Chapter Seventy-Three

…

Undisclosed Area, King's Landing (Two hours before Joffrey's Challenge)

The sound of leather boots hitting rock echoes on the near dark tunnels as their wearers gather. Nearly a dozen are present as they rush towards a cavern designated as a healing ward where at least one of the Green Men which specializes in healing magic have been assigned. The cause of their worry, is simple. A corpse of a red-headed woman is having its eyes closed forever by the Green Man in charge before covering her face with a white sheet.

"She's dead. My apologies that I couldn't save her," the Green Man apologizes with a bow to the head of the gathered Hidden Ones.

This place is the official hideout of the Hidden Ones at King's Landing. Most of the secrets, information and knowledge that they gather in lieu with the orders of the Mistress of Death can be found here. In this place, scribes and other talented men and women from the smallfolk of King's Landing are hired (force feeded with loyalty potions) to catalogue and process the large amount of information. It is a logistical machine that grinds on and on preparing for any possible danger or noteworthy news that the Dame of Rivenddell might need.

In short, it is like the version of the Central Intelligence Agency or the MI6 of the United Kingdom where Delianah takes the idea. Unlike those standing on the light, it is their job to live in the shadows and fight the never ending war of sabotage, spying, information gathering, black operations and of course false information dissemination.

Right now however, the leader of this Cadre as the Hidden Ones call the hideouts is frowning as he unfurls the hurried scurrying notes left behind by the dead Hidden One at the infirmary.

The Hidden Ones is a branch of Faceless men from Braavos sent to serve the Mistress of Death. Only the best of the best are given the privilege. They are after all serving the very manifestation of their deity. Plus though no one of them would admit out loud, the work is intriguing and suits their talents very well. While the Temple at Braavos after all accepts contracts for the Gift to be given. It is way too pricey and most of the time, majority of the Order are just sitting around. Under Delianah Tully, there is always work to go around.

During their entire tenure here that serves as the shadow arm of the Lady of Rivendell however, there has never been a time when a Hidden One is killed in the line of duty. Of course the Faceless Men are not so arrogant as to believe that they are infallible. They are just rather hard to kill. The Hidden Ones however pride themselves on their skill and their dedication to their service to the Mistress of Death. To have one die in the process in such a crucial time leaves an empty spot on their line of information.

The agent at the ward has been posing as Ros, a whore from the North which the agency offed and her face taken. She has then been spying on Baelish for almost a year now. According to the healers, she has barged into the Cadre with many a stab wound before dying while clutching that bloody message on her hand.

As the Cadre head however once more reads the slip of thin paper written by blood, he can't help but feel a small bottoming feeling in his gut.

"…expect betrayal if Prince fails…..Baelish…Mountain Clans…war…Murder….royalty" the paper simply reads, hastily written.

"So Baelish would not take it well if the Challenge of the Prince fails. Who would he try to murder out of the royal family however?" the Leader of the King's Landing cadre asks more to himself.

He needs to bring this up to his lady as soon as possible.

…..

Rivendell Camp, Delianah Private Tent

"So you're telling me that we have a gap in our information network right now?" it is not often that Delianah can find herself a bit disappointed about plans and preparations going awry, but the few that does always cost her much. She still hasn't forgotten her folly due to misplaced trust and lack assurances when Lord Viktor lost his life.

"Yes my lady. Our sincerest apologies, as it is the rest of the members of the Cadre are trying to make sense of what our fallen member wrote about. Once we have a sense of things, you will be the first to be informed my lady," the Hidden One bows with his face nearly to the floor.

"I see," Delianah reclines on her comfortable cot as she takes a thinking pose. Suffice it to say that she is a tad bit concerned at the moment. Information after all is one of the greatest of weapons and she just lost her eyes on the flesh peddler from the Vale.

