Chapter 20

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

(Sunspear)

Doran glared at the letter from King's Landing, in neatly written words Quentyn was being invited to compete in the Hand's Tourney. His name had been put forward to represent Dorn among the kingsguard, and all those nominated for the vacant positions were asked to compete in the tourney to display their ability.

Arianne was reading over his shoulder and placed her hands there, "This smells of Uncle Oberyn's doing. He knows you plan to remove Quentyn from the line."

"Agreed daughter," Doran dropped the letter on his desk, "While surprising it is not unexpected of my dearest brother. He is a creature of passion and he would feel guilt if I had to resort to less than pleasant means to deal with your brother."

He could hear the mirth in his daughter's voice as she spoke to another in the room, "Hear that Quentyn, Uncle Obi loves you enough to make you protect Robert until he finally gives Aegon what is rightfully his."

Quentyn pushed off the wall he'd been leaning against, "Father, I don't know what I have done to displease you so."

"You don't," Doran picked up a pile of missives, "you attempted to undermine me numerous times while we were in Winterfell. These were the letters Maester Myles received from Winterfell's rookery. Son, did you truly think Winterfell would have a raven trained to fly to Yornwood?"

"Lord Yornwood merely wanted to know how things in the North were," Quentyn bowed his head, "I said nothing that would have undermined our family's position."

Doran pulled one of the opened missives, "You tried to tell him of Edric's parentage. You nearly sabotaged the entire reason I made the journey to Winterfell in person. Do you understand what would happen if Yornwood brought that mess to the other Lords of Dorne? They need to hear it from me, with an explanation and the line of inheritance that keeps Starfall in the hands of Daynes loyal to this House."

"Sorry Father," Quentyn shook his head, "I didn't think the matter through."

"No, you didn't," Doran huffed, "Your mother was right, I never should have fostered you with Yornwood."

Quentyn gulped, "I will compete in the tourney."

"Yes, you will," Doran growled, "You will make a grand showing of yourself. Then as either the tourney's champion or whenever your arse makes contact with the dirt. You will kneel, say your vows to Ser Barristan, dawn the white cloak, and proudly take your place as your cousin Aegon's protector."

"What if I'm assigned to Jon?" Quentyn gulped.

Doran snorted, "Then prove you are at least adequate enough to compare to a mute albino dire wolf. In fact, take a lesson from the beast, silence and observation might serve you well."

Quentyn took that as a dismissal and departed the solar. From a seat next to an open-air window, Mellario spoke, "You need not be so harsh to the boy. It was your decision to foster him with Yornwood, even though I begged you not to."

"Must we have this argument again?" Doran's countenance sagged, "You know I hate it when we fight."

"I have been in Novos for years and only aided you in these matters as you deemed it fit to send our sons to beg for my help." Mellario smirked, "Then trick me into ruling while you and the children ran off to the North. You couldn't even leave Ellaria or one of Oberyn's daughters to keep me company."

Doran sighed, "There are so few I could trust dearest wife. Besides, I doubt you'd have appreciated the chill of the North. It was only the generosity of Lord Stark seating me closest to one of the hearths that helped warm the great hall that kept from exacerbating my condition."

"You have always spoken highly of this Lord Stark," Mellario sighed, "It is a pity I missed the opportunity to meet him."

"Hmpf," Doran scoffed, "remain in Dorne and you will have your chance. I plan to have my nieces coaching our youngest to be ready to win the affection of Lord Stark's youngest. She is her aunt incarnate, if she is much the free spirit Lyanna was, then she will fall in love with this land as well."

Mellario smirked, "Is this your way of asking me to return to your side."

"This is where I go do my duties and leave you to make moon eyes at each other," Arianne grimaced as she made for the door.

(Highgarden)

Willas leaned back in his favorite seat situated on a terrace that overlooked the garden maze that surrounded and protected his ancestral home. Currently, a servant was applying a linament Tyene Sand had prepared for him. It produced a soothing warmth on his weakened leg that kept the muscles and tendons from tightening up. The results kept the pain to a level where he could at the very least walk aided only by his cane.

Before him, Obara Sand leaned on the railing overlooking the gardens, "You know Obara you can relax, I doubt anyone is planning to attack. The Florents have even been rather quiet as of late."

"They are only contemplating the fact your House is now tied to House Stark," Obara huffed, "They still covet Highgarden, they believe their claim is stronger after all."

"If you're worried Arianne will be marrying into a deposed Great House, I'd remind you we're tied to House Stark through marriage. Besides grandfather has his current Florent wife to keep them from doing anything stupid."

The double doors inlaid with Myrish glass leading from the terrace were opened by Left and Right, the twin bodyguards of his grandmother. They shared a nod with Obara as their mistress hobbled out to sit in the lounge chair next to her grandson, "Willas, what is that odor?"

"A side effect of a medicinal ointment," Willas indicated to the servant who was just finishing and putting the cover back on the container, "Helps with aches and pains, would you care to try it?"

"Perhaps another time," Olenna looked down her nose at the servant girl, "A homely girl, would it not be more proper to have the maester apply it."

Willas grimaced, "I'll keep her, soft hands with fewer callouses." Motioning the girl to leave Willas focused on his grandmother, "What do I owe the honor of this visit grandmother?"

The Queen of Thornes held out a parchment, "From your sister in her icy den in the North. She is with child, and has taken a couple of those wildling women into her confidences."

A smile came to Willas' face, "Mother must be ecstatic, a grandchild, and so quickly."

"Aye, not even married half a year," Olenna snorted, "Your brother and that apple bride of his could take some pointers." Olenna looked to Obara, "Or do we need to find them a surrogate from Dorne."

Obara sneered, "My dearest sister would agree if they were to ask, but I am not sure how your Northern sensibilities would handle such an arrangement."

