steel" he muttered. Then his eye caught something at her belt. "That dagger…where did you get it from?" Her hand shot to the sheath and her eyes widened for a split second before narrowing at him.

"I stole it, from the armoury. I wasn't going to let myself be defenceless again." He was silent for a few moments.

"It's a nice dagger." She shrugged at him.

"It was a Greyjoy one I think." He nodded to show he believed her and then gave the trident to Lyanna who took it graciously and started examining it. He got down onto his knees and looked into the loose planks. It was a dusty, small space, around the size of a horse and with little light but through the cracks in the wood. He was about to leave before a flash of light caught his eye. He felt around with his hand and closed it around a fine polished wooden handle. Pulling it out of the crevice he immediately knew from the weight, what he held in his hand. A curved blade of valyrian steel, with a large round semi-circle guard, rippling with the dark folded texture of the biting sharp steel.

"Bloody hell. These fucking Greyjoys." He turned it over in his hand and noticed something on the hilt. A tiny inscription depicting a long-curved scythe. He showed it too Lyanna whose eyes widened.

"A scythe…that's-"

"Harlaw" he growled. "I'll ask Aeron later. This goes deeper than I thought." He turned back to the guard who had bought them down there, standing to attention at the end of the corridor with his sword pointing at the ground.

"How long ago was the body found?" The man thought for a second.

"Not long before you came back, maybe half an hour?"

"And you didn't move it?" The man shook his head.

"One who found it, Derreck, he reported it to Prince Aeron. He wanted to wait till you got back." Jagare looked back at the blade, then the trident, then Faythe.

"You thought you heard the killer?" Faythe shrugged.

"I only found the body a few minutes before you came down." Jagare looked at Lyanna, who pulled the girl tighter to her.

"She didn't see anything Jagare. Someone got on the ship and got off quickly. It was an assassin."

"Aye, but why Martial?" She shrugged.

"Someone in Oldtown didn't like him? Leyton said there were tensions." Jagare shook his head, his brain was fuzzy and tired.

"No…this was something else, something darker." He looked at the blade once more before turning back to the soldier. "Have him tended to and wrapped in linin. We'll give him a sea burial." The soldier inclined his head before turning. Jagare collapsed against the pillar, his chest growing tight.

"Jagare…?" Lyanna spoke, concern in her voice.

"I fucking hate this city."