Of course with how things are going so far, Delianah is not surprised of things going awry a bit. Every single thing ever since their arrival here at King's Landing has been prepared by her. The riot back then was just a horse's gift in the mouth. Originally she has planned to at least cause a commotion where the Black Guard under her command with "Myrcella's Orders" quell the unrest giving the princess some tad credibility. However with the riot caused by Lancel's folly, it became unnecessary. The information that Baelish found regarding the "Challenge" when the Prince asked him for help was planted by her agents in the Archives. There was no such law made by the Targaryens but a little application of magic here, some sneaking and voila, a Challenge of Kings. She knew of course whom Joffrey would nail as his champion. It was a killing two birds with one stone for Delianah. First was of course the Spears of Dorne would soon be at her side, and secondly justice for Rhaenys for everything she had endured. Delianah was not one to forgive nor forget, and the daughter of Rhaegar Targaryen was someone she was extremely fond of.

Now however it seemed that her streak of good luck is coming to an end. Frankly, Delianah is not surprised Even the best well-laid plans can go wrong from time to time. The signs of a good commander are not being able to make plans but to adapt current plans on recurring events, flexibility in the face of adversity.

She is concerned though about the last words of one of her spies. Right now is probably one of those shatterpoints in history with Myrcella at the evening to be crowned as Crown Princess and heiress of the Seven KIngdoms. She looks at the other missives littering her desk. Renly Baratheon is seen to be reported leaving King's Landing with the rest of his loyal men alongside Ser Loras Tyrell and the bodyguards of the Reach Lords. News down at the Stormlands also tell about Stormlords gathering in strength under Stannis' banner with the man preparing his missive about the children of Robert being bastards of Cersei and Jaimie (which Delianah knows is true). The Westerlands is still reeling from the death of Tywin and despite many of the Lords supporting Kevan, it is clear that the brother of the Old Lion is having a hard time keeping the peace. Even in the Iron Islands, word can be heard of longships gathering in great number also.

All in all it looks like the stage is going to be set for another slugfest of battles the likes Westeros has never seen ever since the dragons reunited the continent. In a way Delianah is not surprised. Even in the annals of the history of the world, power has always been the reason why long peace is brought throughout the ages. The strength of the Roman Empire brought Pax Romana, the swords of Persia, and the Ottoman Empire brought peace as brief as they are to large portions of the world, the giant ships of the old British Empire created unity to many nations and finally the long peace brought by the states before World War Three. All is a result of power. With the Targaryens gone along with their dragons, the once archaic society of Westeros is rearing its ugly head up again.

Delianah would not allow that. This time however it would be by the strength of magic and the Old Gods that would bring it down.

First things first however, Baelish is a dangerous being to be left alive. Delianah would not wait for whatever plans he has come to fruition and then act on it, no. It's time to get rid of the snake once and for all. No Baelish after all means that the plan he concocted won't be started.

No one would mourn the flesh peddler after all as far as she can remember.

"Take two of your best men and head to the brothel of Baelish during the coronation of Myrcella. Take off his head and leave no survivors. If you can, find also information about these Mountain Men that your fellow Hidden One brought to attention,"

"Yes my lady. By your will, the Gift shall be delivered," the Hidden One bows before crawling away backwards in full reverence.

Delianah just hmms to himself as she stares at the open window. It is time to put down the Mockingbird down once and for all.

…

Brothel, King's Landing

Baelish suffices it to say is currently a tad bit disappointed as he rests on one of the couches of his main brothel. He's not disappointed by the results, no. Petyr Baelish doesn't give a lick as to who sits on that ugly chair at the Red Keep. No, what Baelish is disappointed about is the fact that the moron of a prince fails to take down Myrcella Baratheon a peg. Everyone of course knows that the Princess of the Realm is the product of the Dame of Rivendell's fostering. Highly Capable and with experience to boot, the Princes of the Realm has been molded by the Dame to be the perfect candidate for the throne. Even Petyr himself would agree. It's such a shame that she would be trampled under the feet of Petyr's ambitions.

