(Red Keep; Throne Room)

A feast for those who'd fought in the opening day challenges was held that evening. Brienne of Tarth was among the guests of honor, having managed a draw against Arys Oakheart of the Kingsguard. Barristan Selmy the Knight Commander of the Order had congratulated her on completing one half of the tasks he'd posed.

Across the room, Mandon Moore glowered at her. He was her next task, though it would not be as simple as jousting Arys. She would need to force the Valeman to yield. While no knight of legend, Ser Mandon was not undeserving of his post. The late Meryn Trant and Borus Blount had soured the name of the Kingsguard. She was one of the three Lord Commander Selmy hoped would restore honor to them.

It had been the Lord Commander's letter to her father that had made the man relent. Her mother's grandsire was none other than Ser Duncan the Tall. The fabled Hedge Knight rose from obscurity to being one of the most revered knights to ever wear the white.

"Lady Brienne," She turned at her name to see Arys motioning to her with his good arm, "Cease your brooding in the corner you're not wearing white yet." Though technically neither was he currently, wearing finery in various shades of white, cream, and grey. You almost didn't notice the sling that held his injured arm, "Come join us, you earned your place among our valiant number."

As Brienne moved to sit next to the Hound, Clegane pushed a platter containing a roasted pheasant her way, "Nothing better than the nosh they ply us with for beating the shit out of one another for their amusement."

"Come now Clegane," Ser Blackwood chuckled, "any way to behave when speaking to our battle sister."

Brienne grinned, "How is Ser Bracken?"

"He'll be fine," The Blackwood knight snickered, "Luckily, he's so short his head only hit the ground when I cut him free. Not that there is much between a Bracken's ears mind you."

This drew a row of laughter. Brienne frowned, "What was that you called me? A battle sister?"

"Sorry," Blackwood smirked, "It's a First Men term, well one of the terms for female warriors. At least that's about the closest it comes out in Common. Battle sisters were those who fought beside us against the ancient foe. Shieldmaidens were those who defended hearth and home while others were out fighting."

Clegane spoke around a mouth full of food, "What about them Free Folk women, spear wives."

Blackwood shook his head, "They aren't part of our oral tradition, but probably existed. As Lord Stark says, much has been lost."

"If your ancestors allowed women to fight," Brienne looked seriously at the man, "Why did you stop?"

Blackwood sneered, "Who ever said we did? My own sister is a right terror with a bow and arrow. Took a poacher down at fifty paces on the run last year. Of course, I had to claim it, the Seven would have been beating down our door."

"You don't fear them now?" Brienne grimaced; she'd had her own run-ins with the Faith over the years, even though she was faithful herself. Her father kept the local Septons well paid.

At the other end of the table, Edric Dayne raised his goblet, "To the Lord Hand, may he continue to send Septons fleeing in terror."

Brienne was surprised to see a dire wolf resting its head on the table next to the Lord of Starfall, "Lord Dayne, is that what I think it is?"

"Ah," Edric chuckled, "Whirlwind, it is well documented that House Dayne and House Stark have married in the past. The blood of Brandon the Builder flows in my veins just as it does in Lord Stark and his kin."

Ser Arys chuckled, "No Dornish around here my lord, besides she'll be wearing a white cloak within the week."

"Ser Arys," Brienne corrected, "I still have to defeat Ser Mandon."

"Blimey," Arys indicated his sling, "Please go easy on him my lady if you do to him as you did me. We're shorthanded as is."

Brienne rolled her eyes, "You're not that bad, Ser Selmy told me you'll be well enough to enter the melee."

A chuckle came from Clegane, "Don't worry Oakheart, my squire and I will cover your weak side."

"Thank you Hound, but I think one of you would be able," Arys paused, "Wait you're implying both sides are weak."

Across the room, Selmy moved to Mandon's side, "You've been watching her all evening."

"She really his grandchild?" Mandon looked to Selmy, "You actually met the man."

Barristan nodded solemnly, "Aye, but she is a great-grandchild. Duncan the Tall had one child before joining the Kingsguard. One of my first acts was journeying with Ser Hightower to deliver Duncan's shield to his last surviving kin. The wife of Lord Tarth of Evenfall Hall."

Mandon squinted, "That the truth, or are you just covering for your visions?"

"Truth," Barristan smiled tightly, "Lady Brienne and I never crossed paths in those other worlds. The Ravens told me of her, and that she is a worthy soul to have at one's side."

"What them Ravens tell about me?" Mandon frowned.

Selmy grimaced, "One wanted me to feed you to a heart tree, while the other told me to toss you on the spikes outside Maegor's Holdfast."

Mandon gulped, "Why haven't yeh?"

"I'm not in the business of blindly following orders. Especially from beings that are not my king," Barristan remarked. He looked across the room and those reveling at the feast, "The you that is standing before me has yet to do those things that angered the Ravens to give such suggestion. If Lord Stark is not condemning men for things that might occur, why should I."

"Trant?" Mandon frowned, "Was he doomed to his fate?"

Barristan shook his head, "I know not what led to that snake being in Joffrey's luggage. That did not occur, but I had not accompanied the King to the North either. Boros, Meryn, and Jamie were all that survived until the end in all iterations of events I was shown."

Mandon frowned, "So you switched places with Boros and took Arys."

"I did not know if I could trust you or Preston. Arys is the youngest and is the only one not tainted by either Cersei or Petyr. Not that Baelish mattered by the time we departed. I had a feeling Jaime had experienced the same as I, he'd been distancing himself from his sister. I'd also taken the time to randomly check in while he was assigned to her. He was always at his post."

