Song of A Northern Sorcerer

by ffdrake

Darth Nox crash lands onto the frozen land of the North after barely escaping an ambush from the Zakuul Empire. Alone and without resources and with no hope of rescue, Nox decides to make the best of his situation and attaches himself to nearest available option until he can rebuild his powerbase and influence. And with his arrival, the fate of Westeros will be forever changed.

41. The Board Is Set

And here we are! Back again far faster than before! I got a good rhythm with this chapter, mostly because I've been looking forward to writing some of these scenes since I first started brainstorming this story. Not sure if I'll be able to keep this pace going, but I have been looking forward to writing these next arc quiet a bit…so maybe, just maybe it won't be two months between updates again!

And I can't believe this, but this story has been ongoing for 4 years now! My beta reader brought that up this weekend, and honestly it blew my mind. This story has taken on a life of its own almost. When I first started brainstorming, I thought it'd be half this length and already done. And now, here we are! And seeing as how we're so far, I'm in it for the long haul! So a huge thank you to everyone who has stuck with me through this entire saga! Your support and encouragement has really pushed me to keep going on this!

And lastly, shoutout to my beta reader and brainstorm partner Tellemicus Sundace. Lastly, I do not own Disney, nor am I Lucas or Martin; I have no ownership of A Song of Fire and Ice, Game of Thrones or Star Wars. This is purely for fun with no profit being made. And with that out of the way, let's get to the chapter! Stay safe out there everyone!

Chapter 41

Nyra was nervous. No, that wasn't right. She was petrified. News about the ambush on the King's hunting party had spread through the Red Keep like a wildfire. Given what she and Ned had just learned regarding the true parentage of the royal children…she honestly did not know what was going to happen. And if that wasn't enough, she was constantly on edge from the Force. Her husband had told her more than once that once properly attuned to the Force, one could sense impending danger…and that was what she was sensing now. Impending danger that was weighing on her like a ton of bricks.

What made it arguably worse was that she wasn't the only one feeling it either. Arya and Sansa were both clearly nervous. The elder Stark girl was busying herself with needle work with her friend Jeyne, while the younger Stark girl was working on pacing a path in the floor like a wolf stalking her prey. Even Osha, Sansa's ever present sworn spear, was on edge. The former wildling spear-wife kept one hand on her sword-spear, ready to draw the weapon at a moment's notice.

Hearing heavy footfalls, all five women in the room collectively held their breath as they watched and waited as Lord Stark slowly made his way into the room and shut the door behind him. Ned didn't say anything right away, he just stood there, staring out into space. "There was an ambush on the King's hunting party. Several were killed and Robert…Robert was gravely wounded and now waits the embrace of the Stranger."

Sansa was immediately on her feet. "I am ready to go, father. Please, tell me the extent of his injuries on the way, so that I—"

"Robert has declined your healing touch, Sansa," Ned cut in, surprising all of them. "He…He wants to die from a wound sustained in battle. A battle where he defended young Tommen. It…It's a death he wants. Not the slow decay of sickness."

Nyra was struck dumb by the proclamation. Not only the way the King was basically throwing his life away, but also the fact that Ned was apparently allowing it to happen while suspecting the Queen of potential usurpation of his line. "Girls," Ned continued. "Begin packing your belongings. King's Landing may not be safe for you here soon and I want you out of the city and on your way back North before the sun sets."

"But…Father, I—"

"Sansa," Ned cut in harshly, his eyes flickering. "Take your sister and Jeyne and pack your belongings. Please."

Arya looked like she wanted to protest, but Sansa merely nodded her head in acceptance before ushering her sister, Jeyne, and Osha out of the room, leaving Nyra alone with Ned. "Ned," Nyra began once they were alone. "Does the King know about our suspicions?"

"He does," Ned nodded, "in fact, he already had suspicions of his own and acknowledged that Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen were not his."

Nyra was baffled. "And why is he accepting of death then?! He has no direct heir!"

Ned shifted his stance and produced a rolled scroll from within his doublet. "The King left a will, one witnessed and written down by the Grand Maester, Ser Barristan, and myself. In it, he disinherits Joffrey and names me Regent of the Seven Kingdoms for a period of five years. After which a Grand Council will be held to determine the next King of Westeros."

Nyra looked at Ned like he had suddenly grown two heads. "Lord Stark…Do you really think that will matter?"

Ned blinked. "It is the King's Will."

At this, Nyra pinched the bridge of her nose. "And how many King's Wills have been ignored in the past? Especially when it goes to disinherit the presumed heir to the throne?!"

Ned scowled, "Joffrey is but a child. He does-"

"I'm not concerned with Joffrey!" Nyra hissed. In truth, she was concerned about the boy. But not because she thought he would have the savvy to claim the throne, but rather what he would do once his ass was polishing the throne. "I'm concerned with the Queen! Cersei has power. Power she will not relinquish without bloodshed. She gained royalty by marrying Robert. Now she seeks to keep her power through her children. And do you think that piece of paper you hold in your hands will stop her? No, she won't care. Hells, she has probably already called the High Septon to the Red Keep to crown her son the moment Robert's heart stops beating."

Ned looked more than slightly uncomfortable, and even a little angry. "Renly said the same thing."

Nyra wanted to roll her eyes. "Of course he did. He's known her longer than either of us have. And despite being a lazy ass in his duties, he does at least have an eye for the players in the game."

Ned turned away from her and walked towards the lone window in the room. "Renly wanted me to support his claim to the throne. He said we would have a hundred Tyrell swords at our command if I supported him."

At this, Nyra sat down heavily. "So, Renly is making his move. The Queen is making her move if she hasn't already. And Stannis is holed up in Dragonstone waiting for his brother's death, or he's already dead. That will you hold is not worth wiping our ass with Ned. I say that not to dishonor your friend and our King, but rather to state facts. All of them will put their bid in for the throne the moment Robert dies. And the only way we get out of this without declaring for one or the other is if Robert still lives for a while longer. If the Queen hasn't already hastened his death. Ned, we need to act now. Or you, I…and your daughters will all either end up dead or imprisoned."

Ned looked torn. "Gods damn them all to the hells," Ned sighed as he turned to her, looking more defeated than she had ever seen him. "What do I do?"

Nyra took a moment to formulate a plan in her mind. "First, we must secure the King's safety. The bells haven't begun tolling, which means he still draws breath. We can't trust the Kingsguard outside of Ser Barristan. Hells, Ser Jaime is the Queens sister and history has shown that despite their 'honor', the Kingsguard can be bought for the right price. Take half our men and secure the King. Once he's confirmed still to be alive, we send Sansa to him and heal him, his wishes be damned. Once he's back on his feet, we sort out the truth of the royal children and settle the matter of succession. It will still lead to war, as Tywin Lannister will not stand for the slander against his daughter let alone the disinheriting of his grandchildren. But at least we can force him into an unfavorable position by securing the rest of the realm's loyalty. But all of this will only be possible as long as Robert still lives. The moment he dies, it all goes to the hells."

Ned nodded. "And what will you and my daughters be doing while I secure the King?"

"Preparing for the worst," Nyra said plainly. "We dismiss all the servants, scatter them throughout King's Landing. I will make the girls ready to flee should the King perish before we can get to him and the Queen makes her move."

Despite clearly not liking what he was hearing, Ned nodded his agreement. "I will leave Jory with you to prepare." Ned took a few steps towards the door, then stopped with his hand on the handle. "Nyra. Should this go wrong…promise me you will take care of my daughters. Get them out of the city and back to the safety of the North."

Nyra didn't hesitate. "I swear it, Lord Stark. On my honor as a woman of the North, on the old gods and on the Force. I will see to the safety of the girls."

"Thank you, Nyra," Ned sighed as he opened the door showing several men standing wait outside, "Jory, see to Lady Nox and listen to her commands as if they were my own. And half of you with me. We're going to see the King."

Bowing after the quick-moving Lord Stark, Jory turned a bewildered look towards Nyra. "Lady Nox?"

Nyra didn't hesitate. "Our 'quick escape', Jory. Prepare the way. I will get the girls ready. Just in case, collect everything that has been delivered and collected from storage and set it up. We will need to cover our tracks and buy ourselves time should the worst come to pass."

---

Marching through the halls of the Red Keep, Ned was unashamed to admit that he was more unsettled now than he had ever been in his entire life. He'd fought in many battles in his life, and never once had he felt this unease. Perhaps it was because he knew that his daughters' lives hung in the balance of his decisions. Or perhaps it was because he was only now realizing his own folly at letting his friend and King simply give up on life when so much depended on Robert still drawing breath.

'I was a fool,' Ned cursed himself as he led the ten men he had towards the royal wing of the Red Keep. 'Yet, I always have been when it comes to Robert. I should have never encouraged the union between him and Lyanna. I should have insisted on Clegane's and Lorch's execution after what happened to Elia and her children. So many times, I should have stood my ground against Robert…yet I never have. No more.'

He was still a fair distance from the royal wing, but his progress was suddenly stopped as a figure stepped out from a side passage and purposefully put himself in his path. "Lord Stark," Petyr Baelish greeted him warmly, too warmly for his tastes.

"I have no time for pleasantries, Lord Baelish," Ned said, his tone crisp, "I must see the King."

"And that is precisely why I wanted to see you first," Baelish said smoothly. "The whole Red Keep knows of the King's condition. And they know that he spoke with you, the Grand Maester and the Lord Commander. No doubt delivering his last words, though what those words are no one but you three know. Not even Lord Varys's little birds can sing the song of them. And that is a rather impressive feat, Lord Stark."

Ned frowned and made to move past Baelish. "As I said, I have no time for pleasantries. I must see to my King."

He was just beside the lithe man when he spoke again and brought him to a stop, "Lord Renly has fled King's Landing. Along with the entirety of the Tyrell host and over half of the Baratheon men at arms." At this, Ned turned his attention to the Master of Coin, who was looking completely at ease. "The Queen knows, or at least suspects, that you are a threat to her power, Lord Stark. Something that she will not stand for. Given that Lord Renly has fled without you, he no doubt intends to put forth his own name for the throne and has left you alone in the city to stall the Queen. No doubt at the expense of your life in the process. However, thankfully, I am here to help you."

Ned frowned. Renly leaving was…not good. "And why should I trust your aid? By your own admission, you are a dishonest person, Lord Baelish."

Baelish smiled. "It's because I am dishonest that you can trust me. I am loyal to myself and one other. Catelyn Tully. And it is for her memory that I am here to tell you that I have the city watch at my command. Command which can be used to ensure that the throne passes to the one that should have it."

Baelish's words rang through his head. 'He has the gold cloaks under his thumb…and combined with my own few guards we could easily ensure Robert's survival and ensure his will is followed through. But…can I trust Petyr? He says that everything he does is for Cat's sake…but is that even true?'

But before he could ponder the decision further, they were interrupted by the sound of armored boots pounding in lock step against tile flooring. Turning towards the source of the noise, Ned felt his stomach plummet as he found himself staring down at nearly two dozen Lannister men at arms. 'More than double the number that I have with me to secure the King.'

"Lord Stark," one of the men near the front of the line said, the group coming to a halt. "The King has commanded your presence in the throne room. Immediately."