Olenna scoffed, "Is that not the story your beloved uncle is spinning to cover Lord Dayne's inheritance of Starfall?"

"Indeed," Obara grimaced, "but to a certain extent it can be seen as the truth. Even if Lady Ashara was not truly willing to give Edric to her brother and good sister, few know that to be the truth. Even whispered it would sound empty with the fact Lady Dayne ran away to Essos to protect and raise Aegon."

Olenna nodded, "Better head on your shoulders than many give you credit." She looked to her grandson, "Once the Stark girl arrives in Dorne I want you to make your way there. The betrothal of you and Arianne will be made public following Quentyn Martell joining the kingsguard."

Willas looked confused, "Quentyn is next in line as the Prince of Dorne."

"He displeased his father," Olenna pulled another parchment from her sleeve, "Oberyn sent this to me as the Master of Whispers. I want you to help sway the Stark girl to do what is right and agree to marry Trystan. Take your hawks, act like a wise older brother, do whatever it takes to get that wild little she-wolf to do her duty."

Willas caught Obara's glare, he knew the Sand Snakes had become protective of the girl. Obara out of all of them was old enough to remember meeting Lyanna Stark in Sunspear. "I'm sure it will not be as difficult as you think. The girl, Arya, no matter how wild is a Stark, and if anything they are known for doing their duty. Even if it may differ than what others deem so."

(King's Landing)

Arya looked at the letter Nymeria handed her along with a gift. The letter was written in Trystan's handwriting, 'Arya, my mother has introduced me to a new game from Essos I hope you find it interesting as well. The rules are rather complicated, Mother says Nymeria and Tyene are skilled players. If what my sister says is true your brother Edric is somewhat skilled as well. Cyvasse is a game of strategy, Father is having a much larger board and pieces made at the water gardens.'

Turning to the gift Arya saw the board and pieces, "Edric has been teaching Jon and Aegon how to play."

"I know," Nymeria smirked, "I saw a board in your father's solar in Winterfell, most likely a gift from one of his Essosi contacts. Father learned the game during his time in Essos."

"You think Danaerys knows how to play, she grew up in Essos?" Arya asked.

Nymeria frowned, doubtful the Targaryen girl had time to learn the game while fleeing assassins and eeking out a living, "I am not sure. Let me teach you, and then we can seek her and your sister."

It took several tries for Arya to get the hang of the game. The rules were complicated with various pieces moving in particular ways depending on the layout of the pieces on the board. Nymeria soundly beat her the first couple of games, but Arya soon learned to place her pieces in a way to counter her teacher's opening moves. After nearly beating the older girl in the fourth game, Nymeria changed her opening placement and soundly beat the younger girl again.

Arya huffed, "You placed your pieces differently."

"I did," Nymeria smiled gently, "you were getting used to my original placement but you must be ready for different formations. Just as our fathers would have to anticipate the placement of enemy troops on a battlefield. Father once told me that rarely does a plan of battle meet success, you have to be prepared to change your attack based on where your forces are and how the enemy is deployed. It is much the same here, the screen prevents you from seeing how the pieces have been arrayed, you can only place yours to anticipate."

"Then plan my moves to adjust to your formation," Arya nodded examining her pieces, "Can we play another round?"

"Pardon," both turned to see Jaquen standing at the door of the room with a Stark guard, "A girl and her friend are late for a midday meal with a girl's sister. A man was sent to ascertain their whereabouts."

Arya looked to the window and saw the sun was high in the sky, "Sansa is going to be mad."

"A girl's sister is displeased, yes." Jaquen smirked, "but a man assured her a girl had no doubt lost track of time."

Nymeria smirked, "An assassin, sword instructor, and valet all in one. The Faceless Men have definitely missed their true calling."

"A man knows not what you speak of," Jaquen bowed, "He is but a lowly Lorathi sellsword, employed to attend a girl."

Cleaning up the board and pieces Arya stood, "We better go. Before Sansa sends the rest of the household out to find me."

"A girl speaks the truth," Jaquen stepped aside to allow Arya to lead the way out of the room.

It did not take long to arrive at the dining area of the Tower of the Hand. Arya sat her cyvasse set on a table as she made to join her siblings and the other highborn residents of the Tower. All who'd been patiently awaiting her arrival.

As she took her seat next to Sansa her sister passed her a damp cloth, obviously expecting her to be dirty. The seat at the head of the table was empty, "Where's father?"

Bran answered, "King Robert went to view the preparations for the tourney. Father went with him."

"Speaking of," Jon looked sternly to Arya, "where were you, some of us have schedules to keep to."

"Sorry," Nymeria spoke up, "time got away from us, I was teaching Arya how to play Cyvasse. Prince Trystan sent her a set, the game is rather popular in Dorne."

"Margaery was speaking of it," Sansa spoke up, "she'd yet to play it herself but desired to learn it."

Edric took a sip of his drink, "Doubt she has much time to play as the Lady of Winterfell. Preparing the North for winter is no small feat."

"Most of that is Robb's responsibility," Jon corrected, "Lady Margaery will mostly have to focus on Winterfell itself and ensure Winter Town is ready for those who reside there during winter. It is a large task, but I'm sure Lady Caitlyn and Sansa ensured she was well informed on the duties."

"She was helping me while mother was unwell," Sansa sipped her drink, "I have no doubt our good sister will acquit herself admirably. Did father not inform you yet, Robb sent word, she is with child."

Alysane snorted, "Not a surprise the way those two were acting after the wedding. Ned made a good match for his boy," She was seated next to Jon and nudged his shoulder, "Now if we can just find someone to make a man out of this maiden."

"Sister," Dacey warned, "there are children present." She indicated Arya, Bran, and Tommen. Alysane's own children while younger were well accustomed to their mother's blunt and crass behaviors. Dacey looked to Jon, "While crude my dear sister is right, have any ladies at court struck you fancy, nephew. Your brother is already circling our dear niece."