"I noticed that as well," Mandon frowned, "Not that I ever suspected. Occasionally when I'd go on my rounds, I'd notice he wasn't at the door. The one time I thought to check, it was before Tommen was born, Cersei was just starting to show. I approached, and could hear voices, but couldn't make out what they were saying. Jaime stepped out and saw me, told me his sister was emotional and he was just calming her down."

Barristan nodded, "You have a sister of your own Mandon, I doubt you have lustful feelings towards her, you would not have reason to suspect. There is no telling what Jaime would have done had he thought you knew the truth. He would do anything to protect his family, even take the Black."

The younger knight could only nod in agreement, "If I have to get bested by a woman, at least she isn't a dainty whisp of a thing."

"Have to?" Barristan narrowed his eyes at the man, "If you go easy on her I'll have you run the gauntlet until you beg me to send you to the Wall."

Mandon chuckled, "Understood Lord Commander."

At another table, Missandei sat with her brothers and Grey Worm. Her brothers took their turns watching the crowds for threats. Their training was just as impossible to break as it was to undo what the Good Masters had done to them. Grey Worm huffed at the commotion, "If this is how they prepare for war, no wonder the pox-marked man sent us to them."

"This is not preparation for war," They all tensed as a Dothraki with a long braid approached them, "This is to give the people a moment of peace before telling them their lives are threatened by something they thought only a legend."

Missandei tilted her head, "Khal?"

"Drogo," the large Dothraki gave his name, "You're the party of Unsullied the Bold man gave shelter in the kingsguard tower."

"You mean Ser Barristan," Missandei smiled, "Yes, he was quite kind and surprisingly surprised to see us."

Drogo snorted, "Visions, the old knight got a head full of them from the Old Gods. Must have seen you lot in them." He rubbed his throat, "Pray if you were in any of those of the Lord Hand's visions you did nothing to displease him."

"I'm surprised he didn't take your head out of principle," Missandei smiled brightly, "You Dothraki are slavers after all."

"Reformed," Drogo took a drink from his flagon, "Our First Men cousins have made it very clear that continuing such activities would not end well for us."

Grey Worm snorted, "There are a people that even the mighty horde of the Dothraki cowers before?"

Drogo glared, "We do not cower. First Men are not like other city men, they face death in battle like a true warrior. You anger one of them, you will understand."

"Come now Khal Drogo," Daenerys appeared with Quentyn at her shoulder, "All the First Men I know are very friendly, including my Magnar Lord Stark."

"Princess," Quentyn smirked, "You also have the blood of the First Men remember."

Daenerys smiled, "That's true, do you find me terrifying Ser Martell?"

The young man hesitated, "That is a very dangerous question, your grace. My cousin, your nephew is the Crown Prince. His half-brother has his own dire wolf and is part of a House where a majority of the members have such beautifully terrifying creatures at their side. Said creatures which I just saw you petting the largest and most terrifying one of all like she was a normal hound. I might add that while I personally have not yet had the honor to see it, rumor has it your Water Dance skills are impeccable. King Robert has even been heard to compare you with Queen Visenya."

Daenerys snorted, "Whatever Tyrion is paying that Herald better be coming out of his own pocket." She looked to the three Unsullied and then Missandei, "You are Missandei. Lord Commander Barristan suggested I take you into my service."

Missandei froze, "He did?"

"Your brothers and the other Unsullied will find employment with the Crown once we can arrange their passage. We will have to send most of them to the Wall, we cannot support the numbers you gave Lord Eddard here in King's Landing I'm afraid." Daenerys explained.

The girl frowned, "We knew we'd need to go help fight there, but," she hesitated, "We were worried about being split up."

Daenerys smiled, "Do not misunderstand me, we do not mean to make them take the Black. We do not have the space or resources to support so many people. Lord Stark will be arranging with the Master of Ships to set up a rotation. House Targaryen will accept this last generation of Unsullied as our household guards. Our cousins in House Baratheon will employ some of your brethren in Storm's End, and the bulk will be stationed at Dragon Stone."

Missandei translated for Grey Worm and her brothers. Grey Worm frowned, "Employ?"

Daenerys smiled when Missandei questioned her, "You will each receive a stipend. As household guards your lodgings, armor, weapons, and food will of course be handled as an expense of the seat you are stationed at. Your stipend is for your personal use, or to cover expenses when you are away from your post."

Grey Worm frowned deepened when Missandei translated the explanation, "Unsullied do not leave their posts."

Drogo snorted, "You have much to learn about being a free man eunach."

(The Neck)

Lancel sat at the fire tended by one of Lord Reed's people. They'd landed a lion lizard that afternoon. Chewing the rubbery meat Lance looked to Tormund, "Taste isn't bad once you get past the texture."

"Ha," the Free Folk leader cheered as he smacked Lancel's back, "We'll make a real man out of this pampered lion cub yet."

Great Jon looked across the fire, "Howland, tell this cub about the time you challenged Roose and Me to a hunting competition."

"What is there to tell?" Lord Reed smiled slightly, "I won and you two could only present Lord Stark with empty hands."

Rickon spoke up from his seat in Beth's lap, "Please Lord Reed?"

Howland chuckled, "I am not one to disappoint. It was back in the Rebellion, well the start of it. Benjen had to remain at Winterfell as custom dictates a Stark must always be present. We were trying to decide who would remain to stand watch over Moat Cailin. Ned had just made it back to the North having secured passage with his marriage to Caitlyn Tully."