He was immediately put on edge, even more so than he already was. If Robert was calling for him, why from the throne room? And why send Lannister guards to summon him instead of a servant, or the Kingsguard, or even the gold cloaks? Something about this was wrong. But he could tell from the stance of the men before him, that his denial of the request would not be taken kindly. "Very well," he said, casting a quick glance towards Baelish. "If the King has summoned me, I will respond…and we will see how your word holds Lord Baelish."

Baelish merely bowed slightly before falling into step behind Ned as he changed his direction and headed towards the Iron Throne with his men behind them and the Lannister men at arms falling in behind them. Arriving at the throne room, Ned was shocked to find that the hall was nearly completely vacant save for several dozen gold cloaks and Lannister men at arms lining the walls. But what surprised him the most was the fact that all of the Kingsguard, save for Ser Barristan, was standing vigil at the base of the massive Iron Throne. And sitting on the throne was Joffrey…with the Queen standing by his side as the High Septon made his way down the dais.

"Lord Stark," Joffrey called out to him. "You took your time in answering my summons…I expect better from those sworn to me, let alone my 'Warden of the North'."

Ned felt a cold shiver run down his spine. 'No. The bells have not rung. Robert…Not enough time has passed for a new King to be crowned. Even if Robert has passed.'

"Well, Lord Stark," the Queen called out to him. "I believe it is proper etiquette to kneel and swear allegiance to the King of the Seven Kingdoms."

Ned felt his blood boil and freeze. He was too late. And worse, he was without his blade. Ice was still safely in the North with Robb, though now the blade was more ceremonial than anything. But even still, in his rush to get to Robert he had neglected to bring a sword with him. He was surrounded. Though, not outnumbered…provided Baelish came through on his promise.

"Ser Jaime," Ned called out, drawing a raised eyebrow from the man. "I find it strange that Ser Barristan was not present for…this event. Yet, in his absence, as the ranking member of the Kingsguard, I would have you read this."

Reaching into his doublet, Ned pulled out the sealed will of Robert and held it out to the Kingslayer. The Kingslayer glanced over his shoulder towards his sister, the Queen, but in the end shrugged and walked forward and roughly took the scroll out of Ned's hand. "Robert's seal, unbroken." Ser Jaime said, clearly unimpressed as he broke the wax and opened the will.

"The Grand Maester has the same will, as does Ser Barristan," Ned explained as Jaime silently read the contents of the will, his face losing its color as he did. "Summon them both, and you will find my words to be true."

The Queen frowned as Jaime remained silent. While Joffrey started clearly looking anxious, his leg bouncing slightly as he sat on the Iron Throne. "Read it aloud, uncle," Joffrey ordered.

Jaime looked up towards the throne before clearing his throat and reading the will out loud. "Robert has…disinherited Joffrey. And named Lord Eddard Stark Regent of the Seven Kingdoms for a period of five years. Whereupon a Grand Council will be held to determine if Tommen, Myrcella…or another will be crowned King."

The effect was immediate. Joffrey went completely red in the face and made to get up. But the Queen stopped him by placing a hand on his shoulder and whispering into his ear before making her way down the dais towards them. Reaching the bottom, she calmly, far too calmly, walked over to them and took the will out of Jaime's hands. The Queen read over the will several times before calmly looking towards him. "So, this is your play, Lord Eddard. This…piece of paper?" Holding the will up, she paused to make sure she had all eyes on her before slowly ripping the will in half.

Ned cursed himself for falling into what he now recognized as a trap. But he could still fight. He might not have a blade in his hand. But he could feel the wolfsblood within him howling. The Force was with him. And the gold cloaks, hopefully. "Those are the words of King Robert Bara—"

"The Seven Kingdoms have a new King," the Queen interrupted him. "King Joffrey Baratheon, First of his Name. And you will kneel and swear your allegiance to him. Do so, and you will be allowed to leave and return to your frozen wasteland of a home and live out the rest of your days in peace."

Ned could tell that the Queen was sincere in her words. She wanted him out of King's Landing…No doubt to solidify her son's rule. A son that was not born of Robert's seed. But when he turned his eyes towards Joffrey, he saw something that chilled him. There was madness in the child's eye. A bloodlust that he had only seen in a few but could easily recognize. No, even if he swore oaths of loyalty… There would be no peace. This boy wanted war, wanted blood, and he would get it. One way or another, no matter what Eddard said or did.

"I will not allow the late King Robert's will to be so easily put aside, your majesty," Ned said, his anger growing within him. Something he knew showed in his eyes as the Queen took a step back and Jaime brought his hand up to his sword hilt.

"Guards!" Joffrey shouted at the top of his lungs. "Seize this traitor!"

Ned moved without thinking. With a quickness that surprised even himself, he reached out and put his left hand on the hilt of the Kingslayer's sword before he could draw it, keeping the blade in its sheath. Then before the man could react, Ned struck with the palm of his right hand, striking the Kingslayer's plate mail covered chest. The wolfsblood, and the Force, was flowing through him with such intensity that the blow not only sent the Kingslayer onto his arse, but it also dented in the chest plate of the man's armor. As he fell, Ned tightened his grip on the Valyrian steel sword with his left hand and pulled the blade from its sheath.

Now armed, Ned prepared himself to fight, but a scream of death from behind him stopped him and forced him to look behind him. The few men he had with him were being slaughtered like cattle. By the Lannister men at arms and the gold cloaks!

The realization that he'd been betrayed hadn't even sunk into his mind before he felt a warning cry from the wolfsblood within him. His body seemingly moved on its own accord, but it was not enough. And he felt a sharp fiery pain sink into his lower back. The realization that he'd literally been stabbed in the back staggered him as he turned around, Valyrian steel still in hand. And found Petyr Baelish standing just out of his reach with a smile on his face. "I told you, Lord Stark…I am a dishonest man. And you can always trust a dishonest man to be…dishonest."

Pain flared from his back, spreading like fire from where the dagger was lodged in him as two dozen gold cloaks and Lannister men at arms advanced on him. Not with bare steel, but with clubs. He tried to raise his guard, but the men advanced all at once, their clubs falling on him in a wild frenzy. He killed one, maybe two of the guards, before one got a lucky strike on his head, blackening his vision and sending him crashing to the floor.

---

Cersei's heart was racing as she stared down at the bloodied and broken form of Lord Eddard Stark. She felt…elation. Better than reaching her peak when lying with her brother! This feeling was unlike anything she had ever felt! She had won! The man still drew breath, and despite wanting him dead for what she feared he might know, she knew that she needed him alive. As long as he lived, they had leverage over the North. Leverage that they could use to secure her son's position as King. And, far more importantly, her own position as the Queen Mother.

Feeling a hand on her shoulder, she turned and saw Jaime giving her a look that spoke of his own pleasure at seeing the beaten and broken form of Eddard Stark. The same man that gave him the ridiculous moniker of Kingslayer. Ha! Her brother was a hero and should've been heralded as such!

Moving past her, Jaime retrieved his Valyrian steel sword and sheathed it before motioning towards the gold cloaks and Lannister men. "Take Stark to the black cells for attempted usurpation of the Iron Throne from its rightful King."

The men nodded and wordlessly picked up the bloodied form of Stark before dragging him off towards the black cells.

Still smiling, and still feeling elation at what had happened, Cersei made her way back up the dais of the Iron Throne to take her proper place beside her perfect golden lion. Joffrey, for his part, smiled at her as well. But then his smile fell as he looked towards his Kingsguard. "Uncle Jaime…Do you care to tell me why such an esteemed member of the Kingsguard like yourself was disarmed by an unarmed barbarian in my presence?"

Cersei's elation at having gotten the better of Stark faltered as she looked towards her twin, her other half…the father of her perfect golden lions. For his part, Jaime looked ashamed. "Forgive me, your grace," he said, lowering his head. "It is a mistake that will not happen again."

Joffrey's glare did not lessen as he looked at his true father. Something that Cersei did not like in the least. It was not Jaime's fault Stark had used his unholy magic against her brother. Besides, her brother was the greatest knight there ever was. Sure, Stark managed to get one over on him. But she knew that Jaime would never let such a thing happen again. "See that it doesn't Uncle…or I might just have to look for a Kingsguard that is not so easily disarmed." Joffrey said, shocking both Cersei and Jaime. "But I am a forgiving King, Uncle. So I'll give you the chance to make up for this blunder. Take all the men you can find and claim the Stark bitches and Nox's whore. The rest…alive, if possible. Though dead is just as fine."

Jaime's face didn't give anything away as to what he was thinking. He merely nodded and turned on his heel while calling out for the men of the gold cloaks and House Lannister to follow him to the Tower of the Hand. "Prepare my council, mother," her son said, rising to his feet. "I will meet with them later today. I have many changes that I want to bring forth. And send word out that the bells to announce my father's passing are to be rung across the city."

Watching her son leave with the few Kingsguard still in the hall following him, the elation that she'd felt at bringing the mighty Starks down waned almost completely. For some reason, she couldn't shake the feeling that, despite having achieved victory here today, things would not be as easy going forward as they should be.

---

Standing before the low burning fire in her solar, Nyra watched as dozens of pieces of paper and parchment turned to ash within the flames. As soon as the first bell rung out, she knew that they were too late. Robert was dead. And Ned had not immediately returned to the Tower of the Hand. He wasn't dead, she hoped. At the very least, he was captured. A fate she could not allow for herself or for Ned's daughters. Having the Warden of the North as a prisoner was a powerful bargaining tool. Having the Warden, his two daughters, and the wife of the famed 'Northern Sorcerer' would be back breaking.

Throwing the last of what she felt were important documents into the fire, she retreated to her trunk and threw it open. Scattered within were various items that she'd been gifted. By the people of King's Landing, the Starks, and even her husband. But she knew that she would have to abandon them all. 'Well, not all,' she thought, removing a panel within the chest to reveal a hidden compartment and the small glass candle within. Taking the candle, she carefully wrapped it up and put it in a satchel, along with two coin purses the size of her closed fist filled to near bursting with gold, silver, and copper coins. Everything else she would leave behind.

Leaving her solar, she went down to the main hall of the Tower of the Hand. All that was left of House Stark's personal guard was gathered in the hall. The door was barred, and a steady thumping from outside rang out through the hall as voices from outside called out for them to come out, lay down their arms, and surrender to the true King, King Joffrey Baratheon.

While two of the Stark guards were trying to hold the door to aid in bracing it, the few others were busy setting the hall for their uninvited guests. Thin metal strands that'd been woven together like a robe roughly as wide as her little finger was being crisscrossed throughout the room. The metal wire, as her husband had called it, was yet another invention of her husband that'd just been perfected by the blacksmith Gendry. And the few coils that were being used was all there was in all of Westeros and had just arrived in King's Landing with the latest shipment from the North. She hadn't even had a chance to show the 'wire' to the King or the court yet. 'Though, now, that might just be a blessing as those bastards trying to get in won't realize what's in their way.' She thought, wincing as she saw one of the men securing the metal wire curse and pull his hand away, blood running freely down his arm.

