Robb Stark

Rosby, 301 AC

When they arrived at the town, Raymund Rosby had taken one look at the army and disappeared behind the walls from being atop the highest wall. The brother of Lord Gyles Rosby who they'd received word of was currently in the capital enjoying court. They waited for an hour before there was another sighting of him before disappearing again. It becoming clear to Robb the man was considering all of his options before deciding on what to do. Either way, the town was being taken for Jaeron, but less bloodshed would be preferably now as they were now only days away from reaching Kings Landing itself. By the third hour there had been no less than five sightings and many of the men with him were grumbling in annoyance at his lack of wanting to take part but they were satiated that if there was no sign of him bending by nightfall they would attack.

Alas, there was no need for an attack. The hour being close to the hour of the wolf as the gates were opened to expose the large town alongside the castle occupied by House Rosby. Raymund waiting there with his Maester, what he assumed to be a Castellan, alongside a few others who wore crests familiar to him but their faces were anything but familiar. It becoming clear there were very few fighting men which confused him but perhaps that would be answered later.

"Rosby welcomes you, my Lord."

Robb got down from his horse and walked over to the man who was now holding out a tray of bread and salt, wasting no time in sealing guest rights and entering the town. Not that they had any time to talk as a large shadow from above caught his attention and a large grin appeared. Despite being on rocky terms and the lack of blood determining them as such, Jaeron was his brother. They'd grown up together, attended almost every lesson together, and he knew that if anything were to happen to either the other would be there quicker than someone could curse the gods.

Rhaegon landed not long after, kicking up a cloud of dirt as he done so which only expanded when Lyrax landed not long after. Minutes later his brother walking in and nodding his way, wondering why he had taken so long as he was only supposed to go to Duskendale to speak to Lord Renfred. Clearly something had happened which had pushed things out but at least he was here now as were the dragons. Even now, they were still growing a lot but compared to how fast they had grown whilst in the Neck it was nothing.

"Your Grace."

Those words surprised him but he kept his face still. Bold move to go against ones own brother in who they saw as King as the tray was handed to him too. No words being spoken for a few minutes as they walked inside the castle and were granted leave to bathe and to eat which he was glad for. The stench he'd gotten somewhat used to as there were little places to bathe and even lesser time to do so, but that did not mean he misliked it greatly.

"What happened?"

"We have a rotten apple in our ranks, that is what. Who it is, I cannot say, but we certainly do."

Robb's eyebrows creased a little inwards at the way he spoke those words, almost like he was spitting them out in anger.

"Lord Randyll Tarly attacked with an army at the exact time we arrived. Whilst it could be coincidence the timing seems far too convenient to say so."

He knew where he was coming from with those words. Mayhaps if it was a couple of days, but arriving at the same time? The odds of such a thing happening were so rare it was borderline laughable.

"I am guessing Elissa is already working on weeding out who?"

"Not yet. Our focus is on the capital as we are literally days away from the attack, although it really does not seem like that."

By now, a few maids had walked in with steaming buckets of water to fill up a bath for him, one of them saying in passing one was already ready for Jaeron. But his brother did not leave straight away, instead waiting on everyone leaving as he lowered himself into the tub.

"Tell me what happened?"

Jaeron sighed deeply and walked over to the open window to see what was outside, beginning to scrub at the thick layer of dirt sticking to his skin which immediately turned the water a disgusting shade of brown.

"Lord Randyll and Dickon Tarly are prisoners. The attack failed and we lost little men. Lord Harrion Karstark is aware of what befell his father and he is not pleased the Karstark men abandoned us. He doesn't agree with what you did, but he does understand it, and therefore he will accept it with a small concession. What the concession will be is yet to be decided. From there I travelled to Dragonstone to speak to my betrothed and Willas. Before you ask it was not to spend time with a pretty face."

Robb made a funny noise at that, Jaeron groaning and shaking his head.