"Mamma," Rickon smiled.

"Yes, my little lord," Howland smirked, "your mother. Ned was deciding who should stay to guard the causeway. Lord Roose and our friend the Great Jon suggested it be me. As my people are the most familiar with the land."

Lancel frowned, "Wouldn't winning such a hunting challenge merely prove their point?"

"True," Howland looked to a bashful Great Jon, "but what does an army march on?"

Rickon pipped up, "Their tummy."

Small Jon chuckled, "Even the pup knows that."

Howland indicated their surroundings, "I argued that Lord Stark would need my people to ensure the meager supplies that had so hastily been gathered were not strained during the passage through the Neck. Roose and Great Jon countered that any man could hunt in the Neck and feed their men." He indicated to the lion lizard, "To end the debate, Lord Stark gave us a task. The three of us would hunt in the Neck. Each man would only eat that which he caught with his own hands that evening."

Great Jon snorted, "Me and Roose fumbled around for hours. Found nothing but frogs and snakes. Got back to camp to this little shit standing next to the biggest lion lizard you'd ever seen."

Lancel looked to what remained of their meal, "Seeing as this is the first I've actually seen, and it is monstrous. I cannot imagine." He looked to Lord Reed, "How'd you catch it?"

"The same as I took this one," Howland said calmly, "Took three steps off the causeway and poked my trident into the water. They're as thick as eels in the early evening." Howland looked seriously at the young Lannister, "The trick is to be quiet. Sure, a lion lizard is dangerous, but they do not go out of their way to attack men. They hear you coming or feel the vibrations of your steps, they will be long gone without you even knowing they were there."

'Would have been a good tip back then," Great Jon barked, "It was embarrassing sitting there with Bolton. Then this little shit has to go and do the decent thing and bring us each a portion of his catch."

"Didn't Papa say you could only eat what you caught," Rickon asked.

Great Jon nodded, "Aye he did, but didn't say we couldn't sample the catch of the others. Just so happened the samples Howland offered were quite filling."

"It's all about perspective," Howland said, "Now little lord you should take Shaggy Dog's example. It is late and we have many more miles to journey before we reach the south."

Styr scoffed, "I thought we were already in the south."

(King's Landing)

Jon grumbled as he followed his brothers through the market that had gathered on the tourney grounds. The day before he'd drawn a bad placement in the lists for the archery competition. Jalabha Xho had been in the same batch, and it had come down to the two of them in the end. The Summer Islander had offered to bow out of the competition, but Jon had warned the man that his father would frown on such a deed.

He knew Lord Stark's feelings on favoritism towards those of royal lineage. When discussing such topics as Duncan the Tall, he would not speak kindly of Daeron Targaryen. Lord Stark would spit the man's name like a curse, calling him a disgrace. Daeron the Drunken had dishonored himself twice at Ashford. First when he lied and accused Duncan of kidnapping Prince Aegon, and again when he took part in the challenge of seven and feigned defeat. His actions in the challenge were merely a means of assuaging his guilt. Any true man would have admitted his fault to his father regardless of the punishment.

Aegon looked back at him before motioning to Bran, "Bran, see the vendor over there selling sweets. See if there is something we can use to appease Lady Sansa's ire. It's been two days, and Edric is still avoiding her, but our poor friend can only stay so many steps ahead of her." Bran nodded and took off to the stall still in both Aegon and Jon's view, "You still upset over your defeat, I told you Jon I only bet a dragon when I saw who you were up against."

"Thanks, I think," Jon mused, "no just thinking about other Targaryen. In particular a certain drunken great-great-great-uncle of ours."

Aegon began counting back on his fingers muttering the names of past Targaryen, "Doubt you're talking about Aemon or Brightfyre. So that leaves Daeron, obviously since he was called the Drunken." Aegon frowned, "You have dragon dreams?"

"No, just the regular wolf dreams," Jon winced, "which reminds me," He looked to Ghost, "I know it is you. Stop leaving dead rabbits outside the High Septon's door. I don't know how nobody sees you stalking through the Great Sept every night."

"Dead rabbits?" Aegon looked at the dire wolf, "why is he doing that?"

Jon sighed, "Rabbits are a symbol of innocence. First Men custom, if you suspect someone of harming children you nail a dead rabbit to their house as a warning to others. The idea is that the guilty person will be shamed into admitting their guilt and throwing themselves at their Magnar's mercy."

Aegon gave his brother a confused look, "Jon, doesn't that imply you suspect the High Septon and Ghost are just fulfilling something you feel should be done." Aegon frowned, "Why do you suspect him of something, did something happen during his meeting with Bran the other day?"

"No, Prince Oberyn or I would have acted, but Lord Tyrion mentioned the man has always made him feel like he needed to bathe, multiple times after every time they spoke. Even Father gets a look of disgust when he sees him." Jon frowned, "I'm not sure how much the visions showed him regarding the man."

"Probably not enough," Aegon looked pensive, "You must have more to go on than that."

Nodding Jon lowered his voice, "Ser Barristan had me assist Lord Jorah in examining Tregar's personal effects. Not that I could do much help, the ledgers were written in High Valyrian. Jorah knew enough, he said someone at the Great Sept and in Old Town was buying girls and boys from Tregar. Aegon, there is only one thing Lys slaves are purchased for."

His brother looked ill at the realization, "Have you told Lord Stark?"