Hearing the scuffing of feet behind her, Nyra turned and saw Sansa, Arya, Jeyne, Osha, and Jory come down into the main hall. Each girl was carrying a satchel and nothing else. Sansa and Jeyne were both clearly nervous. And while Arya appeared the calmest of the three, she could still tell by the way the girl was gripping her saberstaff tightly that her nerves were threatening to get the better of her as well.

Sharing a nod with Jory, Nyra led the small group over to a storage room near the back of the hall. Entering the room, they found one more Stark guard standing next to a hole in the floor. A hole that led to a passage that would lead them to the sewer ways beneath King's Landing. Not an ideal means of escape, considering they would have to wade through only gods knew what… But it was a far better option than the alternative of trying to break out of the tower.

Staying back with Osha, Nyra watched as Jory and the Stark guard helped first Arya, then Sansa, and lastly Jeyne down into the tunnel. The girls had been more than reluctant to take this route, especially without their father. But Nyra had put her foot down on the issue. They would do their father, and themselves, no good here. Their only hope was to escape and return with greater numbers.

Once all three girls were down, Nyra made her way over to the tunnel, but then stopped and turned towards Jory. "Don't take chances with your lives, Jory… Finish the traps and follow us immediately."

The words felt hollow in her mouth. And from the look Jory was giving her, he knew but he accepted it. They all knew what was going to happen. "Don't concern yourself with us, Lady Nyra," he said, far calmer than she felt he had a right to be considering the situation. "Get the girls out of the city. Get them home…and one day we will meet again."

Nyra wanted to pull Jory, and the rest of the Stark guards, down into the tunnel with them. But it would be pointless. They were committed to this path. "The North remembers, Jory Cassel."

Jory gave her a nod. "Aye. The North remembers, my lady. Osha, keep them safe."

Osha gave the man a nod of respect before walking over and jumping down into the tunnel. Sparing Jory one last look, Nyra took the time to memorize his face, and the face of each Stark guard in the room and the hall. 'The North remembers,' she promised herself as she allowed herself to be lowered down into the tunnel with the others. 'The Baratheons and Lannisters will learn just what that means before their end.'

---

Making sure that the grate leading down to the sewer beneath the Tower of the Hand was secured fully, Ser Jory Cassel covered the entrance with a rug before having a few crates put over the entrance as well to try and mask it further. With the entrance now hidden, he left the storage room and made his way out into the main hall of the tower. The steady pounding of whatever makeshift ram the Lannister men at arms and gold cloaks had hastily put together was the only noise as he stared at the twenty men of House Stark that were still with him.

Each man standing before him stood tall, a knowing look in their eye. Each had had a chance to slip out of the tower with the servants when Lady Nyra had ordered them out, but each had chosen to remain, knowing that this was where they would end up. There was no fear. Only acceptance. "Has our little surprise been finalized?" he asked a few of the men.

"Aye, ser," one answered, nodding towards a back corner of the hall. "As much of the green shit as we could find and everything Lady Stark had stashed as well. Should be more than enough to do the trick."

"Sons of the North," he began, looking each man in the eye. "Standing with you, serving with you, has been my honor. And now, the Old Gods, the true Gods, are calling us home. But I say that they will just have to wait a little bit longer! Let us show these fancy southern cunts just why twenty men of the North are to be feared! Let us show them just why one man of the North is worth twenty of their own! Let us show these southern cunts that the gods, and the Force, favors us more than any other!"

---

Standing outside the Tower of the Hand, Jaime watched with a firm hold on his sword hilt as the gold cloaks and men of House Lannister used a stone statue to batter away at the barred door leading into the Tower. His orders were simple. Storm the tower and take Lady Nox and the Stark girls hostage. All others were either to be captured or put to the sword. Honestly, this was almost an insultingly easy task. Sure, the Stark girls gave him reason to pause, especially the youngest one. But they easily outnumbered those within the Tower at least twenty or thirty to one.

"Ser Jaime," one of his guards called out to him. "The door is almost breached. From the cracks in the door, we cannot see any defenders within."

Frowning, Jaime turned to the man. "Tear the door down. Kill anyone inside. But make sure that the Stark girls and Lady Nox remain untouched. Or you will find yourselves answering to the King." The man bowed and ran towards the others to relay the orders.

'All too easy,' Jaime thought as the door was finally breached. The gold cloaks and red cloaks hurriedly tossed the statue aside and began storming into the Tower of the Hand. Unfortunately, they could only move forward in an almost single file as the entrance barely allowed two men abreast. 'I doubt I'll even need to draw my blade.'

But as more and more gold and red cloaks became bunched up around the door, being apparently unable to storm the tower with no one backing away or coming out, Jaime began to frown. 'Incompetent fools,' he swore to himself, drawing his blade and approaching the breeched door.

The combined red and gold cloaks parted for him, giving him clear access to the broken door. When he looked inside, it was not what he was expecting. Various red and gold cloaks were strung up, hanging in the air as if something invisible was holding them in place with blood red lines running through the air. Noticing that one of the bottles hanging in the air was full of crossbow bolts, Jaime roughly pulled a shield from a nearby gold cloak before strapping it to his arm and making his way into the tower. 'They're not using magic,' he realized as he came close to the first bolt ridden corpse. 'Are those…metal strings? Small enough almost to not be seen yet tied tightly enough not to give way.' And judging by the way the metal strings were cutting into the flesh of the corpses that was exposed through cracks in their armor, the metal strings were also very sharp.

Ducking and weaving his way through the maze of wires, Jaime listened to the sounds of battle raging within the tower. "You five, with me," he shouted, pointing to the first five men he saw. "The rest of you, cut this shit down and clear the way for the rest."

Coming into the main hall of the tower, Jaime was treated to the site of a massacre. But not one that was in their favor. Nearly two dozen, perhaps more, red and gold cloaks littered the floor. Their blood coating nearly every spec of the floor they walked on. And despite the near dozen that died amongst the metal strings and bolts, and over two dozen that lay dead on the floor, he spotted only two of the Stark men amongst the dead. 'How!? There is no way these barbarians have any true skill outside the fucking sorcerer and his ilk! How hard can it be to kill a dozen or so of these fucking barbarians?'

Making his way into the thick of the fighting, Jaime set his eyes on his first opponent. A Stark man at arms that was wielding a dagger and a short sword. The man moved well, and even managed to cut down one gold cloak and one red cloak before Jaime reached him. Of course, despite the man being able to take down several men, he was nowhere near Jaime's level. The man swung wildly at him, and Jaime simply parried the strike with his Valyrian steel blade before pulling a dagger out with his left hand and burying it in the man's eye.

"Kingslayer! Face me, you fucking backstabbing, sister fucking coward!"

Jaime felt his blood boil over the heat of the battle as he cast a quick glance around the carnage. It wasn't hard to find the one that dared to insult him. Standing tall amongst the other northern fucks was a man he recognized as the captain of the House Stark guard. Jory Cassel, he thought his name was. For a moment, Jaime was dumbfounded. This man, a mere captain of an up-jumped guard, dared to challenge him? What a fucking joke. Calmly sidestepping another northerner, Jaime kept his eyes on the northern captain as he slit his would-be attacker's throat with a calm movement before advancing on Jory.

The two men closed in on one another, Jaime brandishing his Valyrian steel Kingsguard blade and the northern captain a mere short sword. This was going to be all too easy.

The two men traded blows in the narrow passageway bumping into northerners, gold cloaks, and red cloaks alike as the two focused solely on one another. At first, Jaime had dismissed the man as just another man at arms. But as Jaime went from one attack to the next with the speed only few possessed, he had to reevaluate his opinion. Jory was able to keep up with him. Which was…impressive. Though they were confined in this narrow hall with dozens of living and dead surrounding them. That was why. If they were out in the open or in the yard, Jaime would've killed this fool within a single move or two.

Slowly, the numbers surrounding them thinned as the Northerners fell, but with each of their own that fell, they took at least three or four gold and red cloaks down with them. But Jaime didn't care. He was focused on Jory. The captain of the Stark guard who was able to match him blow for blow! It was…infuriating! He was Jaime Lannister! Son of Tywin Lannister and the youngest man ever to be appointed to the Kingsguard! He was knighted and trained by Ser Arthur Dayne himself! He trained for years with Ser Barristan the Bold! So how?! How was this pathetic mere captain of the Starks able to match him step for step!

But despite his frustration that was mounting, he felt something else. Something he hadn't felt in a long, long time. Excitement! This…This was a fight to the death! A fight against a man who was matching him step for step! He felt invigorated! More so than after any time he ever spent with Cersei! This…This was what he had always wanted! To fight someone strong! To find an equally skilled opponent that would push him for all he was –

His arm shook as the sound of metal on stone rung out. He only had a moment to realize that his fight against Jory had brought them towards the walls of the hall, walls that had several stone pillars. And it was against those pillars that his sword hit upon, leaving his guard completely exposed.

Jory did not hesitate, his short sword able to move far more nimbly in the narrow corridors. The blade struck like a snake, and Jaime had only a moment to tilt his head to the left before he felt the cold steel cut through the flesh of his face. White hot pain flared through his face, forcing him to take a step back and raise his hand to his face. When he lowered his gauntleted hand, he saw blood. His blood. Coating his fingers and hand.

Looking up, he barely managed to get his sword back up to intercept Jory's next attack. But it was an attack that never reached him. One of the red cloaks had snuck up behind Jory and speared the northerner in the back, stopping the captain and bringing the man to his knees just as a crossbow bolt whistled pass Jaime's left and buried itself in Jory's chest just off hitting his heart.

Still in shock at the wound he'd received, his first wound ever… He felt that anger over his injury be replaced by another type of anger as he glared at the red cloak that'd speared Jory, the best opponent he'd had in a long time, in the back thereby stealing his fight from him. Gingerly touching his face again, Jaime walked around Jory, taking care to kick away the man's sword as he did before walking up to the red cloak and punching him in the face as hard as he could. He then turned and glared at the lone gold cloak in the room that was holding a crossbow. "The King wanted prisoners…He dies, and you will face the King's wrath." Jaime said coldly as he walked back around to the front of Jory.

The northern captain was still upright, if on his knees. The man had managed to pull out a smoking pipe, a recent addition to the capital from Yi Ti or Sothorous or something, of all things and had it clenched tightly between his teeth as his shaking fingers tried, and failed, to set fire to one of the striking sticks the North produced. He wasn't sure just why, but after watching the captain try and fail to light his third stick, Jaime put his sword away and squatted down in front of him. Taking the striker sticks from the captain, Jaime calmly lit one of the sticks, a flame springing to life on the red end. Holding out the flame, Jaime carefully lit the man's pipe for him.

Once lit, Jory took a few deep breaths of the smoke before looking up into Jaime's eyes. Then without a word the captain of the Stark guard slowly slumped forward until his forehead touched the bloodied floor.

Rising, Jaime felt a pain in his chest. Not for the death of a man of House Stark, but rather for losing a worthy opponent. "Find the Stark girls and Lady Nox," he said, turning his back on Jory. "And gods help you, if even one hair on their heads are harmed, I will have the lot of you flogged to death."