At his table sits the rant of a rather angry fool of a prince demanding that he do something before he gets sent to the Wall for losing his Challenge. Baelish almost snorts. The stupid moron is rather easy to manipulate and Baelish, the understanding servant he is has already set plans in motion under the prince's direct orders. Of course the one benefiting the most from this is him, and him alone.

It is easy for Baelish to convince at least four of the Mountain Clans to work under him. The promise of castle forged weapons and freedom to loot the enemies that Baelish pointed to them. More than one business owner of the Vale and King's Landing have been dealt with severely under the flurry of their axes.

Right now Baelish has all four thousand of them deployed all over the tunnels of King's Landing in key strategic points. No one knows those tunnels more than him, other than the Spider maybe. Myrcella might have won the Challenge but Baelish would rather see the boy king on the throne…..for the moment. Much greater opportunity to cause chaos and sow discord than the older princess. He has originally planned that the four thousand clansmen be the prince's personal force. Knowing Joffrey's "Hobbies" and the ruthlessness of the clansmen, it would not be long before the rest of the Seven Kingdoms rise up against the tyrant boy king and then chaos would follow. Baelish is forced to improvise however with Princess Myrcella's victory at the Tourney.

The sound of his door breaking wide open jolts Baelish to reality as his male concierge flies inside with a hand-axe jutting from his chest cavity. Faster than he can blink, his "muscle", highly paid mercenaries sitting around in luxury jumps forward knives and short swords drawn as they march towards the open doorway to which a single figure wearing a white cloak enters. He has no weapons on him but a set of daggers at the large belt around his figure. His only visible part of the body is the nose and the mouth, the cowl deeply hiding his eyes.

"Bring him down!" Castien, the head "muscle" roars and within seconds, the five is upon the intruder.

Baelish watches as if in slow motion, tiny knives appear within the two greaves of the man below his wrists. One of the mercenaries rans forward with a battle cry making a downward stroke which the cloaked person masterfully sidesteps, cutting his jugular with a single thrust from one of his blades and grabbing the short sword off his hands and twirling it to land on neck of another mercenary attacking from the assasin's blind side. Enraged, the next one is more careful with his thrust. The assassin however taking the opportune moment of the rather slowness of the attack, intercepts his wrist and with uncanny speed, twists the sword arm at the back to intercept the follow up of his fellow's large knife. Kicking the offending knife wielder away, the assassin uses the sword wielding man's own hand and sword to plunge the sword at the small of his back, erupting on the opposite side of his chest in a geyser of blood. The remaining two to their credit do not make a run for it even at the sight of three of their fellow mercenaries killed in various different ways. The first one died when the assassin swervs beneath his knife and stabs him in the back with one of his hidden blades while the other that is supposed to be a follow up attacker gurgles as he does not expect the follow up second blade aimed at his throat.

Baelish realizes too late that through the entirety of the fight, he has been sitting there like a moron simply staring. Jumping off his chair, he tries to make a run towards one of his secret passageways but the sudden pain at his back makes him cry out as he fell to the ground, his body not responding to his will to move. He begins to realize that a knife is sticking out at the center of his back.

"You are going to die today Lord Baelish. Before you do however, you will answer the questions that I have," the assassin without emotion declares as he walks towards the still unmoving Master of Coin.

Baelish only smirks despite feeling the coppery tinge of blood at his tongue. He already knows that he is a dead man. There is no way in hell however he is letting whomever's agent this man is get something from him.

"Chaos is a ladder. It has already begun and nothing can stop it,"

….

The North, Winterfell

Robb silently drinks alongside Theon and Domeric . Currently they are the only occupants of the Great Hall. The half-brother of Domeric has finally sent word that the Imp of Casterly Rock finally decides to cooperate thus the reason they are here. The bastard needs to apparently drag the sorry ass of the Lannister with the help of two other guards for some reason.