Jon gulped, "I'm not sure." He looked over Bran's head to Aegon who was seated on the younger boy's other side, "Until recently I wasn't thinking about that kind of thing. I mean, I always thought any child of mine would have to bear the name Snow."

"Considering you opted to join a celibate order in the visions," Aegon mused, "I don't doubt you'd have done so again had things not been so irrevocably changed. However, seeing as we are the only ones capable of carrying the Targaryen name, we both are needed to stabilize our House. It has not been uncommon for inheritance to fall back on a younger brother of a previous king."

Daenerys spoke up, "We should also take into consideration you are marrying the North, Aegon. Jon should look to one of the other realms for a wife."

"True," Aegon mused, "And I believe Lord Stark's declaration of his children marrying the First Men's blood stands true for Jon as well." Aegon looked to his cousin Nymeria, "Cuz, are there any noble Houses in Dorne with a daughter that fits the parameters?"

"Parameters?" Nymeria frowned, "Decent of the First Men, being living and capable of bearing children. That's not a lot to go on, and I'm guessing you'd like to look outside the family, that narrows it down a little bit, but not much."

Jon glared at the pair, "Maybe I look elsewhere seeing as we have Dorne through you brother."

"Right," Aegon rubbed his chin, "We have the Vale through Robert Arryn's kinship with Sansa, the same with the Riverlands with Edmure being her uncle. With Theon as heir of the Iron Islands, we have them, plus the contract of Edmure's marriage to Asha. The Stormlands are ruled by the Baratheons and they are our kin as well. Through Margaery being wed to Robb we have the Reach. That leaves the Crownlands and Westerlands," Aegon grimaced, "No offense to Lady Myrcella, she is a sweet girl regardless of all the horrendous things her mother has done."

Tommen pipped up, "Grandfather plans to marry her to a Westerland house." The boy frowned, "He wants me to marry Lady Shireen."

"He may want, but that doesn't mean he'll get it," Dacey stated, "What's with the frown, Shireen is a pleasant girl."

Tommen sighed, "She was my cousin until a few months ago."

"Right," the others noticed the heir of Bear Island grimace, when she noticed the look she sighed, "Lady Caitlyn didn't know my parentage either remember. She tried arranging a betrothal between Benjen and me. Let's just say Alysane's language is tame compared to Mother's when she is provoked."

"If bear baiting is anything like baiting a wolf," Aegon mused, "I am surprised Lady Caitlyn survived."

"Probably the benefit Father put his foot down," Jon gulped, "I was five, Uncle Benjen left for the Wall just after."

Alysane downed her drink, "So, what are we looking at in the Crownlands, got any House here that aren't pure Andal?"

"Probably," Aegon mused, "The Andals killed a lot of the First Men, but they converted just as many. In fact, save for the Martells and Arryns, every Lord Paramount House south of the Neck was a converted family."

"Can't say much for the Conqueror, but the guy sure chose his Lords Paramounts well," Alysane mused, "How'd the Valyrian get a lucky draw like that?"

The clatter of silverware drew attention to Daenerys. She looked to Aegon and Jon, "He knew."

Aegon frowned at his aunt, "What?"

"Aegon the First," Daenerys swallowed, "He knew the Others would come, that's why he chose Houses with ties to the First Men. The destroyed Houses of Gardner and Hoare were both likewise First Men, but they refused to bend their knee. Why do you think he chose the Tullys, to replace House Hoare in the Riverlands, besides the fact they turned against Harren and allied with Aegon, they had the oldest clear lineage to the First Men. The Blackwoods were the only other family with a clear lineage but they follow the Old Gods so they wouldn't have been accepted by the other Rivermen. The Tyrells were the steward House to the Gardners, why uplift a lower House when the Gardners had kinfolk in other Houses."

"The Tyrells lineage can be traced back," Sansa answered, "There is a book in Winterfell's library with the names of those who attended the last kingsmoot among the First Men. When the Kingdom of the First Men first splintered into what eventually became the Seven. The Tyrells are named in the book, that event took place over a century before the Andals came."

"History is written by the victors," Jon looked to Aegon, "When did our ancestor appoint the Tyrells to govern the Reach? Before or after Torrhen knelt?"

Aegon frowned, "The Maesters claim the Tyrells were immediately rewarded with their position and titles for securing High Garden in Aegon's name." He shook his head, "I have my doubts though, and even more so with what I've been hearing in the small council. Unfortunately, there is not much written from that time that isn't moderated by the Citadel. Any personal writings of Aegon or his sisters are long lost, especially with the turmoil of the Dance. What of King or Lord Torrhen Stark?"

Jon and Sansa shared a look before shaking their heads, Sansa answered, "Torrhen left no writing, or if he did they were likewise lost. Even when teaching us about our ancestors, Father could only speculate on Torrhen's thoughts. It wasn't common for Lords of Winterfell to keep personal journals, most of what we know of Cregan Stark comes from the journals of his half-sister Sarah Snow. She wrote detailed accounts of her talks with her brother. We know Cregan took the position as Hand for only a day because he felt his place was in the North."

"As Lord Stark does," Aegon nodded, "but he knows the realm needs someone to guide them through the coming crisis. Who better than a man whose ancestors defeated these monsters in ages past."

(Tourney Grounds Near King's Landing)

Robert took a deep breath of the clean air, half a mile from the city walls the flat span of ground used for tournies the last three centuries. During his reign, he'd made a few modifications, like a more permanent set of stands including the royal box. The Dragons would just have the stands raised and torn down after each tourney. Petyr had made one smart suggestion, a permanent setup would cut on the overall costs.