But just as his words left his lips, he heard something. A hissing noise coming from behind him. Turning around, he saw Jory sitting upright once again. Pipe still in his mouth. And a brown stick in his hand. A brown stick that had a string coming out one end. A string that was being quickly eaten away by a small flame. "My gods are smiling upon me this day, Kingslayer. How about yours?" Jory asked before flinging what Jaime now realized was a black powder stick towards the back of the hall.

He watched, unable to do anything as the stick struck a stack of crates. Crates and jars. Jars that were leaking a green liquid. A green liquid that was mixed with black sand. Wildfire…and black powder. "GET OUT!" he yelled, turning his back on a now smiling Jory and making a mad run for the exit, praying that the red cloaks and gold cloaks managed to clear the metal strings as he ran.

The corpses that were strung up were gone, and Jaime was just barely at the exit before a loud, ear-splitting sound pierced his ears. He felt his feet leave the ground as something struck him in the back. Next he knew he was surrounded by green and red flames as the courtyard outside the Tower of the Hand quickly passed him by. Then he felt himself strike something unyielding and he knew no more.

---

With Arya in front of them using her lit lightsaber as a torch, Nyra tried to guide their small group of five through the winding sewers of King's Landing away from the Tower of the Hand. In truth, she wasn't entirely sure where they were going, as she only had a vague knowledge of the layout of the sewers based on what her workers had informed her. But she knew that they were heading away from the Red Keep, and that was all that mattered right now. Behind her she heard Jeyne and Sansa both trying desperately to keep their womanly composure as they walked along a path of…well…pure sewage. The only one who seemed completely at ease was Osha as the last in line, the spearwife's hand having never left her spear-sword since the first sign of trouble had arisen.

She wasn't sure just how far they managed to travel, but as they walked all five had to stop and grab onto whatever they could as the very ground beneath their feet shook violently accompanied by the loud sound of what Nyra recognized to be a substantial amount of black powder and wildfire being ignited at once. The last defiance of the men of House Stark.

Arya, no doubt coming to the same conclusion, immediately turned and made to march back towards where they had come from. "Stop."

Nyra wasn't expecting her words to reach the young girl. But surprisingly Arya obeyed like she had been frozen in ice. "Jory and the others—"

"Knew their fates the moment they refused to join us in escaping." Nyra said harshly, tears coming to her eyes as the face of each man that stayed behind to buy them time flashed through her mind. "They knew. And they accepted it. If you go back now…all that will await you is capture or death. And then their sacrifice will have meant nothing."

Uncaring of the human waste and worse around her, Nyra went down to a knee before Arya and lightly tapped the girl on the chest right over her heart. "The North Remembers, Arya. Remember. Remember this anger. Hold it. Use it. But don't let it control you. Jory and the others gave their lives to give us a chance to escape. A chance to return to the North, gather what forces we have, and come back with the full wrath of the North with us. And you will be right at the front with my husband and your brothers when we do."

Rising to her feet, she put her arm around Arya's small shoulders. Looking behind her, Sansa looked to be just barely holding back her tears while Jeyne was openly weeping. Only Osha held her composure. The former spearwife turned sworn-sword holding her sword-spear hard enough to turn her knuckles white. "Da North Remembers, little ladies," Osha echoed. "Even da Free Folk hold to that. We remember those dat help us. And we remember those dat wrong us."

"The North Remembers," Sansa nodded, along with Jeyne who repeated the phrase, though her words were little more than a whisper.

Nodding to each of them, Nyra moved away from Arya. "Now come. These sewers have been ripped up and rebuilt ever since the city was first built. It's a maze down here and it will take us some time to near the city walls proper. Let us just hope that Jory's last act was enough to hide where we went."

---

Ser Barristan, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, was confused. A state he was unused to, and one he was not appreciative of being in. Ever since Robert had declared his last will to himself, the Grand Maester, and Lord Eddard, Barristan had taken it upon himself to stand vigil for the King outside his chambers as he watched various maids and servants enter and leave his room, providing him with what little comfort there was to be had in his last moments.

But then, seemingly without warning the bells started to ring. Something that greatly surprised him as he had been standing vigil outside the King's door and had not been notified of the King's death! A failure. Another one that ate at his conscience. He'd then been told, by a runner no less, that the Queen had ordered him to stand vigil for time till the King could be collected and examined by the Maester.

And it was during his vigil, while listening to the bells toll, that something else strange happened. The very Red Keep shook at its foundation as, what he'd come to recognize as the ignition of a large amount of black powder, rang out through the Red Keep. He wanted to draw his sword and rush towards the source of the noise, but his honor as the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and his duty to stand vigil over his King stayed his hand. Robert may not have been the best King to ever rule the Seven Kingdoms. But the man had his moments and was a far better King than King Aerys had been at the end of his reign. Plus, he knew that whatever was happening around the Red Keep, Lord Stark would set everything to rights. Especially as he had one of the three copies of King Robert's will. So, with that thought in mind, Ser Barristan stood vigil outside his King, giving the man the last respects he deserved.

But as night was beginning to set and with no word about what was happening around the Red Keep, he was ready to seek out his fellow brothers. But just as he was about to depart, another servant was sent to him with orders to attend to the Small Council chambers, which had been relocated to a meeting hall just off the throne room and far away from the Tower of the Hand. Something that confused him, but he was sure that Lord Stark had his reasons.

Arriving before the Small Council, Barristan's confusion only grew as he saw the rest of his brothers of the Kingsguard, save for Ser Jaime, standing guard within the hall. At the center table were the members of the Small Council save for three. Lord Stannis, Lord Renly, and most surprisingly Lord Stark as well were absent. And sitting at the head of the table was the disinherited Joffrey Baratheon with the Queen Mother sitting on his right. Thoughts of just why Joffrey was sitting at the position reserved only for the King or the Lord Hand sent a shiver down his spine. Combined with the absence of Lord Stark, he had a feeling he knew what was going on.

"Thank you for arriving so promptly, Ser Barristan," the Queen said kindly, far too kindly for his liking. "I apologize for taking you away from your vigil of my late husband, King Robert. But several matters have arisen that must be seen too. Firstly, I know you are in possession of a copy of the late King Robert's will. I would have you present it."

The sinking feeling in his gut did not dissipate in the slightest. Even more so when he glanced towards the Grand Maester and found the man pointedly not looking at him. "Where is Lord Eddard Stark?"

None on the Small Council gave any indication that something was amiss, and he didn't expect them to. He knew all these men. He knew they all played the 'game', as the nobles liked to call it. However, the disinherited prince was not an experienced player of the game. And the expression on the disinherited prince's face told him all that he needed to know. Lord Stark, if he wasn't in the black cells, was dead. Neither option boded well. Especially with the Queen Mother now all but demanding the King's last will.

"We know that you have a copy of the will, Lord Commander," the Master of Coin said, his voice slippery as a wet eel. "We merely wish to verify the contents against the wills brought forth by Lord Stark and the Grand Maester."

He was stuck between a rock and a hard place. "Grand Maester, surely you and Lord Stark have shared the contents of the King's will to all those present?"

The Grand Maester sighed and nodded, "I have indeed, Lord Commander. And I sent a copy of the will to the records of the Citadel as soon as we three left the late King's side. While I have said the King's words, it is not the place of the Maesters or the Citadel to name succession. We merely advise."

Barristan could see the double meaning of the man's words. He, and possibly Lord Stark, had delivered Robert's will. But the Queen and those remaining on the Small Council did not care. Which meant that the disinherited Prince before him was now crowned King of the Seven Kingdoms. His third King to serve. And the second that did not inherit the throne through 'legitimate' means. But could he truly serve this new King?

Glancing around, he realized he had no friends. He could draw his sword, but what would that accomplish? Would his brothers in the Kingsguard stand with him to see King Robert's will fulfilled? He doubted it. They no doubt already knew what had been written. Yet they were not standing guard over Lord Stark, as they should have been. No. They were standing here, standing guard over a boy who should have been disinherited.

"Your silence speaks loudly, Lord Commander," the queen said, rising to her feet. She stood to her full height, head held high and picked up a small bell. After giving it a ring, the doors behind him opened and a dozen gold cloaks stood at his back. "Ser Barristan. You have served the crown faithfully for longer than any other. Every man and woman in the Seven Kingdoms owe you their thanks. But it is now time to put aside your sword and your armor and rest. Return to your family home with your head held high and enjoy your peace, knowing that you have served the realm better than any before you."

Barristan was taken aback. The Kingsguard was his life. He'd sworn an oath. An oath that was meant to last till his last breath. But then again…the Queen Mother and Joffrey were not the true rulers of the Seven Kingdoms. Would it truly be breaking his oath to…take them up on the offer? Or at least make the appearance of doing so? "The Kingsguard oaths are for life, your grace," Barristan said sternly, eyeing the Queen and the disinherited prince. "We do not simply…retire. Only death relieves us of our oaths."

The Queen just smirked at him. "Whose death, Ser Barristan? Yours? Or your King's"

The blow was a harsh one. Exacerbated further as the little shit spoke up as well. "You let my father die during the ambush, and nearly let my brother die as well. You're too old to properly protect me."

He was tempted, gods know he was tempted to draw his sword right then and there. "Your grac—"

"The Small Council," the Queen pressed on. "Has decided to allow you this honor given your years of service. And they have also decided that Ser Jaime will take your place as Lord Commander."

Barristan was now clenching his fist so tightly that it was shaking by his side. "You give such a position to a man who not only failed in his duty, betrayed his oath, but also bathed his sword in the blood of a King he swore to serve? How long till history repeats itself, I wonder."

The Queen's once gloating look shifted to one of contempt. "Be careful with your words, Ser Barristan. It is only because of your years of service that you are being given the chance to retire in peace. A keep will be provided to you and servants to see to your needs. Now, how do you wish to leave the Red Keep? As a man of honor who held true to his oaths? Or as a traitor who failed multiple Kings? Choose."

There were only a few times in his life that he could truly remember feeling rage like this, with both instances many years in the past. When Ser Jaime slew the King he swore to serve, and when Elia Martell and her children were butchered like animals. Moving slowly, he undid the buckle of his sword belt and placed his Valyrian steel sword on the table of the Small Council. He then reached up and undid the clasps of his white cloak and laid it down on the table as well. Each movement felt like a blow from King Robert's hammer when the man was in his prime. But this was not the end. No. And he was not betraying his oaths. Quite the opposite. It was his 'brothers' in this very room that were betraying their oaths. But even if he stood alone, he would hold to his oaths.

"One last thing, Ser Barristan," the queen said. "The supposed will from my late husband. It would not do for you to be traveling Westeros with such a traitorous document in hand."

He could hear the undertone in her voice. The will needed to be left behind. Or he would either not leave the Red Keep alive, or he would be branded as a traitor. And neither would serve what he needed to do. So, reaching down to his belt, he produced the King's will and laid it down on the table.

---

Standing within the depths of the Red Keep's black cells, Petyr Baelish was doing his utmost to avoid listening to the anguished screams, pleas for mercy and begs for death that were coming from behind the solid oak door before him. After Ser Jaime's failed attempt at securing the Stark girls and Nox's whore, a title insisted on by the Queen Mother, a search of the now ruined Tower of the Hand was conducted. And while they found several bodies, what was telling was what they didn't find. Specifically, the bodies of the Starks or the whore. And while there might've been no more Stark servants to question, there were still the servants from the Red Keep that performed their duties in the former Tower of the Hand.