Robb just sighed wondering if what he is doing is right. He is not one for torture, it is not an honorable way as his father would have directed. In fact Robb is pretty sure that his father would be rather cross with him once he heard about it. His blood however boiled when he remembered the prone form of Bran unmoving and something akin to a rage he cannot put words into seized him. Thus before he knows what he is doing, he is giving the order that the Imp of Casterly Rock be given to the tender mercies of the Bolton bastard.

"One good thing at least that we would know of is that this generation of Boltons would not be like the Red Kings of old," thought Robb as he stares at the rather grim looking face of Domeric. The son of Roose is more…laid back and cultured compared to his progenitor. Robb has met only Roose Bolton once and he has no desire to do a second time. The animosity between Starks and Boltons after all are renowned throughout the history of the North. As future Lord Stark, it is simply prudent and traditional for Robb to keep an eye out always open. With Domeric taking his seat as the first non-hostile Bolton Lord however, Robb hopes that a new phase might be created between the two Houses.

The sound of the door opening makes the three of them jump as the Bolton Bastard swaggers in with that eerie cheerful expression of his in sallow face. What is following behind him however nearly makes Robb vomit. Being carried by four Stark guards is the short form of Tyrion literally mummified by golden Galleon coins. It does not take a genius that it has been placed there via burning as one can still smell the stench of burnt skin wafting all over the place. The only uncoined part of the Imp is his mouth.

"Lord Stark, Lord Bolton, brother," the bastard deftly bows with a victorious smile. "I've brought the prisoner as you have ordered ready to confess for his crimes,"

Robb just blinks as the Stark guards brought the mummified form of Tyrion in front of him with a dull clunk as he stands there unmoving. He has to hold down his nausea from the smell of burnt flesh. Theon beside him is not as composed and he can hear him heaving his guts out.

"So what say you, Imp? Tell Lord Stark what you told me," the bastard mockingly says to the prisoner who gives off a terrible raspy moan of pain.

"I did it…I ordered the…..Stark boy killed. Please….no more," the Imp moans out raspily in a broken voice.

"See brother, I told you I can make him talk, therefore he talks," the obviously crazy man cheerfully comments to the Bolton heir making Robb wince. He doubtly wonders if the Imp is telling the truth.

Even he would confess to anything if he is mummified with golden galleons.

…..

King's Landing, Robert Solar

Robert huffs unhappily as he leans on his comfortable armchair. Here right now in his most secure place, the King of the Seven Kingdoms is wearing nothing but his shirt and his breeches. Of course Robert would not be Robert if he does not drag his best friend along in his one of the rare few moments of free time when he can be alone.

"So are you sure that you would not be attending Myrcella's coronation Robert?" asks Ned taking a sip of the Butterbeer placed in front of him by one of the servants beforehand. "You know it would mean much for your daughter if you are present for her in this special day,"

Robert just grunts as he takes a swig of his Firewhisky. "Yes, I am. Nothing would make me prouder than having one of mine inherit this throne who is actually deserving of it. While I am glad that my daughter is taking the mantle as my heir, I would not be the one to be sentencing my son to the Wall no matter how much of a shithead he is,"

"I would not say anything about that Robert seeing that if I am in you place, I'd probably do the same. For all intents and purposes, I am sorry that it happened this way," says Ned making Robert slump unhappily even more on the chair he is sitting.

Robert has mixed feelings about how things have turned out for his family. A dead wife, a son who is about to go to the Wall who would probably die there too (It's impossible for Robert to imagine Joffrey's spoiled ass surviving on that cold fortress), and finally a daughter thrust in a position which no one in her gender have ever dared before. All in all, it boils down to simply one cause, Robert being a bad father. If he is even half the man Ned is to his children, then he would not be in this quandary. He would have instead a loving wife and daughter that adores him, a capable son to replace him and a spare that he could be smug all over Tywin with.