"Of course," Jon grimaced, "but the purchase details were rather vague. Father can't storm the Great Sept and arrest every Septon and Septa. Also, there's a chance we are mistaken. The Red Priest told me their religion has a tradition of purchasing slave children. They raise them within their order, and when they come of age, they are given the choice to become a priest, join the Fiery Hand, or seek another life path. Melisandre was such a child, raised in the Red Temple of Asshai."

Aegon looked unconvinced, "I would ask what your gut is telling you, brother."

"My gut is telling me the Faith is lucky we don't have dragons yet," Jon snarled lightly, "I'm pretty sure mine would be doing worse than leaving dead rabbits."

Chuckling Aegon looked to Ghost, "Don't worry my silent friend, you'll always be the aspect of stealthy vengeance when my dear brother becomes displeased."

(Old Town – The Citadel)

It had taken far too long for Varys to infiltrate the Citadel. His old contacts had all since passed away or been dispatched to fill vacancies in various noble houses. It had spread his web further but had left him rather blind when it came to the central hub of all things Westrosi.

Luckily, he had a little bird here who was one of the few that could read and write. He had him slip a revision into the rosters of Maesters. Cromwell, a man of little note who'd completed his chain and taken off to Essos some fifteen years ago. Like any good identity, the basics were based on facts. Cromwell did exist, and fifteen years ago he left the Citadel intending to do research in Essos. Though, in truth the man never made it. It was the last year of King Aerys' reign of terror. The ship had put into dock at King's Landing to take on provisions. Aerys accused the captain and his crew of being rebel sympathizers, leading to a plot to assassinate him. The crew and passengers were all consigned to the flames, and Cromwell's chain found its way into Varys' hands.

Cromwell was of course noted as having died, but he wasn't a noteworthy member of the citadel. In fact, all of Varys' sources had responded the man was barely remembered by those who instructed or learned beside him. So, a minor change in the registry, and nobody would bat an eye at a supposedly dead man walking about the place.

"Maester Cromwell," Varys turned to the novice that had been assisting him, "I looked for Grand Maester Pycelle as you requested, but nobody seems to know his whereabouts."

"Truly," Varys mused, "He has been here for some weeks."

The novice grimaced, "I'm sorry, but Maester Gormon said it's best to stop asking. I think he was being interviewed by the Conclave on some matters. Maester Walgrave was muttering something the other evening about strange occurrences."

Varys glared at the shelf he was perusing under the pretense of searching for some esoteric tome, "I see." He knew well the Conclave was held behind closed doors and admittance was rarely boded well for the one called into that chamber while a Grand Maester yet drew breath.

"Pate was it," Varys mused, "what do you know of architecture?"

The young Westerlander looked confused, "Not much, it's a subject that lies across different disciplines. Some study the history of how things are built and why, they fall under the subject of history. Some study the process of building structures, and they split their time in Warcraft and several other subjects. I've never had much of a head for it, a house is a house. Alleras would know a bit, but he's gone North to apprentice to Maester Luwin of Winterfell."

Varys frowned, "A novice like you?"

"An acolyte, he was close to Marwyn. Could tell the writing on the wall. The Sphinx was always too bright, smarter than half the so-called Archmaesters here. Marwyn probably told him to seek someone as smart as himself to few as smart as Maester Luwin they say. He'd be an Archmaester or candidate for Grand Maester for sure if the Conclave didn't dislike him so." Pate mused.

"What does the Conclave have against the Maester of Winterfell," Varys asked.

Pate shrugged, "Maester Walgrave, before he got so forgetful would complain that Luwin was too idealistic. Wanted to dig into things better left buried." Pate lowered his voice, "Said if he wasn't careful, he'd bring the whole Citadel down around our ears."

Varys chuckled, "He must been pulling your leg, how could one man bring down the whole Citadel."

"Don't know, but these talks of visions got them Archmaesters all bothered about something horrible happening." Pate frowned.

About to ask another question Varys was halted as Leo Tyrell came running towards them, "Pate, thank the Old and New I found you. Archmaester Marwyn sent me to find you, get the other novices, and make for the Ravenry." He looked to him, "I'd say you should head there as well Maester."

Pate frowned, "What's happened?"

"I was accompanying Maester Marwyn to the Conclave chambers," Leo looked pale, "When we arrived the doors had been kicked in. Maester Gormon was standing there as pale as fresh snow. On the door a writ of execution was posted, signed by Aegon the Fifth." Leo swallowed, "The only Archmaesters still alive are Maesters Marwyn and Walgrave."

Varys grimaced, "I see why you need everyone to report to the ravens, to send word of this horrible travesty of events."

A snort came from behind Varys, "The only travesty is your heart still beating Blackfyre."

Varys froze as a large hand rested on his shoulder, "How?"

Being forcefully turned around he came face to face with a towering man. It would be a hard contest to compare who was taller this man or the Mountain. Varys swallowed hard as he noticed strange roots and vines seemed to cling to the man's armor, the tattered remains of a white cloak stained with age and scorch marks, "A man does not spend thirty-nine years upon the Isle of Faces without learning to see through masks."

Varys' eyes widened, "Thirty-nine years, that would mean." Varys gasped as the man reached for the sword on his back, "Ser Duncan the Tall. How in the name of the gods?"

The giant of a man chuckled darkly, "The Maesters shouldn't have been so sure of themselves. Egg and I were never easy to kill, your ancestors found that out firsthand."

Varys grimaced, "Is His Grace?"