Nearly two dozen servants had been dragged down to the black cells on Joffrey's orders. And deciding that they needed to be sure that they were telling the truth, the King had ordered them to be put to the question. Which gave Baelish the opportunity to further engrain himself in Joffrey's court, as loath as he was to do so. It was a necessity. So now, here he sat, listening to the agony filled screams of the condemned while two members of the Kingsguard stood with him, while their charge was within having decided to personally oversee the questioning of the servants.

He honestly did not know how much time had passed, not that he could tell in the black cells, but eventually the screams of agony ended as the last of the servants no doubt met their gruesome end.

The door finally opened as the boy King walked out. His once pristine red, black, and gold doublet was covered in blood. Spatters of blond were scattered across his face and in his golden hair. But his hands were still clean. Showing that while he had watched the torture, he had not directly participated. But more than that, the boy was wearing a grin larger than any Baelish had ever seen. After a quick glance down, he could spot a distinctive bulge in the boy King's trousers. He knew that there were those who found sexual excitement and even release at causing pain. And he was not surprised in the slightest to find that Joffrey was one of 'those' types as well.

"Your grace," Baelish intoned, bowing his head in deference to his 'King'.

The boy king didn't look at him, not directly at least as he seemed to be still in a state of satisfied relief. "You were right, Baelish. Something that I am finding true about you more and more as of late," Joffrey said, his smile never leaving his face. "The Starks had a tunnel leading to the sewers. It's more than likely that the Starks bitches and the whore went down into the sewers to escape. And that coward destroyed the tower to prevent us from finding them."

Baelish scowled at this. Holding the whore and the Stark girls was key to his long-term plan. But still, even without them his plans could still succeed. "You have dispatched the Hound to lead the gold cloaks and find the Stark girls and the whore in the city. I am sure that he will not let you down, your grace. And now that we know they have retreated to the sewers like the rats they are, it will be easier to find them."

Joffrey nodded at his words. "Yes, yes. Send word to my dog. Tell him to search any access to the sewers, specifically those near the main gates of the city. I want those bitches and whore brought back here…and I might just give them to my new High Inquisitor."

All four men; Baelish, Joffrey, and his two Kingsguard turned and stared back into the torture room. Though Baelish had to quickly avoid his look as he could see a body devoid of flesh laying out on a table. "High Inquisitor, your grace? I do not know if I deserve the honor. The Seven merely blessed me with this skill, and I use it to serve them and yourself, your grace." A man with short cut black hair with red spots covering his face stepped out of the torture room. He was wearing an identical look as Joffrey, one who'd taken great pleasure in what had just transpired. Which, of course, was the exact reason Baelish had spent as much coin as he had in making sure that he, and his companions, were well hidden.

Joffrey waved him off. "You will be my High Inquisitor, Septon Ramsay Rivers. Answerable only to a few. And you will go out and use the gifts that you have been gifted with. I will make the announcement in the morning. Along with my other announcements. Make sure that you are…presentable for tomorrow, High Inquisitor Ramsay."

Ramsay bowed, an act Baelish mimicked as the King abruptly turned and marched out of the dungeon. Once the two of them were alone, the septon glanced towards his longtime benefactor.

"Well, well…So, that is the boy King," Ramsay said, his smile still in place as he used a rag to clean the blood from his hands. "He is just as dull in the head as you said, Baelish."

Scowling, Baelish rounded on Ramsay. "Watch your tongue, Ramsay. You are no longer in the North. Here in King's Landing, even if you think you are free from unwanted ears, you are not. You will keep such thoughts in your mind, where they belong. Lest you find yourself back on the block where I found you, or worse."

Ramsay just shrugged. "Aye. I owe you. But don't think that I don't recognize that the only reason you saved my life and the life of my compatriots is because we can do that which you cannot. But if you stick to our deal, the North and one of the Stark bitches as my plaything, then I see no reason why we cannot remain friends."

Baelish looked away as the two Stark girls appeared in his mind. "Arya. You can have the little wolf. Sansa…I have other plans for her. Plans that require her to be…unspoiled."

Ramsay shrugged. "One bitch is as good as the other. Without flesh, we all look the same. And she will be the perfect centerpiece for the Northern lords to kneel on when they swear their allegiance back to the true rulers of the North. Just remember, Baelish. The North remembers. Our friends. And our enemies."

Glancing at the rabid dog he'd pulled out from the jaws of the wolves; Baelish kept his expression completely neutral as he made his way out of the dungeons. He was tempted, by the gods was he tempted to head deeper into the black cells to where he knew Eddard was being kept. But now was not the time to gloat. Not yet. That time would come, and he would savor it like the finest of wines. But he still had much that he needed to see before he could risk such a move. The most important of which was his contingency against the rabid dog he had just introduced to the board. Joffrey was a pot of wildfire by himself. The creature behind him was an entire cask. One that, as soon as he outlived his usefulness, he would see disposed of.

---

Leaning out from behind a corner of a rough stone building, Nyra stared carefully at the gold cloaks manning the Iron Gate leading out of King's Landing. The sun had still yet to rise, but the horizon was starting to brighten announcing its approach. And with the sun soon to rise, the gold cloaks manning the Iron Gate were being rotated. Ideally, she would have wanted to use the Dragon's Gate, as that would have put them directly on the Kingsroad heading North. But she had scrapped that idea before they even left the sewers. Primarily because, when they were discovered to still be alive, that was the gate they would most likely be trying to leave from. Which meant it would be the most vigilant on checking those who were leaving the city.

Even though they had been out of the sewer since sunset the previous day, Nyra had opted instead to stay in the city instead of trying their luck with the gate guards. They needed to leave the city as inconspicuously as possible. And five women, three of them girls, trying to leave the city in the dead of night was just not done. So, she had opted instead to let the girls rest and wait for just before first light when the guards would be rotated. It was possible they would be looking for them. However, the poor light would make it hard to see their faces if they kept their cowls up. And she was counting on the fact that these new guards were still trying to fully wake themselves. Something that she knew was a problem with the guards before first light.

Satisfied that the guards were rotating, Nyra quietly slipped away from where she was watching and made her way down several back alleys before ducking into what was little more than a ruined food stand that looked to have not been used in years. And it was within that stall that she found Sansa, Arya, and Jeyne still sound asleep on the ground with Osha standing vigil over their charges.

The three girls had taken off their fine dresses and were garbed only in rough cotton tunics that she'd purchased for a few silver stags after they exited the sewers. Their faces were all dirty and their fancy hair styles had been discarded. And each smelled like they could use a good bath. Osha was similarly dressed in a rough tunic, though hers was far larger to help cover the brigandine armor she wore underneath and refused to part with. Her Valyrian spear-sword was similarly wrapped up in scraps of cloth and twine, giving the appearance of a walking stick, if one didn't look too closely.

Quietly, Osha and Nyra woke up the three girls. No doubt this had been the most uncomfortable night's sleep any of them had ever experienced. But considering the road ahead of them, it was going to be their norm for some time. Once the three girls were awake, Nyra went about explaining just how they were going to be getting out of the city.

"They're changing the guards," she explained to the girls as she sat down near to them. "No doubt the suspicion that we didn't perish in the Tower of the Hand has spread, so these new guards are more than likely on the lookout for us. If word has reached this far out from the Red Keep. There are no Lannister men at arms, so that gives us a slight bit of hope that they don't know to look for us yet."

The girls, even Arya, were rightfully fearful and there was no hiding that. And Nyra was willing to admit that even she was afraid. They had attacked House Stark in broad daylight, all but declaring war on House Stark and the North as a whole. If they were captured…well… History had shown that women prisoners of war, even highborn or noble ladies, fared well while in captivity.

"We wait for the guards to finish their rotation," she continued, doing all she could to keep her confidence as she spoke to them to try and alleviate some of their concerns. "Stay quiet as we walk and let me do the talking. You three are my daughters, and Osha my sister. We're leaving the city to head out to our family home in Rosby after having sold all our wares in the city. None of you will talk. Osha, your accent will give away your northern heritage almost immediately. And as for you three, none of you have learned how to not talk like a highborn. So, stay quiet. Once we get past the guards, there is a stable just outside the gate. We'll see if we can hire a carriage to ride to Rosby. If we can't, we walk. Once we're past the stables, we either ride or walk down the road for a day before cutting back north. Understand?"

The four all nodded and, after taking a calming breath, Nyra led them out of the alleyway and towards the Iron Gate. Before walking out onto the main street leading through the gate, Nyra had all the girls pull their hoods up to cover their heads and told them to keep their eyes on the ground. After all, low born women didn't often look the gold cloaks in the eyes.

Steeling herself, Nyra marched them out onto the main road and made their way towards the Iron Gate. As they approached, Nyra eyed the four goldcloaks that were standing guard just underneath the gates. Along with the other dozen that were scattered on top of the gate and those scattered nearby. Each of whom looked like they were still battling the sleep from their eyes. 'Good.'

Approaching the gate, Nyra wasn't surprised when one of the guards pushed himself off the stone wall and put himself directly in their path. "Hold," the guard said, looking over the five of them. "What's five women doing leaving the city?"

"We came lookin for work, good ser," Nyra responded, doing her best to mimic the accent she'd picked up in King's Landing while keeping her northern tone buried. "Me daughters and I have a daft hand with a needle and we hoped to find some work…but we couldn find nothin. And…And I don't want me daughters to end up in the silks, if I can help it… Even if me sister and I needed to work in such manner to get coin to go home."

The guard looked her up and down in a leering way as he stepped forward. "Shame you two didn't stay longer…I would've become a regular patron of yours. Perhaps you and I can go and…discuss your leaving while your sister and daughters wait for the sun to rise higher?"

Nyra artfully lowered her eyes and took his hand in her own. "You…You flatter me good ser. But we have a long road to Rosby…and we want to be off. Please, can we pass through?"

The gold cloak looked down at his hand, noticing the two silver moons in his palm. "You must have done well for yourself," the man said, moving aside. "Let them through. And should you ever find yourself back in King's Landing, lass, expect to find me to call upon you for your services."

Nyra smiled and bowed her head. "I will be lookin forward to that day, good ser."

It took all her control to set a steady pace of walking instead of running as she desperately wanted to. Only when the gate was to her back did she allow herself even the slightest bit of relief. It was only a short walk outside the gate to a large barn house where multiple horses were tied up, along with several open wagons and even a simple carriage. None of which had any wagoner or coachmen present. Cursing the early hour, she peered inside each wagon looking for anyone, and eventually found a man sleeping in the back of one.

Giving the man a shake, Nyra fought against recoiling as the man's head perked up. His breath rank of stale ale and rotten meat. And he was missing more teeth than he had. "Pardon, good ser," she said, keeping up her King's Landing accent. "We be lookin for a ride to Rosby and have coin to pay."

The wagoner groggily looked the five of them over, his eyes perking up a bit at the sight of Sansa and Jeyne. "Rosby, ya say?"