"Once I'm gone Ned, watch over my daughter will you? I know the Tully woman will be there for her, but I am asking you this as my friend to keep an eye out on her," requests Robert.

"Of course Robert, you know I will. Me and the North will make sure that she remains on the right and honorable path," replies his friend in that familiar grim tone of his.

"Good, good. This way at least I would know that when I die-"

BLAM!

The sudden sound of a section of the wall collapsing made Robert jump a feet off his chair. A second crash makes him turn to see that Ser Oakheart and Ser Greenfield enter with their swords drawn also looking bewildered at the cloud of smoke and dust coming from the damaged section of the wall. He can see Ned coughing and standing up at his side waving his arms around, only to grunt as three powerful squelches impacted him. Robert's brain realizes too late that the squelches are made by the courtesy of arrows. His best friend stumbles once, twice before falling on the floor, dead. From the dust comes loud roars and Robert clumsily tries to heave his fat bulk off his chair just as five dirty looking men appear from the dust wielding rusty half-hand axes. One makes a run at him with his axe raised high. Instinctively Robert raises the closest thing between him and his impending, the bottle of Firewhisky at his side. The axe goes down cutting through the bottle with an explosion of glass and liquor blinding the King of Westeros for a second.

The sudden burning pain on his double chin is the last thing that Robert feels in this life.

…

Throne Room, Red Keep

"Now come the days of the future queen. May her reign be glorious as long as the years of the gods endure," declares Ser Barristan as he places the circlet of gold and silver at the brow of a kneeling Myrcella at the foot of the throne.

Delianah just claps alongside her own retinue of at least ten Death Dealers with her. The uneasy feeling brought by the news of the Hidden Ones has been gnawing at her thought like a rather annoying funny bone in her body. Luck and skill is both needed in the profession of a Dark Wizard catcher. However low level hunters to highly experienced ones know that when your gut is telling you something nine over ten, it usually is correct. Thus the extra guard retinue he brings with her on Myrcella's coronation much to the displeasure of the Gold Cloaks in the room. They can go take a shit as far as she is concerned though. It is always better to be safe than to be sorry.

So far the event today covers three things other than Myrcella's coronation. First of course is the proper sending off of Tywin to be sent to be buried in the Great Sept of Baelor alongside with many Great Lords of the past. Secondly (and quite surprisingly) is Ser Jaimie's retirement of the Kingsguard Order. He apparently has decided to take the mantle as Warden of the West with his father's passing. Lastly of course is clapping Joffrey in chains to be sent to the Wall. Of course someone (Delianah, cough2x) twisted the standing orders of the Gold Cloaks holding Joffrey in place to let the prince witness his sister being crowned in his place. It is quite amusing watching him scream and foam at the mouth about how she is stealing his thunder.

Everything seems to be going well at least for the moment. That's when of course Murphy's law kicks in.

With a tremendous explosion, nearly every wall in the vicinity explodes in a combination of dust and gravel. Out comes roaring dirty looking men in a combination of furs, leather armor and of courses animal hides. Each of them is wielding different weapons, some are using axes, others are favoring short swords and of course mattocks. Like a tidal wave they crash into the gathered guests of the coronation swinging left, right and center causing the assembled crowd to panic. A mind read into the nearest one makes Delianah know that they are Clansmen of the Vale.

That alone however is not the only surprise.

As Ser Barristan draws his sword with a challenging roar at the uninvited guests; Ser Jaimie draws a dagger and stabs him in the back making him gasp, looking with accusing eyes at his former Kingsguard brother before falling on the ground, dead. That seems to be the signal for something. Without warning the Gold Cloaks goes all stabby at the other lords and their guards, siding with the Clansmen of the Vale as they panic this way and that.