"No," Duncan's voice held decades' worth of anger and grief, "I pulled him from the fire," Duncan's grip tightened, "but my wounds were too great. We fell into a river; I know not how we reached the Isle of Faces. I awoke to voices I could not understand. Small hands that held me, a bowl was pressed to my lips, and I knew nothing more." Duncan snarled, "I awoke to find Egg, or what was left of him bound to a heart tree. It was the only means the Children of the Forest had to save him, to keep him alive. I stood sentinel over him, listening through the heart trees as the realm descended into madness. I heard every whispered poisonous word you leaked into Aerys' ears, I heard every lie and deceit you pandered to Robert."

"Ser Duncan, I assure you my loyalty is to the realm," Varys whimpered trying to back away from Ser Duncan, but for a man over a century old his grip was as strong as a man a quarter of his age. Varys grimaced, "I'm sure after a nice hot bath, a shave, and perhaps a woman or two you'll be in a much better mood."

He noticed the novice and acolyte had both barely budged having realized the impossibility standing before them. The sound of hurried feet clad in armor gave Varys reason to take a breath. Lord Leyton Hightower and his household guard came into the room swiftly. Leyton froze as he recognized the figure holding who he thought was a maester, "Gods preserve us, how?"

"We've been over that already," Leo Tully turned to Lord Hightower, "Think everyone going to the Isle of Faces disturbed his slumber. Also, that maester is apparently a Blackfyre, and somehow was telling lies to King Aerys and King Robert."

"Whispers," Pate muttered, "Old and New, that's Lord Varys the former Master of Whispers."

Walking past the two young men Leyton looked to Duncan, "Ser Duncan, I was but a lad when we met. I am Lord Leyton Hightower; I have seen your writ. Is it true, was the Citadel responsible for Summerhall?"

Duncan turned his head towards Leyton, "Ask those who still draw breath. Their spoken regrets before the heart tree are the only reason I have shown them mercy."

"You are a brother of the kingsguard even to this day," Leyton swallowed, "but you need not have done this in such a horrific manner. Had you come to me?"

"You have had thirty-nine years to act," Duncan scolded, "I have waited nearly four decades for the Father's judgment to be done. Let them face the Old Gods for their sins."

Leyton motioned to Varys, "I'm not against the extermination of spiders, but the books here are rather delicate. Mind if my men take him to our dungeons and we can deliver him to King Robert together."

Varys felt the grip on him relax just before he was shoved into the waiting arms of a pair of Hightower guards. Duncan sighed, "I must return to a godswood."

"Come, I will show you to the Hightower, a fine place for your repose." Leyton motioned towards the door.

Duncan was no doubt expecting Leyton to trick him into a dungeon cell but was pleasantly surprised when they arrived before a heart tree sapling, "Your sons had difficulties on the Isle."

"None more or less than any of the others who've made the pilgrimage," Leyton chuckled, "Tarly's youngest spent well on a month on the Isle. Said he kept hearing his older brother, even saw him standing next to the sapling when he found it."

Duncan chuckled, "I took pity on the boy. His heart was hesitant, uncertain, but he did not wish to fail in his first task given by his father."

"You have lived nearly forty years alone on the Isle of Faces," Leyton shook his head, "how are you even sane?"

"I was not alone," Duncan walked to the tree, the vegetation clinging to his armor began to fall away, "The Children of the Forest were there, the little tree shepherds. The green men are lost in their dreams. Egg was in and out of reality until the dreams took him six years ago. There are others like me, men bound to their bones."

Leyton froze as Duncan removed his helm. His face was pale as the grave as he sat the helm on the ground beneath the sapling's branches. The Lord of the Hightower gulped, "Are you some sort of wight?"

"The Children say there is a man the Watch calls Coldhands, a man long dead and bound to his bones. I am similar but different. He is cursed to walk the cold North forgotten and condemned for his deeds long ago." Duncan looked to the ground, "I am not dead, my heart still beats. It will continue to beat as long as the realm of the living needs a champion. When the gods deem it so, they will welcome me to their hall. Until that day, my sword is theirs to command."

Leyton moved to kneel beside the warrior, "You said there are others like you on the Isle of Faces?"

"Two," Duncan mused, "Though I doubt they will budge from their endless quarrel. They have been locked in combat upon the Isle longer than even I have lived. The Children find their quarrelsome behavior amusing. Perhaps Lady Cersei will find it as amusing in her exile there."

Leyton blinked, "How are you?"

Duncan chuckled, "All said before the gods are known. I look forward to meeting Lord Stark in person. If born in another time, I am sure he and Egg would have been fast friends."

(King's Landing)

Robert watched the melee intensely, he wished he could be down there with his boy. Ned was right though; it wasn't a king's place to fight in a tourney. Not to mention Robert had put on more than a few stones since the last time he'd fought outside of minor sparring matches. His chosen brother had not softened the blow when he pointed out the kingsguard or others he challenged in such matches would throw said matches.

He tensed as Gendry leaned back to avoid the reach of a Dornish warrior's spear. The blade may be blunted but a whack from that would still hurt. "The little Baratheon bull is sure on the ropes," Tyrion chuckled, "Master of Ships, want to wager?"

Stannis' lip curled, "I do not gamble."

"I'd never guess," Tyrion leaned forward to speak to Renly, "What about you Master of Laws? Want to put some money down on how long your nephew keeps his feet against that Dornishman?" Tyrion asked.

"It's a woman," Ned stated cooly, as Oberyn was gripping the railing tightly.

Oberyn grits his teeth, "Tyene what have I told you about overextending. Footwork, footwork. Your little sister is better at the spear and she's a child."