"Okay partially, but not the main reason. Lord Randyll is sworn to House Tyrell and with House Tyrell now being sworn to me and him swearing to Joffrey he was breaking his oaths. I still do not know the ways of the south well and I needed a second opinion. Who better to get the opinion from than who he was sworn to?"

His mouth closed at that, the mirth he'd allowed himself to enjoy at teasing his cousin over his betrothal disappearing as this sunk in. It made sense, but it would've been nice for him to send some form of communication to alert him of what was happening instead of leaving him in the dark.

"Any news on the search for Ser Jaime?"

"None, now can you leave and let me bathe in peace?"

It was quiet for a few seconds before both broke out in laugher, Jaeron leaving the room not long after and taking as much time as he dared to do so. Stepping out of the water and changing into clean clothes which servants had lain out for him. Southern clothes, his nose turning up ever so slightly at such a thing but there was no use in complaining. It was when it came time for evening meal when three of the wargs they had stationed throughout their enemies camps arrived. Ignoring all taunts their way of frog eater and swamp men, clearly being more than used to such insults as were many of those who came from the Neck. The Neck had not always been a part of the North, only coming into the Kingdom when his ancestor had defeated the Marsh King however many hundreds of years ago. For all he knew, it could've been thousands of years.

"Silence!"

He shouted, spotting Jaeron coming his way after being alerted to who had arrived alongside his uncle and Ser Arthur by his side as always. His brothers words sinking in once more. There is a rotten apple in their camp. Staring at all the faces to see if any gave away the truth but if there was one thing Northerner's were excellent at, it was keeping a straight face to hide what they were thinking. All he did know with certainty was it could not have been any of the Karstark's who had deserted for the slaying of ones own blood was one of the biggest sins in the eyes of the Old Gods.

"What findings have you brought forth?"

One of the wargs shakily walked over, opening his mouth to reveal the slash of where his tongue had been removed for whatever reason and handing over a roll of parchment with words scribbled on it. Jaeron unravelling it and reading aloud.

"Lord Tywin has ordered for Lord Petyr Baelish to travel to the Eyrie on behalf of his Grace, Joffrey of the House Baratheon, to gather support for the crown in its time of need- "

Anger boiled over within him.

"He dares- "

The second warg walked over, one who's name Robb could not recall off the top of his head but he had seen him around. This one still having their tongue and did not have a scroll to write down what had been found, the falcon sitting atop his shoulder playfully nibbling on his ear.

"Lord Robyn Arryn on behalf of his Regent his mother Lady Lysa Tully, has accepted the betrothal offered by Lord Tywin."

Numerous curses erupted at those words, his anger beginning to rip through him like a fire on dry grass. Growing more and more the further he thought on it. The betrayal stinging massively and what it meant for their cause. Lady Lysa was his aunt, Robyn was his cousin, they were his blood. Blood should never turn on ones own blood, and the taste was more sour on his tongue than a fresh Dornish lemon. They had wanted the Vale to join in on the fold, but not like this. They needed the Vale on their side, yet his aunt had all but spat on them alongside trampled all over them like they were thousands of ants below her pretty feet.

"Uncle, how many men does the Vale have?"

He turned to Ser Brynden, whose face was redder than a ripened strawberry at the news.

"Thousands. It is difficult to say nephew for I know many of the Vale Lord's will not agree with this betrothal and what it means. Lord Petyr Baelish is not someone the Vale Lord's are fond of other than those grasping for glory."

And doesn't everyone grasp for glory? Robb thought to himself. There was only one thing they could do now, turning to his brother who had still not said anything as he carefully thought everything through. Nodding his way silently which was all the confirmation he needed as he made his way back to his own tent and demanding parchment be brought to him. He had to write to his mother, if there was anyone who would have any further insight, he could not think of them.