"Yes," Nyra nodded, her eyes flickering back towards King's Landing nervously.

The man grumbled and sat up. "Cost is three copper stars for a ride to Rosby. But I ain't move a fuckin bit till I had some food in me bel—"

Nyra dropped two silver stags on the wagon right next to the man. Perhaps five times more than the amount the man requested. "We are…anxious be off, good ser. Surely you can find some food on the road?"

The man eyed her, then the coins. "Fine," he said, scooping up the two coins and pocketing them. "Get settled in the back and I'll get the horse's hitched."

With Osha's aid, they managed to get the three girls into the back of the open wagon as the wagoner hitched two horses that looked extremely old and worn to the wagon. Soon enough, they were all aboard with the wagoner snapping the reins and urging the horses down the road. With the walls of King's Landing slowly shrinking behind them, Nyra let herself relax, even if only slightly, for the first time in over a day. But her relief was short lived as she saw Arya clutch at the hilt of her saberstaff hidden beneath her tunic as the young girl eyed the walls of King's Landing. "Riders."

Nyra's heart threatened to beat out of her chest as she turned her attention back towards the Iron Gate. True to Arya's word, no less than a dozen riders wearing red cloaks and armor were riding out quickly from the Iron Gate and heading straight towards them. And while the sight of a dozen Lannister men at arms was worrying enough for her, it was the man leading them that drew her attention. A large man, one of the largest she had ever seen in her life and one she easily recognized.

"Don't make any movements until I give the word," Nyra hissed quietly to the girls and Osha. All of whom were clutching at their concealed weapons, save for Jeyne who was unarmed.

Due to the poor condition of the horses pulling them, their pursuers were able to overtake them just as the walls of King's Landing were starting to truly fade from view. The red cloaks didn't say anything, they simply rushed past the wagon before turning their horses around and blocking the road, forcing their wagoner to curse and pull roughly on his reins to bring them to a jolting stop.

No one said anything as Sandor Clegane, wearing a white cloak draped over his shoulders and running down his back, approached the wagoner. "Ser Clegane," the wagoner stuttered, clearly recognizing the man.

Sandor didn't say a word in response, instead he brought his horse up to the side of the wagon right next to where Nyra was sitting. Nyra didn't move as Sandor reached out a gauntleted hand and pulled her cowl down, revealing her face to all. "Lady Nyra Nox," Sandor intoned, drawing a sharp look from the wagoner, which was accompanied swiftly by the sound of a dozen swords leaving their sheathes as the red cloaks drew their weapons and surrounded them while a few others raised crossbows towards them. "King Joffrey Baratheon has commanded your immediate return to the Red Keep."

Nyra glanced around, staring at the more than dozen men with bare steel in their hands before glancing towards those under her charge. Arya and Sansa were both palming their lightsabers and Osha had a death hold on the hilt of her weapon as well. There was a chance that they could overtake the men. However, given that a few had crossbows it was not a guarantee that they could make it through the encounter unscathed. In fact, there was a good chance that at least one of them would die. Be it by bolt or blade. But the alternative was going back to the Red Keep…where they would no doubt be held hostage at best…or tortured and killed.

Meeting the eye of each of her charges, she saw the same look in each of them. The same understanding. None of them were willing to go back. And they all, even Jeyne, understood what that meant. But maybe there was a way that they could tilt the odds slightly more in their favor.

"Tell me, Sandor," Nyra said slowly, purposefully reaching her hand out and lightly touching his face. Right over where he had been scarred horribly before Sansa had healed him at Harrenhal. "Is this truly what you want in your life? To be a 'dog'…or be your own man?"

"Ser Clegane!" one of the red cloaks called out, nudging his horse towards the wagon, ending up right next to the large man and Nyra. "The King is waiting. We need to bring these traitors back to the Red Keep to face the King's Justice."

Sandor didn't respond to the man. Instead, he just stared at her. Then at Arya. Then Jeyne and Osha before finally falling on Sansa. The girl who had changed his life. The one who removed his disfigurement and showed him nothing but kindness when no one else would. Pulling back slightly, Sandor drew his blade as well, his eyes firmly fixed on Sansa before turning towards the red cloak next to him. "Fuck that little shit King."

The man beside him had no time to react at the insult Sandor spat before the Hounds blade sung through the air and cut clean through the man's exposed throat, toppling the man from his horse with his head just barely hanging onto his body.

The men surrounding them could only stare, completely dumbfounded as they watched one of their own fall from his horse with his head holding on only by a small amount of flesh, curtesy of a knight of the Kingsguard. And that moment was all that they needed.

Arya was the first to move, the little wolf bringing her lightsaber to bare in an instant as she ignited both sides ends of her saberstaff and charged headfirst towards the nearest red cloak. Osha was barely a step behind her, spear-sword unsheathed as she moved in the opposite direction of Arya towards the red cloaks. Sansa had pushed Jeyne down so that the young girl was lying flat against the wagon as Sansa stood above her, lightsaber ignited and ready to defend her friend. Nyra was not idle either. Before the first body could hit the ground, she lunged for the driver's seat. She hadn't even realized she's been using the Force to increase her mobility before she forced her shoulder into the wagoner, forcing the man from his seat and throwing him a few paces away from the wagon.

Snapping the reins, Nyra had to brace herself as the wagon lurched as the horses began to run as fast as the two older beasts could. "Ayra! Osha!" Nyra yelled back at the two as the wagon lurched down the road, she wasn't worried so much for Sandor as the man was on a proper warhorse and would not have any issue with keeping pace with the wagon. But Arya and Osha were both on foot.

Glancing behind her, she ducked her head on instinct, just in time to feel the rushing of air as a crossbow bolt passed over her head. Arya, using her lithe size to her advantage, darted back and forth between the horses, her purple saberstaff alight and cutting though flesh and armor like it was nothing, though she was clearly taking care to avoid the horses if possible. Osha was not as careful as the former spear-wife slashed at the horses' legs, causing the large beasts to rear back in pain or fear, making either their riders to fall off or for the horses to fall atop their riders. Not to be outdone, Clegane expertly control his large warhorse while using his sword to cut through his opponent's with ease.

"Arya! Osha! Now!" Sansa screamed from her place standing up on the wagon, using her lightsaber to cut down any crossbow bolts that came their way.

Arya and Osha finally glanced their way, just now realizing how much distance Nyra had managed to put between them after taking control of the wagon. Cutting down one last opponent each, the two raced for the wagon. Osha's longer legs and experience gave her an initial edge, but Arya wasn't a normal girl. She was a Force adept, and perhaps one of the best of her husband's Apprentices behind Jon, though her husband had confided in her that in a few years she could potentially overtake his first Apprentice. And as such, she was able to call upon the Force to strengthen her legs, making her run faster than anyone reasonably could. Reaching them, Arya jumped easily into the air and landed right next to her sister, while Osha had to run and grab hold of the edge of the wagon before vaulting herself up into the back.

"Sandor!" Nyra shouted for the man, snapping the reins again to urge the horses to run faster.

The imposing knight cut down one last man, the last of those who'd ridden out with him, before pulling his warhorse around and urging it into a sprint to catch up with them. "Where the fuck are we going now?" Sandor yelled over the hammering of horses' hooves as they raced down the Rosby Road. "The little shit and the queen bitch will send word to Rosby to hunt us down."

"Once we're out of sight of King's Landing, we cut north into the woods!" Nyra shouted back. "We lose the wagon and take the horses or travel on foot."

Sandor didn't respond. He merely urged his horse to run faster as Nyra mimicked his actions with her two much older horses as the sight of King's Landing slowly shrunk behind them.

---

Pain was the first, and only, thing Jaime Lannister could feel as he regained consciousness. His face burned, and his entire body ached like he'd been used as a training dummy for the Mountain. Though despite the pain, he could tell two things. One, he was without his armor. And two, he was laying on something soft. A feather mattress. "Ah, Ser Jaime. I am heartened to see that you have regained consciousness."

Tilting his head to the side, an action that caused the pain in his face to flare once more, Jaime found the rotund figure of Grand Maester Jeorge standing next to him. Blinking his eyes, he glanced around at his surroundings, and realized that he was in one of the guest rooms within the royal wing of the Red Keep. "Wha – What happened?" he asked groggily. "I remember fighting the Starks…Then fire…"

The Grand Maester said nothing as he approached him and began his examination, starting with the cut on his face before moving down his body. "The Starks laid numerous traps within the Tower of the Hand, the last of which was a cache of what I can only assume to be a combination of wildfire and black powder. When ignited, the result was the complete destruction of the Tower of the Hand. Only yourself and seven of those you led with you survived the destruction. And I doubt two of those will survive another night."

His memory was fragmented. But he could vaguely recall the Stark Captain igniting a black powder stick before throwing it towards a cache of barrels and crates. And then…nothing. "How long have I been unconscious?" he asked, struggling to sit upright. "And where is my armor and sword?"

The Grand Maester helped him sit up before motioning towards where his sword lay near the foot of the bed. "It has only been a single day since the destruction of the Tower, Ser Jaime. Your sword was the only thing that survived. Your armor was damaged to the point where I doubt it can be salvaged. Though it is the reason you still draw breath, so it did its duty. The Queen, and I, would advise that you remain in bed for at least another sennight. However, the King has commanded your presence in the throne room this morning to be present for an announcement. As such, I have had servants bring appropriate attire for you to wear in lieu of armor."

Nodding, Jaime pulled the covers off himself and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Spotting the gold and red clothes next to his bed, Jaime pulled them over and began to dress himself. "And what announcement is the King to be making this morning?" he asked, pulling up his breeches and stomping his feet into his boots.

"I do not know, Ser Jaime," the Grand Maester replied as he stood off to the side as Jaime finished dressing, an act that took far longer than he would have preferred. "The King has not spoken to anyone yet of what this announcement will be."

Frowning with more than a slight sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Jaime tied his sword belt around his waist and made sure his Valyrian sword was set right before nodding to the Grand Maester that he was ready to leave.

Coming to the throne room, Jaime was not necessarily surprised to see that just about every courtier in this wretched city was present, no doubt hoping to kiss Joffrey's ass to gain favor. Just as they did for Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon. Bunch of worthless bootlickers the lot of them. But as he stepped foot into the throne room, he heard a sound that caused him to flinch. A scream of terror, pleas for mercy…and laughter from the court. A sound he had heard before. During the time of the Mad King.

Gripping his sword hilt tightly, he pushed his way through the crowd just in time to see a man being dragged away by his feet out of the throne room by two gold cloaks. No doubt to be executed for one reason or another if the man's pleas for mercy were any indication. And standing, or rather kneeling, before the Iron Throne was another gold cloak. Though given the extra bits adorning his armor, he recognized the man as a gate captain. "And now for you," Joffrey said as his eyes settled in on the kneeling gate captain. "You allowed not one. But five whorish traitors to escape my city! So, tell me, are you a traitor? Or simply incompetent?"