"Well," Tyrion snorted, "Guess there is no mystery to that warrior's identity." Tyrion frowned at Ned, "Lord Stark, if I'm not mistaken is Tyene not the one who likes playing with daggers and has a fondness for poisonous things."

Lord Stark looked at him, "Yes, but daggers are not permitted in the melee, and I had Sansa and Nymeria personally check she was not carrying her pouch of poisons."

Oberyn growled, "What good would it do, the girl can't hit the broadside of a stag."

They all watched as Tyene spun around Gendry and hooked her spear between the legs of a man who was sword-locked with Sandor. The man tripped breaking the lock, and soon found himself at the business end of Sandor's great sword.

"What was that?" Oberyn shouted.

Ned smirked as he took a drink of ale, "That my prince, was the queen shielding the knight."

"Cyvasse?" Oberyn looked at the other man, "Seriously, they are working together."

"It makes sense," Stannis leaned forward, "She and Gendry pretend to be locked in combat, the other contestants leave them be. Look at the way Ser Manderly and his brother are positioned. They are covering the flanks. Sandor is covering the rear. Ser Dondarrion and the two Kingsguard are the front line."

Renly chuckled, "If they make it to the end and drop their weapons they can split the pot, has always been a custom just nobody acts on it. Usually, someone gets greedy and such alliances break down."

"Most alliances are pairs," Robert grunted, "and usually shook on to last until they're the final two. Brandon and I shook on during the combat melee at Harrenhall, but he was bested by Ser Arthur."

Oberyn shared a look with Ned, and Tyrion mused, "Was someone else in Ser Dayne's armor by chance?"

The Red Viper chuckled, "I'd already been sent home, but my dearest sister wrote to me. Arthur was to fight in the melee, but he had a mild bout with a sour stomach. Since Dawn would not be allowed to be used in such a melee anyway, Rhaegar suggested they find someone who could fit in Ser Arthur's armor."

Tyrion looked to Eddard, "Lord Stark?"

"I don't know what you are implying," The Lord Hand became focused on the battle below.

Robert looked astonished, "Arthur won the melee at Harrenhall, he gave the laurels to…" Robert looked below where Ashara sat with the younger children, "…his sister. He didn't compete in the seven-sided melee the next day."

Stannis frowned, "In fact, the Prince and Princess did not observe the seven-sided melee. Since Robert was competing Rhaegar asked me to take his place as his cousin and observe the festivities with the King. I doubt I ever prayed for Robert to win quicker than that hour I was stuck listening to Aerys muttering about plots and burnings."

"Sorry, I saw you stuck there and tried to unhorse my opponents as quickly as I could," Robert looked to Ned, "Brandon wasn't going down without a fight. We usually got along but something had him riled up."

Ned looked morosely across the field, "We fought, I asked him to witness Ashara and me saying our vows and exchanging our House pins. He refused and threatened to enact the right of the first night if we went through with it. Lyanna slapped him and told him she'd geld him if he ever said such again."

"He found out you were in Arthur's armor the previous day," Stannis realized, "The melee isn't an Andal custom, just something they took from our First Men ancestors."

Tyrion realized, "Brandon felt shamed by you besting him."

"Not only that," Ned grimaced, "Lord Manderly arrived at the tourney with a message from my father. I was to find a wife for myself with Brandon's assistance, and I was allowed to choose my match. It angered Brandon that I was given a choice he was denied. He stated as such after Lyanna had struck him," Ned gulped, "She refused to witness as well, more out of a sense of betrayal than anger."

"That still left Benjen," Tyrion pointed out, "but you went with Dacey, your half-sister."

"Benjen was acting as Brandon's squire, so he forbade him from doing so. Dacey overheard our argument and volunteered to witness. We had barely met." Ned mused.

Oberyn smirked, "Little wonder why you would consider turning the Iron Islands into a monument your ancestor Cregan would be proud of to avenge her honor."

"So, Quentyn told you," Ned did not sound surprised.

Oberyn mused, "What can I say, my nephew was rather shocked. He did not think you capable of such."

Later, Gendry was drinking from the water bucket as the Herald spewed forth some rubbish on the honor of Gendry the Gallant Bull of House Baratheon, the Spear Maiden Tyene Sand daughter of Prince Oberyn Martell, Ser Sandor Clegane, Lord Beric Dondarrion, the brother knights of House Manderly, and two Kingsguard brothers joining forces to win the tourney melee. The Herald was commenting that when it came down to the eight of them their battle bond had grown such, that they could not turn blade upon each other. So as one laid down their weapons and split the prize.

"See dear sister," Tyene spoke as she and Nymeria approached, "one bull unblemished."

Nymeria smirked, "Obara would be proud dearest sister, though you did enter to ensure he remained in one piece." He saw her take out a dragon but held it out of reach of her sister's hands, "But the wager is not complete. The bet was you could seduce him to your bed."

Tyene glared, "I need the dragon to pay for a room. Ellaria realized what we were planning and told Father."

Gendry blinked, "What? You were planning?"

"Well, cousin," Nymeria smirked, they always referred to anyone base-born as cousin, "Tyene here is still a maiden, at least that pompous Herald got that bit right, as no doubt you heard father shouting that her spear work leaves much to be desired. I have paramours and our elder sister Obara has sworn off men. Behind Princess Shireen, you are next in line for House Baratheon due to the way kingdoms other than Dorne manage inheritance. Your father is not opposed to our scheme, but Uncle Doran and Lord Eddard might be annoyed by the order in which we do things. Tyene gets with your child, then no one can argue when you take her as a wife."