The initial cost hadn't been cheap, and one of the loans from Tywin had gone to pay for the stands. Robert looked to where Ned was talking with a carpenter. A group had been employed to check the permanent structures and build the portions of the grounds that would be set up for the archery. The melee would be held on the tilt yard, the dividing post between the jousters was designed to be removed.

"Good day Your Grace, Lord Hand," Robert turned to see Tyrion strutting toward him, "Come to see how the Crown's coin is being spent."

"Aye Lannister," Robert grumbled, "What's the damage?"

Tyrion snorted as he looked to the boy flanking him, "Pod, what was it our good friend the Master Carpenter said?"

The boy stuttered, "He said he wasn't…wasn't running a charity…my lord."

"Right," Tyrion smirked, "I might have implied the Lord Hand would enjoy employing the man to help refurbish the castles along the Wall. I do think he is rethinking his costs."

Ned walked over to them, "You threatened a man with the Wall because he was overcharging the Crown?"

Tyrion shrugged, "I'm the Master of Coin, overcharging me should be a crime against the Crown."

"Are you talking about the Master Carpenter of Lady Chataya," Ned growled, "Being the Master of Coin does not mean you can arrange whores to be sent to my tower."

Tyrion grinned impishly, "I know not what you mean Lord Hand, I am insulted you would think I would…"

Pod spoke up, "My lord you said to Madame Chataya the Crown Prince would find his room more comfortable with some company."

The dwarf of Lannister sent a betrayed look to his squire, "Pod, what have we said about time and place."

Podric gulped, "Sorry my lord, but it's not like I said you told her the Lord Hand would be less prickly if he…"

"Pod," Tyrion threw his hands up, "please, I rather get through the day not being chased by a pack of wolves. Thank you, now go see that the competitor tents are being properly anchored." Robert could not resist chuckling as the shorter man grimaced at Ned, "Pardon Lord Hand, I am still working with Pod on realizing when it's best not to repeat everything I've said."

Eddard smirked, "Just know Tyrion, dire wolves don't chase, they stalk."

"Right," Tyrion indicated the grounds, "we will be ready by the end of the week, that is if the High Septon has regained control of his bowels whenever he sees Lord Stark." Tyrion frowned, "Speaking of which," he began looking around, "Where is she?"

"Who?" Ned frowned.

There was a sudden shriek and several men came running from the tilt yard, "Wolf, monster wolf."

"Ah," Tyrion nodded, "found her."

Shanking his head Ned turned to the tilt yard, "Lyannna, you're as bad as your namesake." The dire wolf loped to his side and gave him a look of excitement. "Yes, I know there are a bunch of new places for you and your pups to lurk about scaring poor innocent bystanders."

Robert snorted, "You scold her like you used to scold Lyanna."

"It's about the only thing that works," Ned grumbled, "She's not her pups, and I'm not my children. Our bond is not as strong."

Tyrion rubbed his chin, "But you can see through her eyes as they can see through those of their wolves." At Ned and Robert's look the dwarf smirked, "What? I read about wargs when I was ten, and not from the scripture of the Seven. The library at the Rock is second only to that of Winterfell, though I am hard-pressed to admit anything of House Lannister is second to anything."

Ned sighed, "I can, but it is not a matter of choice. Lyanna can sense my feelings. She permits me to see through her eyes that which she feels I need to see and hear. It was unsettling, the first time she did so was that first feast after you all arrived at Winterfell, it was why I agreed to Robb and Margaery's match. She found them outside the great hall."

Tyrion nodded, "I was taking a piss, and saw them interacting with her from a distance. Decided to give my congratulations at a later time."

Ned rolled his eyes at the shorter man's quip, "I saw in Margaery what it takes to be the Lady of Winterfell, to be the maternal hand guiding the people when her Lord Husband is focused on protecting them from the terrors in the dark." Eddard shook his head, "I never understood what my father meant by that until I saw through her eyes a Southron flower brave enough to lay her hand upon the head of one of the most deadly animals in the known world."

Robert indicated to the wolf at his side, "I tend to forget she is that dangerous when she acts like a loyal hound. You think it best we kennel them during the tourney?"

"You'd have a rebellion from my children at such a suggestion," Eddard snorted, "I have thought Caitlyn was going to be chased from Winterfell had Jon not suggested they send them out to hunt with their mother while we awaited your arrival."

"Instead she was chased out by a cadre of overzealous noblemen," Tyrion remarked, "Not sure what my father was hoping to gain from doing as such."

Robert scratched at the back of his head, "Not sure what the mangy old lion expected, I just wanted her to stop making Mya and Gendry out as horrible people. I'd take the scorn aimed at me, but they aren't to blame for my weakness. I mean, Mya and Gendry were both conceived before I was even married, not to mention grieving."

"What about poor little Edric Storm?" Tyrion mused, "Was your brother's wedding such a grim affair your grief put you in his wife's cousin in the bed meant for the bedding. I mean, from all reports that vein on the side of Stannis' brow was bulging dangerously close to exploding."

A grumble came from Robert, "Aye, but thanks to your damned sister I've spent less time with the boy than with Gendry, and I've only known of him for a few moons." Robert looked to Ned, "Caitlyn might have been a prideful woman who couldn't see past her own faith to look at the boy's worth regardless of the truth. At least she never tried to have him offed. Only three of my gits yet draw breath, and none of those who passed died of natural causes."

"Four, technically five," Ned frowned.

Robert blinked, "What?"

"Lady Chataya didn't visit just to inform of Lord Tyrion's little game of hiring girls for the young men under my charge and myself," Ned looked to Tyrion, "Be thankful I chose to keep from Ashara you hired one for Edric as well." Ned focused back on Robert, "One of her girls recently birthed a daughter. The child has your eyes."

"Mhaegan," Robert nodded, "red hair, the girl has my hair color as well?"