Jaime had to fight down a wave of unpleasantness as he witnessed the scene before him. One man being dragged away screaming for mercy, then asking a trick question to another…It was exactly what the Mad King had always done to torture the minds of those brought before him. Only now it wasn't the Mad King sitting on the throne. It was his son. A son he would never be able to claim…even if he wanted to. 'Joffrey isn't the Mad King,' he thought, forcing back such thoughts, and burying them deep in his mind. 'He's a Lannister through and through.'

The Captain didn't respond immediately. Which was good for him at least. It meant he was thinking over his answer before simply blurting it out. "Your grace… We were not aware of the situation regarding the Ladies St – the whores, your grace. We were only informed of their treason against the crown when Ser Clegane came to us just after they passed through. And they all hid their faces, so we—"

"My son, your King, asked you a question, captain," Jaime's sister, his love, his queen, stated coldly from where she stood beside their son. "He did not ask for your excuses. It is a simple question, Captain. One even you should be able to answer. Are you incompetent? Or a traitor to the crown?"

The captain lowered his head. "Incompetent, your grace." It was the only answer he could give and keep his head.

The court broke out into hush whispers at the admission, quieting only when Joffrey raised his hand. "Your honesty is appreciated, captain. From what I have been told by the Commander of the Gold Cloaks, you are decent at your duty and an able man. And I need able men. However, I cannot simply let such incompetence go without punishment." Joffrey paused, a smile on his face. "Tell me, captain. Do you have a family?"

Even from where he was, Jaime could see the captain flinch. "Yes, your grace. A wife and a son."

Joffrey's smile grew wider as he waved his hand towards a man Jaime hadn't even seen before that was standing amongst the Small Council while wearing Septon's robes. He had dark hair with pink and blotchy skin. And he was perhaps one of the most unfortunate looking young men Jaime had ever seen in his life. "Then you will choose. Either your wife, or your son will spend an evening with my Inquisitors. A lesson to ensure such…incompetence does not threaten the safety of the realm again."

The man froze, and Jaime felt fear swelling in his gut. He had no idea who these 'Inquisitors' were. But by their very name he could only assume they were some sort of torturers. Sadistic men who hid their perversions under the guise of faith and serving the crown. "Your grace!" the captain shouted, jumping to his feet and causing Jaime's brothers amongst the Kingsguard to grab their swords. Though he did see a notable absence in the form of Ser Barristan. "Please. I will take your punishment upon myse—"

"I know you would. But then the lesson would not be as impactful," Joffrey countered, his smile never leaving his face. "You have until night fall to decide who will spend the night with the Inquisitors. Your wife. Or your son. Should neither be delivered to the Inquisitors, you and your family will be deemed traitors to the Crown. Now, leave. I am done with you."

The captain could do nothing but hang his head in shame and terror as he was forced to leave the court. As the captain left, Joffrey's eyes settled on him. "Uncle, you have finally awoken. Come forward."

Smiling slightly, Jaime stepped forward before his son, his King, and went down a knee before him. "Your grace, I am yours to command."

Joffrey didn't say anything for a long moment. In fact, no one said a word. This left Jaime kneeling awkwardly before his King. "You failed to capture the Stark girls and the sorcerer's whore, uncle."

He could do little more than grimace. "I did, your grace. No one expected the Starks to put up such resistance. Nor to go to such lengths as to destroy the Tower of the Hand to avoid capture." Again, only silence met his defense. And he was left in awkward silence. "Forgive me, your grace. But may I enquire as to where Lord Commander Barristan is? He should be here always guarding your grace."

It was his sister who answered his question, an answer that honestly stunned him. "Ser Barristan, after the death of King Robert, has been relieved of his post as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. And you, Ser Jaime, as the senior most member of the Kingsguard, are to succeed him."

Jaime couldn't help his head snapping up to stare in shock at his sister and Joffrey. Being Lord Commander was his greatest desire…but not like this! And to dismiss Ser Barristan? The man's legend alone prevented more than one attempt on King Robert's life!

"That decision has yet to be made, mother," Joffrey said almost whimsically, surprising Jaime and Cersei, who looked at her son in shock. Joffrey didn't seem to care about the surprised look Cersei gave him as he kept his eyes on Jaime. "During his dismissal, Ser Barristan made several comments that have rung true. And after speaking with my High Inquisitor on the matter…I am not convinced you are truly worthy to lead my Kingsguard, uncle. You stabbed the Mad King in the back, a man you were sworn to serve. You failed to tell my father and the council about the caches of wildfire beneath the city. And, most recently, you have failed in capturing five women. Three of whom were mere girls. Tell me, uncle, does one with such failures to his name truly deserve to be the Lord Commander of my Kingsguard? And let us not even begin to discuss your entry in the White Book, uncle."

Joffrey chuckled while listing his failures, a chuckling that was echoed by the bootlicking sycophants of the court behind him. Rage and humiliation, worse than any he previously felt before, rushed through him. But before he could say anything to his defense, Joffrey raised a hand silencing the court. "Despite your failures, I am willing to give you a chance, uncle. But you will have to prove your worth."

Jaime bowed his head. "Name your desire, my King, and I will see it done."

Joffrey rose to his feet and made his way to the edge of the stairs that would lead down from the Iron Throne. "The Starks, and the so-called 'Lord' Nox have revealed themselves to be traitors to the crown. For too long, we have allowed these barbarians from the North to pretend that they are not part of the Seven Kingdoms. No more. Under my reign, I will have a unified Seven Kingdoms in people and faith. As such, I am hereby rescinding the decree set forth by Jaehaerys Targaryen, First of His Name. The Warrior's Sons will be allowed to fly their banners once more, and I am hereby declaring an Exalted March against the North and their heretical faith in the Old Gods. Any man who bears the name Stark will hereby have a bounty of ten-thousand gold dragons on his head, dead or alive. Any woman who bares the Stark name will have a bounty of ten-thousand gold dragons alive, five-thousand gold dragons dead. The Noble House of Nox is hereby stripped of its titles and privileges. The Sorcerer himself will hereby have a bounty of fifty-thousand gold dragons on his head. And his whore will have a bounty of ten-thousand gold dragons on her head. Any who hold to the Old Gods and any who side with House Stark will be deemed traitors against the faith and the crown and will receive a traitor's fate."

Jaime was stunned, and so was most of the court. In one fell swoop, Joffrey had not just declared war against a single noble house, but he had declared war against everyone who followed the faith of the Old Gods! And more than that! He had declared war against perhaps the most feared and powerful man in all of Westeros!

Despite the shock at his decree, Joffrey pressed on. "I am under no delusions that this will be an easy victory. The barbarians and heathens of the North are nothing if not tenacious. Therefore, I am naming my grandfather, my Hand of the King, Lord Tywin Lannister as Supreme Commander of the Exalted March. Ser Jaime, you will head out with High Inquisitor Ramsay Rivers to the Riverlands with the armies of the Crownlands and those who have been recruited into the Exalted March. Once there, you will secure the loyalty of the Riverlands to both the Crown and the Faith through any means necessary until Lord Tywin Lannister arrives with the men of the Westerlands. Every House present here today is expected to send men to join the Exalted March, and each House in the Seven Kingdoms is expected to aid with men and supplies. Any who do not will hereby be declared traitors and heretics. So say I, Joffrey Baratheon, First of My Name! Court is now adjourned."

Unable to rise from his position on the floor, Jaime could do little more than watch his King, and hidden son, march out of the throne room with his head held high while hushed whispers and plans broke out amongst the courtiers.

---

Tapping his foot in the hall outside his father's solar, Tyrion Lannister fought against the urge to simply leave the hall and make his way down to his favorite brothel for a bit of distraction. In truth, he was finding it difficult to even stay in Casterly Rock. Doubly so with his father, the great Tywin Lannister, holding dominion over all who walked these halls. Well, that wasn't exactly true. He had always found it difficult to be in these halls with his esteemed father close by. But ever since he had returned from the North and learned the truth about his former wife and still alive daughter, a truth which had been confirmed by his brother, he found it even harder to be even in the same city as his father.

He always knew that his father was a bastard of the worse sort. One who would stoop to any low to see to the advancement of House Lannister. But he never truly appreciated just how far his father would go. But now he knew. Tyrion's wife, a smallfolk woman to be sure but still one who held the Lannister name, gang-raped and brutalized simply because the great Tywin Lannister believed she was too low born. Never mind how she made Tyrion feel or the fact that he loved her. That day, after talking with his brother, Tyrion had made a vow to himself that he would see his father destroyed. Not dead, though that would more than likely be the outcome. But destroyed.

But then the problem became just how to go about destroying his father, while keeping House Lannister still relatively in one piece. He hated his father more than anyone. And he had a strong suspicion that his Uncle Kevan knew the truth as well. But what about Gerion? Tyrion's cousins? Myrcella and Tommen? There were so many innocents that could be caught in the fallout of the destruction of his father. So he had to wait. He had to take his time and be meticulous.

Hearing a sigh, Tyrion looked over to see his Uncle Gerion shaking his head and pacing the hall near to Tyrion while Kevan sat perfectly at ease. "For fuck's sake," Gerion growled. "First that raven from King's Landing that no one read beside Tywin. Then he locks himself in his solar for two days without uttering a single word. Now he summons the three of us, yet makes us wait. Typical Tywin."

"Do not belittle our brother, Gerion," Kevan, ever the great Tywin Lannister ass-kisser, scolded. "Tywin never does anything without purpose. Whatever was sent from King's Landing demanded our brother's complete attention. And only now is he ready to share what has happened."

Hearing the rattling of chains, Tyrion looked down the hall and found the new Maester of Casterly Rock making his way down the hall. He wasn't a young man, but Tyrion wouldn't call him old either. If anything, the man was forgettable. No notable features of any sort. Hells, Tyrion couldn't even remember the man's name. But the man's face was pale and he looked fearful. A common look for the man whenever he was near any that bore the Lannister name.

Before the Maester could say any words of greeting, the door to his father solar opened. And standing in it's frame was the imposing form of Tywin Lannister. In his hands were no less than a dozen, perhaps two dozen, raven scrolls. His father's hard green eyes scanned over each of them before landing on the Maester. "You will send these missives out immediately. Then find a way to make yourself useful. You three, come in."

The Maester had to scramble to collect all the missives before making a hasty retreat to send the messages out. Before the Maester could disappear, Tywin was already retreating back into his solar, leaving the three that'd been waiting for him to hurry after him. Once all four were within, Tywin closed the door and made his way to his lord seat behind his solar. Shrugging, Tyrion made his way over to one of the more comfortable chairs in the room and sat down. "So, father. Are you going to tell us what message from King's Landing rattled the great Tywin Lannister so much that he had to shut himself in his solar for two days?"

His father's face remained completely impassive at the jab. "King Robert is dead," Tywin stated plainly. "An attempted assassination during the King's hunting trip. He managed to make it back to the Red Keep and lasted only a day before dying."

Tyrion was surprised to hear that. But still, the passing of King Robert would not be cause for his father to lock himself in his solar for two days. "Well, long live King Joffrey I guess," Tyrion shrugged. Though the words tasted like shit in his mouth. In his own opinion, Joffrey was perhaps the worst choice for King that Tyrion could think of. Honestly, he would trust the Seven Kingdoms to a whipping boy before his pathetic nephew. "So, what happened?"