"Ah," Gendry's brain went blank for a minute, "what? Why, you hate my father."

Tyene nodded, "We can't argue that, but you are not Robert. By the Seven, you only found out Robert was your father a handful of moons ago. Outside of giving you your looks, and affinity with that war hammer, not much of him is in you. Thankfully all his more disagreeable traits did not get passed down to you."

"Still doesn't answer why?" Gendry growled out.

"I told you this plan was rubbish," Jon and Aegon rounded another corner, "Like Tyene said he isn't Robert. He doesn't paw at every pretty girl that passes in arms reach."

Aegon huffed, "Well, then we'll just have to go to Flea Bottom and get them hitched at the Temple of the Fiery Hand, they have a Sept, and one of the Sparrows would do it without any questions."

"Maybe," Jon nodded, "but only after sending a message to father. You do realize all the priests in the temple have a healthy fearful respect of Lord Stark."

"Truthfully, I have nothing to say about this," They all turned to see Lord Stark flanking Gendry's father along with Prince Oberyn. The Master of Whispers was smirking at his daughters, who both looked sheepishly at him.

Robert huffed, "Not like the lad is untried, heard Sandor paid for one of Chataya's prettier girls for him when he took him on as his squire."

A shocked look came to Oberyn's face, "When I squired the first thing my knight bought for me was a new tabard."

"Yeah, Jon didn't get either of us a girl," Robert snorted, "think his first gift to the both of us was a copy of the Seven-Pointed Star." He looked to Ned, "Did you actually ever read that?"

Lord Stark sneered, "Yes, and my copy is still in an almost pristine condition beyond some notations I made, it is in Winterfell's library. Unlike yours."

"Hey that fire was not my fault, and it only scorched a few pages. They were mostly still readable," Robert grimaced, "and you failed to warn me lizard lions are attracted to parchment to use as lining for their nests."

Oberyn cleared his throat as he approached his daughters, "Now, as my lovely paramour tells me the two of you along with your cousin Aegon schemed to get my beloved Tyene, regardless of her lackluster and frankly shamefully inadequate spear skill impregnated by poor confused Gendry. The boy would then feel obligated to take Tyene as his wife so their child would be legitimate."

A chuckle came from Robert, "I told them we could discuss this after the tourney."

"Oh, I'm sure our friend the Herald will love to spin this tale," Oberyn mused.

Robert nodded, "Bride price?"

"She's my third daughter and she is untouched," Oberyn hummed, "Thirty dragons and their first-born squires for Jon regardless of gender."

Jon froze, "How am I getting dragged into this?"

Oberyn chuckled, "Shush, we're negotiating here."

"Arys instead of Jon," Robert countered, "and fifteen dragons, I haven't signed the notices of legitimacy for Gendry or your daughter yet."

"Yet," Oberyn remarked, "Fifteen now, fifteen after the legitimacy is recognized. Firstborn squires with a kingsguard, and their second born is Shireen's cupbearer when she becomes Lady Baratheon."

Aegon frowned, "Lord Stark, exactly how much wine have my uncle and cousin imbibed today?"

Ned snorted, "I wasn't paying attention, and I'm pretty sure Tyrion brought out some strong wine towards the end of the melee."

Ignoring them Robert was musing over the current offer, "Gendry, you've only been with the one girl at Chataya's right?"

"Um," Gendry frowned, "technically we didn't do anything but talk."

Sandor snorted from where he was watching nearby, "I can confirm, the girl was happy as a lark the next morning. Easiest three dragons she'd ever made."

Robert looked shocked, "Ned, you sure he isn't one of yours?"

"Sorry, but I have only slept with two women in my life, you know all mine," Ned reminded him.

"Right," Robert glowered at Oberyn, "Ten dragons before the bedding, another ten after the legitimacy documents, and another ten after the bedding. You get your squiring, and your cupbearer." Robert's speech slurred slightly, "Oh, someone needs to write this down and tell Stannis."

Barristan spoke up from near Sandor, "I'll give an accounting to a scribe once we reach the castle, your grace. I'll also notify Lord Stannis, and have the appropriate payments arranged by the Master of Coin."

"Good," Robert looked to Ned, "Come on Ned, there is a bottle of Arbor Gold in my solar. We should toast to my boy getting hitched."

As the king, his hand, and master of whispers headed for the castle. Gendry looked to Aegon, "What just happened?"

"I do believe King Robert just negotiated for you to marry Tyene," Aegon nodded, "but I am thinking I see why the kingdom was in such financial peril. Robert couldn't negotiate to save his life."

Nymeria smirked, "Well, my dearest sister is worth every dragon. It is the least the King can do."

As Ghost stepped into the light and yawned silently, Jon nodded to the wolf, "I agree, Southron's are tiresome."

(Next Morning)

Oberyn's voice echoed through the Tower of the Hand, "What do you mean I pawned my daughter off to Robert's whelp?" Ellaria sat in the main gathering room as Oberyn paced, "I would remember if I did something so foolish. No offense to the boy, the lad is a fine upstanding young man. Yet does that make him worthy of my Tyene?"

Ellaria looked to Lord Stark, "Lord Hand, you were there, and unlike my love far more sober."

"True," Ned nodded, "but I'm not getting involved. This is between him and Robert." Oberyn looked at him blankly, "Don't give me that look, I warned you both about getting into drinking games with Tyrion."

Tyene stood off to the side, "Does this mean I'm not marrying Gendry?"