Ned frowned, "She's a newborn, but what little hair she has is darker than that of her mother. Chataya informed me that the mother had not been seeing clients other than your Royal personage. I didn't need further details. I've made arrangements for Barra and her mother."

A snort came from Robert, "Back to the business of cleaning up after me."

"If I were paid for such services I'd have afforded the reconstruction of Moat Cailin, the Broken Tower, and still had enough left over to buy both my daughters Mryish glass mirrors." Ned mused.

Robert gulped, "You said five, um did I leave another one in the North?"

"Gods no thankfully," Ned glared, "but think back to a time you spent in a brothel while Jon and I didn't have time to clean up after you."

There was a pause and Robert frowned, "Stoney Sept, way back in the Rebellion?" Robert shook his head, "Damn, why'd you not say something sooner?"

"The girl is nearly six and ten," Ned frowned, "living in the brothel she was born in. I'm sure I don't need to spell it out."

Robert turned to the kingsguard at his side. Preston Greenfield, "Preston, send some men to retrieve her."

Tyrion frowned, "Stoney Sept, that would be the Peach," the half-man looked to the kingguard, "The girl's name is Bella, she was named for the battle. She's the only girl with black hair and blue eyes there." He pulled a coin pouch from his belt and tossed it to the man, "That should cover the cost of getting her released from whatever debt Tansy has over her."

Ned looked to Tyrion, "You know the place well?"

"I missed out on the Rebellion, too young and," Tyrion indicated his height, "being the Queen's brother had its perks. I went traveling to see the places the Maesters wrote about the Rebellion. Of course, the Peach was only mentioned in passing, but Tansy speaks highly of His Grace. I was surprised to see a girl with hair the color of coal and eyes that blue. Especially in the Riverlands where Andal red is the far more common color of hair."

Robert growled, "Did you?"

"By the Old and New, I swear I did not touch her," Tyrion stepped back, "this was around ten years ago, she was only six or seven. If I'd even a whisper they were turning out girls that young I'd have gone to Renly immediately. We don't have much in the way of regulations or protections, but any proper Westrosi establishment does not deal in children."

Robert nodded, "That reminds me, Ned, that Red Priest, the big one. He said a slaver he recognized from Essos was spotted talking to some people on the Street of Silk." The king would swear the temperature dropped as Eddard's face hardened.

The Lord of Winterfell growled, "Did he now." Ned looked to Lyanna, "Find him." The dire wolf snarled before turning and loping off.

"Did you send her after the priest or the slaver?" Tyrion gulped.

Ned glared at him, "Seeing as I know not what the slaver looks like. I think that question answers itself."

(Flea Bottom)

The Temple of the Fiery Tree was coming together better than expected. Moqorro stood overlooking the central area of worship. The manse the temple had been given was old, not officially inhabited since the time Westrosi referred to as the Dance of the Dragons. The decades of neglect had caused the roof to cave in. It had taken some prodding to get carpenters willing to work for them.

The weirwood sapling now stood center within an indoor garden, the new roof sheltered the other worshiping spaces. The altar to R'hllor sat before the tree. Fourteen braziers representing the Fourteen Flames of Valyria took the place of sentinel trees. Other Essosi had found their way here, an altar to the Black Goat was installed in an unused room off the main area. The Dothraki had paid a stonemason to create their Great Stallion, it stood proudly near the weirwood, one day to be shaded by the heart tree's branches.

"Quite the setup we got going here," Thoros leaned against the railing next to Moqorro, "what's the tally?"

Moqorro glared, "We are not here to convert."

"Of course," Thoros smirked, "but you've been keeping count anyways."

"Fifteen, to R'hllor, five and thirty to the Old Gods," Moqorro spoke evenly, "Though, I feel most of those thirty were simply taking the safety of your Fiery Hand protecting them as an opportunity to openly worship the Old Gods."

"What can I say," Thoros chuckled, "I am a sucker for blokes who get things done. The Lord of Light gives us signs and potents. The Old Gods make effigies out of condemned men on their sacred trees. I've seen it twice now and it still unnerves me. Lest poor Blount is not screaming his head off for all eternity."

Moqorro frowned as a group of men in brown robes entered the sanctuary, "Who are they?"

"Beats me," Thoros whistled and members of the Fiery Hand made themselves known, "They looking for trouble they'll regret having found it."

"Agreed," Moqorro followed his fellow priest down the stairs. They met the group just as Melisandre greeted them coolly.

The man in the lead spoke pleasantly, "Pardon our intrusion, but word reached us that a sanctuary of faith had been built in Flea Bottom. To which god do you serve?"

Melisandre frowned, "We are servants of R'hllor, in his infinite wisdom and love he has opened his heart to all men of any faith. From here we serve to help the poor of this city, to remember those forgotten. To give succor to those abandoned."

The leader of the group nodded, "I see, you saw a way to sway the hearts and minds of these poor people to steal their souls for your god of fire."

A sneer appeared on Melisandre's face, "Oh, my dear Sparrow, you are mistaken." The group of Sparrows drew clubs, but hesitated as the soldiers of the Fiery Hand drew swords that ignited with flames, "We are their salvation from the hypocrisy and abuse of the Seven."

"Enough," Moqorro commanded, his voice shocking both, and even the Fiery Hand soldiers looked visibly shaken, "What is the meaning of this?"

Melisandre bowed her head, "These men are Sparrows, poor Septons from the countryside. Though the name has not come to much renown in this world Ser Davos spoke of them. They wish the return of the Faith Militant orders, they are probably riled that we tend to the sick and needy of King's Landing."

The leading Sparrow looked to the Fiery Fist members, "The king permits you a standing army?"