Delianah of course reacts immediately, the whip of fire at her hand snapping into life. She has no need to change since she has opted to wear the violet bodysuit (Fate Inspired Schatcach) which she usually wears back at Rivendell if she's not in Death Dealer garb or Phoenix Outfit. This enables her to move fast as before anyone can blink, two Gold Cloaks are disemboweled to four pieces as the fire whip cut through them. The Death Dealers with her needs no further management as they have all drawn their swords and have formed a ring of death around her. They of course do not bother saving the poor bastards around them running around like headless chickens. Rather they cut down any wannabe gold cloak or clansman who dared challenge their blades.

"To the princess!" Delianah barks out as she slams her hand to the ground, immediately the vertical banishing spell cuts a swathe through the throng of running people giving her group a clean run towards the golden armored Myrcella grappling with a clansman who is trying to rip her armor off, getting rather touchy with the Princess of the Realm.

That of course ticks Delianah. No one goes paw-paw with what she considers hers. With a wave of her hand, the non-verbal Sectusempra spell cuts through flesh and bone of the clansman sending the different five pieces of him scattering all around. In mere moments she is beside Myrcella with the Death Dealers providing a safe perimeter.

"Are you alright?" Delianah asks her lover who nods looking a bit shaken.

"Yes, yes of course. I could have taken him. I'm just surprised," the Princess gulps dusting herself and making sure that her chest plate is still in place.

Delianah just looks at her before nodding. It is not surprising that she is shaken a bit. That man's intentions has been the worst of kind after all.

"Let's get out of here," Delianah simply says before pushing herself up alongside Myrcella.

"Alright….wait, is that Joffrey and Ser Jaimie?" points out Myrcella in the distance. Delianah just grimaces as she turns and does notice the rather distinctive blonde hairs of the two ponces….who seems to be giving orders to some of the Gold Cloaks and the Clansmen. The same connection the Princess also seems to put together for her beautiful face twists into an amalgamation of hate and anger.

"They're the ones responsible for all this!"

"I know, but we need to go Cella now. We need to get you back to Rivendell immediately," says Delianah not waiting for the princess to reply before letting off a piercing whistle.

In mere seconds the giant glass circular window at the back of the Iron Throne explodes in a shard of glass. In comes shrieking and splitting two Gryphons, one with a red mane while the other with a golden one. Like a tornado they cut through the throng of people sending legs, arms and heads flying in twelve different directions. Delianah does not wait to see the astonished faces of the populace of the throne room at the rather bad tempered Gryphons. With one heave that belied her strength, she pushes Myrcella at the back of the Golden Gryphon who pauses its rampage to yank the surprised Princess by her girdle and placing her securely at the saddle. With her charge now secure now, Delianah jumps atop Godric who screeches as it grabs a spear thrown mid-air aimed at his rider.

"Yah! Let's go!" barks the Dame whipping her weapon to the side cutting off half the face of a Clansman who howls in pain.

The Gryphons wastes no time obeying. With shrieks and shrills, they flapped their powerful wings sending men and women flying to the side as they become airborne. Of course the massive talons each grab a Death Dealer along the way with the remaining two jumping at the backs of Myrcella and Delianah, hanging on as they take to the skies via open circular window. In mere seconds they are flying over King's Landing. Delianah nods in silent satisfaction as she can see that the Rivendell camp has been packed and its retinue halfway out of the gates by now.

As she looks to the skies ahead, she breaths out in silent anticipation. War is ahead, of that she can be sure about. One thing she's sure of however, by the end of this day, she would her utmost to emerge the victorious one.

…..

Author's Note:

Yayyy 5K words. It's been a while since I wrote this many. Hope ya enjoyed this chapter. Okay peaceful arc is done. It's time to get back to being shitfaced and warry. This is the final arc before we reach the last arc against the White Walkers. Hope ya enjoyed this people. Tyty. For those who love Ned I'm really sorry. I didn't plan to originally get him killed, but I'm bull rushing the story to finish line so yah.

Dumb ways to die, so many dumb ways to die.