"You," Oberyn grumbled, "You and your sister are in so much trouble. If I didn't know you'd just run away I'd ship you off to your mothers for a year."

Tyene looked to Lord Stark, "He knows we wouldn't have to run away. He's tried that with me and Sarella before, he held out half a moon before he sent word he was coming back for us."

"Gah," Oberyn moved to stand before her, "Impudent little girl," she looked at him calmly without fear of his anger, "Oh, my dearest, sweetest, gentlest of my daughters, I didn't mean that, forgive me for raising my voice."

Ned looked to Ellaria, "I take it you are in charge of discipline in this household."

"You would be correct Lord Hand," Ellaria sighed, "Tyene, go to your room. We will not attend the tourney today while your father figures a way to untangle the mess you had a hand in causing."

Oberyn dramatically threw his hands up, "A way out, the ink is dried. There were witnesses, it would be one thing if we were in a solar. We were in public, who knows how many people overheard our discussion." He looked to Ned, "You were sober, why didn't you put a stop to this foolishness."

Ned snorted, "As I said I am not getting involved in a purely Baratheon and Martell matter."

As the words washed through his hungover mind, Oberyn froze, "You approve of this?"

"How do you come to that conclusion?" Ned frowned, "All I said is I'm remaining neutral."

"Why though?" Oberyn questioned, "What have your visions shown you that made it that you did not voice an opinion on this matter?"

Ned grimaced, "In some iterations of events Arya has crossed paths with Gendry. If your brother is so set on her being wed to your youngest nephew, I would think it best we ensure certain possibilities are removed from consideration."

Oberyn grimaced as he double-checked the numbers on his fingers, "Gendry is nearly a man-grown now, she is only a child. Do not tell me he."

"No, and Arya instigates the encounter," Ned sighed, "The night of the final stand at Winterfell. There is no passion or feelings on Arya's part, it is simply her wanting to experience such a thing at least once in her life before her potential death. The path she walked in that world was one of suffering and pain I would never want her to experience again."

"Potential death," Oberyn catches the wording, "there is a chance the battle would have been won?"

"In a world where the Others are not as they are in ours," Ned scoffed, "The Ravens spoke of a world where the Children of the Forest created the Others during their war with the First Men. In that world, Arya would slay a being called the Night's King and break the magic that gave life to the Others. Such a being does not exist in our world, and the Others are a race that existed long before man set foot on this continent."

Ellaria frowned, "Why would they tell you of a world so different from ours?"

"In our world there is the Great Other, the supposedly immortal god-king of the Others," Ned informed them, "It is he who drives the Others to war. If we defeat him, his people will lose their will to fight, and they will return to their lands of Always Winter. In the series of events shown to Lord Tywin, Arya nearly succeeded, but was prevented by the wight of Jon. I have tried not to focus on the ends my children faced, but that one is the hardest. Arya had become hardened by the events in her life, but to see the fear, sorrow, and pain as her brother's corpse was used to end her life." Eddard's jaw tensed as he recalled the images from the vision.

Tyene moved to pour Lord Stark a drink, as Oberyn dropped into a nearby seat, "That is the one part of this situation I do not regret." The Dornish Prince swallowed back rising bile, "Do not think I have not been tempted to seek answers to the question. To know my daughters' fates in hopes of saving them. I tell myself that it does not do to dwell on events that will not come to pass."

Ned nodded as he accepted the drink from Tyene, "I try telling myself that, but it is not an easy thing." He looked seriously at Oberyn, "I'd also not be much of a source in that area. There was not much contact between my children and yours. Sansa crossed paths with you and Ellaria briefly here in King's Landing, but Baelish abducted her for his own twisted schemes. The Ravens did not think much of what happened here when my kin no longer were present would matter to me."

Oberyn snorted, "Those Ravens were quite high on themselves thinking they knew what was best for everyone." He looked to his daughter, "Tyene, you are not opposed to this match."

Tyene gave her father a demure smile, "I would not have agreed with Aegon's plan if I was opposed. Father, I am the third oldest, Obara has made her choice to not marry, and Nymeria has already chosen her path." She looked to Lord Stark, "Is not the greatest revenge making your enemies realize that you survive regardless of what they have done to you. Is that not the way the First Men have avenged themselves against the Andals and their Faith?"

"It has long been our custom," Ned acknowledged, "Also," he pulled a vial out of his desk, "See what you can do to create more of this. Lief tells me it is what her people use on their arrows to defend against Others. I know this may be more in your sister's abilities, but…"

Eyes widening in wonder Tyene took the little vial, "True, but if it is poison-based, I should be able to figure it out." She took the vial and frowned at it, "Though, is there any way to get another sample?"

Ned nodded, "Lief has a few vials left, but even her people have lost the secret of its manufacture. It was created by the First Men during the first Long Night. The man who made it is unknown and if he left any notes would similarly be unknown."

Tyene bit her lip as she looked seriously at the vial, "Hmm, I'll need access to a maester's lab. Sarella might be able to do some research from her perch next to Maester Luwin in Winterfell." She looked to Lord Stark, "Is there an account of its reaction with the Other's. What symptoms does it cause?"

"I'll have Lief come speak with you," Ned frowned, "She is the only one who openly speaks common."

Tyene nodded, "I'll get to work right away."

As the young woman darted out of the room Oberyn chuckled, "You have made her day, my Lord Hand." Oberyn leaned forward, "So, any bets on today's preliminary jousts?"

"I'd hate to make you bet against your nephew," Ned mused.