"I wouldn't call it an army," Thoros huffed, "more a guard detail. The Gold Cloaks are stretched a bit thin, what with the Master of Laws culling corruptive influences in their ranks. Besides, my men don't enforce religious laws, we protect this temple and all who seek shelter within. Cause harm to those who worship here and then you might be getting a taste of R'hllor's wrath."

The Sparrow smiled benignly, "Do you turn those who follow the Seven from your doors?"

"We would not," Moqorro rumbled, "but no Septon has yet approached us. Our envoys to the High Septon have been turned away unheard."

"You have sent envoys," the Sparrow frowned, a murmuring came from his followers, their crude weapons lowering, "his letter claimed that you denounced the Seven. Declared them false and demand all who enter here to convert to your god." He pointed at the heart tree, "That you even use that as a means to lure in those who still cling to the heathen practices of the First Men."

The Fiery Hand bristled but stood down at Thoros's gesture, "Pardon friend but watch the language. No heathens here, though we may be followers of different gods we're all bound for the same fate. None of us know the day, but eventually, we meet our end. I'd also warn you that currently the Magnar of Winter's messenger of swift and assured death just entered through the door you lot left open."

All eyes turned to the open door where the largest wolf any of them had seen stood. Everyone froze as she stalked into the room. Thoros having the most experience being in the dire wolf's presence looked around, "No Lord Stark, so guessing she isn't just here for a visit." He motioned to his men and they doused the flames of their swords and sheathed them, "I'd suggest you Sparrows either put away or drop those crudles quick like."

The lead Sparrow looked to Thoros, "Lord Stark lets that monster roam the streets?"

"Who'd be stupid enough to attack her?" Thoros huffed, "Besides, most of the small folk around here are followers of the Old Gods, they just pay your lot lip service to keep from getting flogged or stoned. They see her walking down the street they claim their Magnar is watching over them."

The Sparrow frowned, "Magnar are kings, how is that connected to Robert?"

"Magnar actually refers to something like a guardian in the Old Tongue," Melisandre corrected, "Andals assumed it was king because they led their people. The First Men just never bothered correcting assumptions. The Magnar of Winter is Lord Stark, the Hand of the King and our benefactor."

The dire wolf looked about the room, her eyes focusing on the lead Sparrow for a moment before turning to Moqorro. She gave a huff before turning back towards the door.

Moqorro looked to his fellow priests, "I have been summoned."

"You got that from that?" Thoros indicated the wolf.

"It was rather clear," the lead Sparrow said, "if you do not mind, may I accompany you. I would like to meet the Lord Hand."

Thoros snorted, "You'd be second-guessing that decision after meeting the man. The High Septon has been avoiding Lord Stark for days, few times they crossed paths he's needed fresh robes."

Melisandre rolled her eyes, "See to these men Thoros, I'm sure there is a room that permits a minuscule view of the Great Sept."

Quickly following the dire wolf Moqorro, Melisandre, and the Sparrow arrived at the stables just within the gatehouse leading to the tourney grounds. The Red priest noticed Lord Stark with a large cluster of men including the Master of Law and Master of Whispers, "My Lord Hand, you summoned me."

Lord Stark turned to him, "Moqorro, yes. You recognized a slaver within the city. Is he still here?"

"Indeed," Moqorro nodded, "I felt you of all people would know such men walking amongst free men is a danger. I had my people keep tabs on him, the poor of Flea Bottom have done their part as well. The man had dealings with the previous Master of Coin, he arrived with product unawares the man is no longer among the living."

"Product," Lord Stark snarled, "Lord Martell take a detachment to the docks and have every Essosi ship torn apart if you have to. Then search the warehouses."

Oberyn nodded, "I have an idea of where they are being kept. I'll report our findings."

"A slavery ring in King's Landing," Renly Baratheon hissed, "right under our noses." The youngest Baratheon brother looked to the Gold Cloak at his side, "If any of you were covering this up you can forget the Wall, your heads will be decorating the Red Keep."

The Gold Cloak gulped, "No my lord, at least, I don't think any of us were…Baelish might have bribed some of us to stay away from certain areas." Renly glared at the man and he shut up.

Moqorro noticed when Lord Stark noticed the Sparrow. Lord Stark's arms crossed as he glared at the man, "You're early."

"Pardon My Lord," the Sparrow looked confused.

"Nothing," Lord Stark mused, "what brings you here?"

"Our friend here was sent by the High Septon to harras the Temple of the Fiery Tree," Melisandre explained, "he was led to believe that we stole the heart tree to lure those of your faith to R'hllor. The timely arrival of your living sigil defused a tense moment."

Lord Stark frowned, "I see, believe it is about time me and the High Septon had another talk."

"The last time you and he had a talk he defecated in the middle of the Red Keep's godswood," Renly reminded, "Maybe let someone a bit less terrifying speak with him. Sansa is a sweet girl, I'm sure nothing is frightening about her."

"He insulted her brother, Jon," Ned noted.

Renly nodded, "Arya, she's a bit wild, but she's only ten."

"She's even closer to Jon than Sansa," Ned reminded.

"Right," Renly mused, "Bran, the kid wouldn't hurt a fly, and Summer is like an oversized puppy. Next to Lady the sweetest dire wolf in the world."

Ned raised a brow at his friend's youngest brother, "You set up the meeting, either you or Tyrion present. Remind the man that everything he does gets back to me, and my tolerance for his intolerance is reaching an end."

Renly nodded, "I'll arrange everything, including a clean set of robes just in case the High Septon has another accident."

"Well, that solved," Eddard focused on Moqorro again, "Who is this slaver?"

"A Lyseni merchant prince," Moqorro explained, "Tregar Ormollen."

"Tregar," Jorah Mormont stepped forward from the gathered men, "You're sure?"

The Red Priest bowed his head, "The reason I felt the Northmen would have cause to seek him. He and his household fled Lys when my brothers and sisters in R'hllor's light burned the chains about the necks of those unfortunate souls bound into servitude."