Tywin's face didn't change. "Lord Stark attempted to usurp the throne using a forged will. He has been thrown into the black cells as a result and the Tower of the Hand has been destroyed in the fallout of trying to subdue the retainers of House Stark. Joffrey has declared the faith of the Old Gods heretical and has called for an Exalted March against the North to destroy the faith of the Old Gods and bring down House Stark. All men and women who carry the Stark name now have a bounty on their heads. And House Nox has been dissolved and Alim Nox and Nyra Nox both have bounties on their heads. Joffrey has named me Hand of the King. And he has also proclaimed that I am to be Supreme Commander of the Exalted March. An army that was recently created after Joffrey disbanded the decrees of Jaehaerys the First."

At first, Tyrion was sure that he heard wrong. Then he thought his father was making a joke of sorts. "If you want to make a joke, father, you best take some lessons from the fools we employ."

His father's hard eyes turned on him. "There is no joke in my words."

A pit formed in Tyrion's gut. Without saying a word, he got down from his seat and made his way over to a collection of glass decanters that kept his father's person supply of liquor and wine. Pulling the top from a dark amber liquid, Northern liquor if he was right, Tyrion poured himself a full glass. But when he turned around, his father's hand took the glass from him. At first, he was sure he was about to be admonished, but to his surprise his father began drinking from the glass. Taking nearly half in one go.

"Well," Tyrion sighed, pouring himself a new glass and settling back into his seat. "We're fucked."

"Not yet."

Tyrion wasn't the only one who was unsure as Gerion snorted. "Really, brother? Need we remind you that the Sorcerer managed to storm the Pyke and make the Greyjoys submit by himself? That this is the same man who raided Valyria? Who managed to aid in forming peace between the Free Folk and the North and decimated a whole army during the Battle of Hardhome?"

Tywin nodded, "Nox is all of that and more. However, he is currently in the Far North. And one of the missives I have just sent out is to Castle Black, ordering them to close all access points on the Wall. We will keep Nox north of the Wall to give us time."

"Time to do what?" Tyrion asked, trying to puzzle out just how his father could think they were not completely fucked over for going to war against the Northern Sorcerer and his Apprentices.

Tywin took another controlled sip of his drink, "Nox's prowess on the field of battle is without question. However, he relies heavily on others outside of battle. He is a proven warrior but an unproven battle commander. We will use this against him. We will close off his access back to Westeros. It will not stop him, but it will slow him down. On top of that, it will take him time to learn of what happened. In this time, we will march north as the King has commanded and take the Starks. While doing so, we will capture the Stark girls and Nox's wife. By the time he joins the battle, we will hold the North, have the Stark girls and his wife in our custody. Facing such adversity, we will force him to submit. We will not target Nox, but rather his support."

"Cut his legs out from underneath him then?" Kevan surmised simply.

"In essence, yes." Tywin nodded.

"You are forgetting a few key points Tywin," Gerion growled, truly growled at his brother. "My daughter, your niece. Still resides in Winterfell and will no doubt be held hostage. And what you've said only Lord Stark is in the Black cells correct? Which means that the Stark girls and Nyra Nox are either dead, which means we're well and truly fucked. Or they've escaped, which puts a huge strain on your plan to make Nox submit."

"The Starks will not harm Joy," Tywin replied confidently. "Not only do we hold Lord Stark, but she holds value to the Sorcerer due to the power she has. As for Nyra Nox and the Stark girls, you are correct that they are either dead or they have escaped. And knowing what we do about the Stark girls and Nyra Nox, the odds are on the latter. And that is where Tyrion comes in."

"Me?" Tyrion questioned, giving his father a strange look. "Where in the Seven Hells do I fit in to this grand plan of yours?"

"You will be going to King's Landing," his father answered succinctly.

Tyrion's face scrunched up. He didn't want to step foot in that wretched city any time soon if he could help it. "To do what?"

"Rule," his father answered him again simply. "You will serve as Hand of the King in my stead. You will bring that boy and his mother to heel. You will organize a search for Lady Nyra Nox as well as the Stark girls and see them returned safely to King's Landing where they are to be kept safe. Not a single hair is to be harmed on their heads. Then you will find out who has been whispering these poisonous words into Joffrey's ear. And when you find them—"

"Spikes. Heads. Walls," Tyrion nodded.

"No," his father countered. "You will be creative in their demise. Make their ends a reminder to all the consequences of crossing House Lannister. Just as Nox did to Lyn Corbray."

Breathing deep, Tyrion took a drink, savoring the taste. "You don't ask much of me. Do you, father?"

"I ask no more of you than I know you can accomplish," Tywin answered, surprising Tyrion.

"Careful, father… That almost sounded like a compliment."

His father took another sip and set his glass down, "I always assumed that you were a stunted fool. But you have proven your mind, when not swimming in wine and liquor, is far better than your sister's and your brother's. You will put it to use and repair what damage that boy has done while I use the army assembled to bring the Starks and the North to heel."

Staring at his now empty cup, Tyrion's mind raced with just how he was supposed to go about such an impossible task. "And what about when Joffrey takes offense to my meddling? I don't fancy my head decorating the walls of the Red Keep."

Tywin's face remained impassive. "In such case, you will remind your sister and your nephew that this 'Exalted March' of his is a Baratheon call to arms. Not a Lannister call. And should a true born son of House Lannister, even if he is the lowest of trueborn sons, should meet his end while performing his duty to a Baratheon King. Then House Lannister will find little reason to continue supporting his call to arms."

Tyrion did not like that. Basically, his father was putting him directly in harm's way, even when away from the field of battle. Without protection, save for the idea that should something untoward happen to him, then House Lannister will no longer support Joffrey's Exalted March on the North. He would have to investigate hiring some…personal security. He honestly wouldn't put it past his father to ensure something would happen to him just to give him the excuse to pull out of the war effort. "What if I discover that this whole debacle was truly Joffrey's idea? And that there is no swaying him from this course of action?"

Tywin didn't hesitate. "Then you will ensure that Tommen is ready to fulfill his duties to the realm. And in such a case, you will prepare Myrcella by educating her in all manners of the North."

"You seem to have thought of just about everything brother…but you are also missing some major issues," Gerion put in stepping forward and placing his hands on the surface of the desk. "I will not be participating in any military actions against the North. Not only is my daughter in Winterfell, but I owe the Starks and the Sorcerer far too great of a debt to ever consider taking up arms against them."

Surprisingly, Tywin merely nodded in acceptance. "I surmised this would be the case. You will not be marching with the army Gerion. You will remain here in Casterly Rock and ensure that fresh levies are raised and ready to march as soon as possible while Kevn and I march with our vanguard forces to meet up with Jaime and this Exalted Army of Joffrey's."

Rocking back on his heels, Gerion still didn't look pleased. "And what of Dorne? And the Reach? Sansa Stark is betrothed to Willas Tyrell and set to become the future Lady of the Reach. And Arianne Martell is betrothed to Jon Stark. While we might be able to stall the Reach, the Dornish hate us enough that they will not hesitate in joining the fight against us."

Tywin nodded. "Both issues have been addressed. Which is one of the reasons why the safety of Sansa Stark is of paramount concern. She is a bargaining piece to use not only with the North, but the Reach as well. And as for the Dornish. Their bloodlust often overrides their sense of duty. We will use that to force their neutrality."

"And pray tell, how do you see that coming about?" Tyrion asked, genuinely curious.

Tywin's jaw twitched. The first sign of true displeasure he has given. "I made it clear to them that should they stay neutral in this conflict, then Ser Gregor will be tasked with dealing with pirates in the Stepstones after the war is concluded. And he will be sent with only a small contingent of men to back him on a route that takes him close to Dornish shores."

Rising to his feet, Tywin turned his back on the three of them and looked out over the Sunset Sea. "We depart at first light. I suggest you three ready yourselves for the road ahead. And make no mistake about it. These next few months will determine the future of House Lannister. And I will not abide any of you not doing your utmost to ensure not only the survival of our House, but its continued advancement as well. Leave."

Hopping down off his seat, Tyrion didn't bother to even send a parting barb towards his father before turning and leaving his solar. He had a lot on his mind. This, this was the opportunity he was waiting for. And while he never wanted war and realized the horror that would no doubt be coming from the impending conflict; he was sure that he would be able to use this war as a means for his revenge. 'Soon, Tysha…Soon you will be avenged.'

---

Pushing his hand up through the soft soil surrounded by hard roots, Alim Nox pulled himself up from the ground into the newest section of tunnels of weirwood roots. Pulling himself up fully, he rolled onto his back, taking in deep gasping breaths as he pushed his body further than humanly possible. Tilting his face in the direction of a slight breeze, Nox relished the feel of the cold, fresh air against his face. Finally. They were at, or near, the surface.

Forcing himself up, he went over to the freshly made hole he'd made and stretched his arm back down into its depths. One at a time, he helped first Leaf, then Ygritte, then Benjen, then Ghost and last Jon out of the depths. Each of whom had the same reaction as he did. To lay on their backs and breathe deep on the fresh air. "This - dis place looks like a carved tunnel," Ygritte gasped, her breath coming in and out in slight pants as Archon poked his head up from his carrier that was on her back. "It don look…natural like down there. Like someone done carved this."

"Aye," Nox nodded, forcing himself to stand up. He could not remember the last time he felt so drained. They had little food and barely slept while they traversed the labyrinth of the weirwood root tunnels. Which meant that he and Jon had been using the Force to aid in sustaining all of them.

Stumbling towards where the air smelled the cleanest, Nox let a smile grace his face as he emerged from the tunnel and felt the shine of the sun on his face for the first time in what felt like forever. "Any idea where we are?" he asked, taking a moment to collect himself.

The rest followed him out into the open and started looking around. "We're in the Haunted Forest," Benjen answered, pointing towards the south. "Near the Milkwater…and that there looks like the Fist of the First Men."

"How the fuck is that possible?" Ygritte gasped as she looked to the south. "We was in the Lands of Always Winter…or damn near. How can we be so far away from there now?"

"The weirwoods act as a bridge to the World Between Worlds," Nox answered before waving off the confused looks that were being sent his way. "Don't ask. It's a complex answer that even I don't fully comprehend. But traveling a vast distance in a short time would not be outside the realm of possibilities."

Ghost began running through the trees, the pony-sized wolf clearly glad for the chance to be out in the open again. A feeling that was mimicked by Archon, who immediately stretched its wings and took off after its furred brother. "Last I heard, Mance had taken control of Craster's Keep and turned it into a settlement to better trade with the Night's Watch," Benjen stated, scratching at his beard. "It's a few days walk, but we will undoubtedly find some help once there."

Letting his senses flow outwards, for the first time in a long time, Nox watched through the Force as Ghost and Archon bounded their way back through the trees. A pair of dead rabbits clutched tightly in Ghost's jaw. "We rest here for a day to recover, then we will head down to—"

As he stretched out his senses further, he was hit with what felt like a starship. His legs gave out underneath him and he collapsed, clutching at his head as a sense of danger threatened to overwhelm him. Not danger for himself. But danger for those he loved. Danger for the very future he was trying to build. "What the fuck is going on?!"