Sansa Stark

Qarth, 301 AC

She had gotten used to the fashion of Qarth since she had gotten here. The first dozen or so times she had seen a woman walk around with a breast bare her cheeks had reddened and wondering how anyone could do so and not feel like they were a whore. Even when it was explained they had done so for hundreds of years, the idea was foreign to her. It was foreign to her, all of it. The people, the camels, the fashion, the tongue, all of it was foreign. Wishing to be home once again and cursing silently to herself why she had ever wanted to leave in the first place.

She wanted to take her shoes off and run through the freshly fallen snow until her skin was soaking and numb from the cold. She wanted to be able to catch snowflakes and memorise the pattern before the heat of her palm melted them. She wanted to feel the freezing cold and see her breath in the air. She wanted to be within the great grey walls of Winterfell with everyone. Her mother, her father, her brothers, her sister. Jeyne and Beth and wishing to have Gage's pies that were filled with venison and onions and peas and carrots. To have lemon cakes and ginger loaded biscuits. To walk through a true Godswood for the first time since she had left. Whilst Kings Landing did have a Godswood, it was not a true one. There was no Heart Tree, no face carved into the white bark of the Weirwood leaking sticky red sap from its eyes and mouth.

Home.

It felt so far away from her now, Sansa wondering to herself if she ever would see home again. Shaking her head to rid herself of the thoughts as she looked around the room in Xaro Xhoan Daxos' manse she had been given. The deep mahogany bed inlaid with gold and the thick velvet curtains dyed such a rich shade of purple she doubted she had ever seen before she had come here. Cups carved from jade and the ones that were not covered in numerous gemstones from diamonds to tourmalines to rubies to sapphires. She'd thought her room in the Red Keep was striking, but it paled in comparison to this.

A slave walked in then, cringing inwardly at the word because slavery had been outlawed in Westeros long ago. But Qarth was not Westeros, and here slavery was as common as summer snows. The girl carrying a tray of clasps to slide into her hair and asking her to choose. Sansa walking over to take them all in and only needing a moment to decide on the one with tourmaline. A stone that looked like fire Maester Luwin had taught her when she had asked about stones curiously when she was much younger. Something she knew to be true now. Sitting down as the slave began brushing her long red hair until it looked like freshly polished copper and twisting it into a Qartheen style and sliding the clasp into place.

Once done, she stood up and made her way outside, for if the slave had come here it meant everyone else was awake and were likely awaiting on her arriving. Finding Rhaenys wearing a positively hideous yellow dress which judging by the slight upturn of her nose she was not keen on but did not want to insult anyone, and Daenerys wearing one of a pale mint and her eyes momentarily widened at her exposed breast. Remembering then she had grown up in the Free Cities, she was aware of the queer customs of the east. It not missing her gaze Ser Jorah was trying to look at anything other than there. Soft steps from behind making her turn around to see Shiera wearing a gown of navy which made her silver hair stand out much more than it already did, the ruby necklace around her neck seemingly glowing in the light of the sun.

The reveal of the woman had stunned them all, no one could deny such a thing. Sansa had heard the story half a hundred times. The woman who's half brothers fought over her so much that they bitterly hated the other when in the end the woman wanted neither. Born of a King yet with a name not of a King. They had asked and they had prodded for information like children wishing to know everything but not once did her tongue slip. The only words that came from her ringing in her ears as clear as the bells the slaves rang to wake them up every morning.

"It would not be a secret if the truth were spilled. For if the truth were spilled, all it takes is one person to twist it into a lie and before anyone can blink the truth is a lie."

Sansa did not understand these words, she was not ashamed to admit such. Perhaps one day they would make sense to her be it a few days or even a few years.

"How did your talk with the Pureborn go?"

Daenerys rolled her eyes which was all the confirmation needed it had not gone well.

"They refuse to aid in any way. They are insulted we have taken residence in this manse due to the hostility between the Pureborn and the Thirteen. They believe if they were to send aid, those who are against their position will take advantage of the lesser men they would command as a result."

"So they are cautious, that is not necessarily a bad thing."