Ned looked to Jorah, "Who is this man to you Jorah?"

"He charmed Lynesse from me, took her as his concubine, heard she'd taken the place as his chief concubine. In Lyseni culture puts her even ahead of the man's wife." Jorah frowned, "My Lord, my pardon agreement didn't include Lynesse. If he brought her here."

"She wasn't guilty of your crimes, though she profited from them," Lord Stark sighed, "I am not a heartless man Jorah."

Jorah nodded, "Nay, but I might take a bit of pleasure in scaring her. Might of loved her once, but should have learned more about her before making the proposal."

"Truer words," Ned snorted before looking to the Red Priest, "Where are they?"

"Tregar and his household are ensconced in a manse on Visenya's Hill not far from the Great Sept." Moqorro began leading the party down the street.

(Later)

The sun was setting as their company reached the manse. They approached with weapons sheathed and Jorah pulled up his hood before any who could recognize him saw. There was minimal activity at the manse, a few children one a girl shared Lynesse's features compared to the others.

Moqorro had informed that Tregar's wife had been left behind with most of the man's other concubines. They had faced the slave uprising with few if any guards. Jorah grimaced at the thought that Lysenne had participated in abandoning women to an angry mob.

Guards posted at the door stepped to block them, "This is the manse of Tregar Ormollen, what business do you have?"

"I am the Hand of the King," Lord Stark's voice was the cold even tone of the Quiet Wolf. If these men knew the beast that stood before them, they'd have turned tail and run. The obvious trembling they showed as Lyanna moved to stand next to Eddard was a clue they might be realizing their fate, "I demand an audience with Tregar, he set himself up in this manse without notice to the crown."

Jorah smirked as the guards looked uneasily at each other. Renly stepped next to Ned, "My friends, I know not how things are done in Lys, but you don't just move into a manse in this city. These buildings are owned by the crown and lent to our nobles as needed. We have a tourney coming up and our friend the Master of Coin checked the accounts, no one is supposed to be living here, especially not rent-free."

"Show us to your employer," Ned's words were emphasized by Lyanna growling, "now."

Following his liege lord into the manse Jorah motioned to their men to quietly scour the building. The guards remaining at the door were swiftly disarmed and secured as a mix of Gold Cloaks, Stark and Mormont guards, and Baratheon guards entered.

The man guiding them led them to a sitting room, "Master Ormollen, the Hand of the King to see you."

"What," Tregar jolted from his seat, knocking Lynesse who'd been on his lap to the floor, "why wasn't I told." The man was hastily adjusting himself, "Lord Hand, what a surprise, for what do we owe this unexpected honor."

"I have been informed of your flight from Lys," Ned grinned tightly as his eyes fell on Lynesse who paled upon realizing who stood before her, "Lynesse Mormont nee Hightower, what a surprise. Is your husband in service to this man as well?"

Lynesse swallowed visibly, "Lord Stark, I…I know not where my husband is. We parted ways in Lys."

"Parted ways," Ned looked to Jorah who pulled down his hood, "Not exactly how I would put it."

A surprised gasp came from his former wife, "Jorah, how?"

"Royal pardon," Jorah grimaced, "I did a couple jobs for Robert and got one of his cousins safely to Lord Stark. Still disinherited and all, but I can walk about Westeros without fear of losing my head. The problem here, is I have a pardon, but my accomplice wife wasn't included with the pardon."

Lysenne grimaced and turned to Lord Stark, "My Lord, please, my father, he will pay whatever you ask I swear."

"I doubt that," Ned glared, "you abandoned your marital vows, and took up with a slaver."

Tregar paled, "I swear."

"Save it," Renly sneered, "I have friends on the Street of Silk, they tell tales of you offering deals on Lyseni pillow slaves. See, if they bought them, then they are involved in slavery. Which is a sort of big deal with both the Seven and Old Gods making the practice punishable by death. So, your options are the headman's axe or the rope." Renly looked to the Northmen, "I'd highly recommend the axe, the rope is Northman custom and they don't do it the quick way."

Tregar glared at Jorah, "He sold men into slavery, yet he lives."

"I was a coward," Jorah snapped back, "I fully expected Lord Stark to string me up from the nearest heart tree. What I did, I did out of desperation and stupidity. What you do is out of greed and self-indulgence."

Ned growled out, "Arrest them, throw Tregar in the black cells. Take Lysenne to the maiden vault, she is to be kept comfortable until His Grace decides what to do with her. I'd say write to your father, but hope he cares enough about you to save you from the Most Devout."

Lysenne looked faint, "Lord Stark please, anything but that."

Outside Jorah watched as the girl he'd assumed was Lysenne's daughter cried for her as she was escorted away. Most of the children would be taken to a nearby orphanage. A few would be going to the temple in flea bottom, they were not Tregar's but slaves from the man's breeding pins. The thought sickened him.

"Lord Jorah," he turned to see one of his men approach, "Lord Stark wants to know what you want done with Lady Lysenne's daughter. She is still legally your wife, so…"

"I'll take her in for now," Jorah grimaced, "What was she thinking coming back here?"

The guard frowned, "Probably thought hiding here would keep her safe. If not for the Red Priest we'd never known she was here. They'd have probably moved on once they realized they couldn't sell any slaves here."

Jorah nodded, "Good timing then, any word on Lord Oberyn's task?"

"One warehouse on the waterfront. Had a private pier that allowed them to transport people to and from the ships in the harbor. Lord Stannis is already raiding the slaver ships at harbor."

Sighing Jorah clapped the man on the shoulder, "Get with the Gold Cloaks and start patrolling the streets. Anyone suspicious is to be questioned. Lyseni in particular, if anyone escaped the warehouse or was watching the ships they'd be on their way here to warn Tregar."

"Understood sir," the guard moved off to complete his orders.

Renly approached Jorah, "Ser Jorah, thanks for getting that started." He sighed, "Slynt is being removed from his office. Your liege lord will be pleased no doubt, but that means I need a man to lead this rabble."

"I'm a man of the North and a former criminal." Jorah tried to argue.

"Which means I have more faith in you even with your sordid past than half these idiots." Renly grimaced, "I'll make an official request from Lord Stark if I have to, but please, don't make it come to that."

Jorah grumbled, "Fine, just until you find someone else." Jorah glared at the cloak worn by one of the Gold Cloaks nearby, "Also, I'm not wearing one of those getups."

Renly chuckled, "Agreed, I'll inform the small council of the arrangement tomorrow."

"What about Slynt?" Jorah asked.

Renly blinked, "Oh, you haven't heard. During Blount's interrogation, he admitted to knowing Slynt had some guardsmen who'd planned to speak out against him murdered. Even gave us the names of those who did the actual deed. In agreement for being sent to the Wall instead of hung, they agreed to speak out against Janos."

(Near the Neck)

Lancel stood sentry near Wun Wun as Beth told a story to Rickon. It was one from a book the boy had brought with him. Full of text in strange markings the Umbers called runes, even though she couldn't read the text Beth knew the stories by heart. The two Free Folk men seemed engaged too, the massive Styr hanging on to the girl's every word as she told of some ancient Stark ancestor.

Small Jon chuckled as he moved next to him, "The point of being the lookout is looking away from camp, especially as the fire light will dim your vision lad."

"Lad?" Lancel frowned, "You might be the spawn of a giant, but you aren't that much older than me."

Small Jon snorted, "I got my first taste of battle was hunting squids, where were you?"

Lancel huffed, "Lannisport, not yet old enough to join the fighting."

"That's what I thought," Small Jon looked to the swamp barely visible at the edge of the firelight, "We got a month slogging through there. All manner of nastiness lurking in that water and muck. One step off the causeway and your journey ends mighty quick."

Taking a look at where the two Mammoths stood resting beside their horses Lancel frowned, "Will those fit on the causeway?"

"No wider than one of those wheelhouses you Southron like to ride around in, and likely half as heavy." Small Jon, "Well it is what it is."

"There's no alternative path?" Lancel frowned, "You know, one that is less likely to result in our deaths."

The tall man slapped his shoulder, "Don't fret, the worst that is likely to happen is you get eaten by a lizard lion."

Lancel glared, "Thanks."

(Next Morning)

Waking to the GreatJon's deep belly laugh was becoming too routine for the young Lannister's liking. Sitting up from his bedroll he blinked as their party had somehow more than doubled during the night. Surrounding their encampment were thirty men and women, all shorter than average. Lancel recognized the man standing next to their smoldering campfire being greeted by Lord Umber.

Getting to his feet Lancel righted his clothes, "Lord Reed, good day, we were not expecting you."

"Is it not more enjoyable being greeted by the unexpected," The Lord of the Neck grinned.

"As long as the unexpected is good friends and not a knife in the back," the GreatJon laughed, "Near six and ten years of you hiding away in your swamp, now you emerge twice in one year."

Lord Reed tilted his head, "Technically speaking GreatJon, we are still in my swamp, but I get your meaning. Though I rarely attend visitors personally, it has been an age or more since a giant has passed through the Neck. Other than an Umber or two."

"Ha," Great Jon patted the smaller man's back. Lancel was surprised Lord Reed could take such a blow, one of the GreatJon's affectionate jabs had sent him stumbling. The GreatJon looked at Lord Reed's people, "Quite the little welcome you arranged."

Lord Reed's eyes hardened, "Your path means going through the Twins. My people have long known ways to pass into the Riverlands that avoid the Frey and their vaunted bridge." He looked to the giants, "These two just make the options more numerous."

Notes:

Really wonder if anyone actually reads these notes...

- Doran harshness to Quentyn. Quentyn is really not trying to mess things up, and is being honest he doesn't think Yornwood is scheming. Kind of a reflection of the way Robb trusts Theon because they grew up together, or Caitlyn's trust in Petyr, Quentyn trusts Lord Yornwood. Lord Yornwood though still has hostility with Doran and Oberyn for what happened to the previous Lord Yornwood. (First blood duel wound turned septic, Oberyn accused of poisoning or befouling the blade intentionally)

- Obara in Highgarden. Been awhile but an early chapter a post visions Mace was considering taking up an offer from Oberyn to have Obara act as a bodyguard for WIllas. With the Willas - Arianne betrothal the suggestion was taken more as part of the betrothal contract. She's there ensuring Martell interests, i.e. keeping Willas alive.

- Arya and cyvasse. At this point the Sand Snakes have gotten a handle on coaxing Arya to do things she might not normally try or have patience for. Mild manipulation but with no hostile intent. Save plotting to match her with their cousin. They've warned her there will be parts of the day in Dorne even those raised in that climate must shelter indoors.

- Lot of High Septon continence jokes. Probably not a hundred percent true, more likely members of the small council and a few others making the one incident out to being a recurring thing. The High Septon is without a doubt avoiding Lord Stark after the end of the previous chapter.

- Jorah; Lysenne's daughter and Captain of the Gold Cloaks. Somebody had to take over for Slynt. As for the kid, 99.999% likely she's Tregar's, who knows there is that 0.001% chance she's actually Jorah's.

- Lord Reed and the Frey. People of the Neck and the Frey are like oil and water, and Lord Reed has personal reasons to dislike them. One of the squires that attacked him at Harrenhall was in service to a Frey knight. The only time he wants to see giants near the Twins would be the day mammoths were used to tear down the castle walls.

Next chapter we'll get to the Hand's Tourney...