Rhaenys said as they fell into step with one another with Ser Jorah behind the four of them, momentarily wondering to herself where Mychelah was but the thought was gone as quick as it had come. Today, they would be walking through the city to take in everything. To speak to as many nobles as they could to get the help they needed. The dark haired woman on her right not having supposed to have come to Qarth and only doing so on Shiera's insistence when she had only been Quaithe of the Shadow. The reasoning was obvious, for she had reunited with her aunt and they had a small force of Dothraki with them as she was their Khaleesi. Then there were the dragons, despite how small they were. Wondering what Jaeron's dragons looked like for she had only seen their eggs.

"I have less than three hundred Dothraki, aunt. We cannot hope to take Westeros with so little- "

"You would not be taking Westeros though, Princess. My cousin is pressing his own claim."

Rhaenys bit her lip at those words, as Sansa knew that Aegon was planning on doing exactly that. The plan initially was for her to travel to meet with Jaeron to loosen the blow before Aegon arrived to try and prevent the bloodshed that would come. Yet because she had not and if their timing was correct then Aegon would be sailing the Narrow Sea now and may even already be on Westerosi shores. At least her cousins hand would be stalled when it came out it had been Aegon who commanded Torghen to take her from the capital. Whilst she had freedom here, there was no denying she was still a little bird in a cage desperate to be set free into the world.

"Seven breaths of flame, two will be snuffed out to embers and five breaths will remain. Perched atop black stone looking to the past to see the future. A great battle will commence and at the end the dragon will have three heads."

Shiera spoke, her riddles not even taking Sansa off guard anymore. Not that the words made any sense to her for they did not, and judging by the confused expressions on Rhaenys and Daenerys' faces they were in the same boat as she. The sun was beating down on them, wishing once again to be in the cold for wolves were not made for heat like this. For hours they remained out, talking to as many people as they could and discussing who would perhaps be willing to aid them in their quest. For they all knew what was going to happen next, they were leaving for Westeros soon. With luck, before Aegon and Jaeron came head to head. On their way back to the manse they were joined by Xaro Xhoan Daxos who stood beside Daenerys and queried on what had occurred.

"The Pureborn refuse to aid, the Silk King refuses to aid because he has business with the Lannister's, and the Copper King offers us a single ship. Tell me, Xaro Xhoan Daxos, are all the men of Qarth so unwilling?"

The man laughed under his breath for a moment.

"When I came here, I had nothing. I slept on the docks and I would eat only when I could find frivolous jobs. Yet I dreamt I would be regarded in time and so I remained. I sold myself until I had enough money to buy myself a small house. Then I continued to sell myself until I had enough to hire bedslaves of my own. With these bedslaves I built up a clientele and before I knew it, gold coins were slipping out of my fingers I had so much of it. From a man who came from nothing, I am now the richest man in Qarth. If I can gather such respect in Qarth, so can you Daenerys Stormborn."

The lack of acknowledgement on hers, Rhaenys, and Shiera's part was not unnoticed, yet neither of them dared to speak a word.

"The path from poverty to utmost wealth is anything but pure and honourable. Righteous men would condemn such moves yet righteous men are always the ones who are outplayed."

Sansa bit her lip at these words, knowing who he was referring to with those words. But no, she would not unleash her fangs now, for that would be improper. She was his guest, and she had to remember such.

"Yet I have no regrets, for I have everything I have ever wanted."

They paused then as he opened the ornate gates into the gardens surrounding his manse. Not even realising they had made their way back yet. For a moment, she felt glee, but only for a moment. For the second they walked within the gates, she saw the bodies, saw the blood, saw the guts spewing from many wounds. Feeling her stomach flip uncomfortably at the sight. Daenerys breathing heavily before running, Rhaenys remaining behind with her as Xaro ran after Daenerys.

"The Dothraki..."

Rhaenys trailed off, Sansa only realising then who the bodies belonged to. Eyes widening as she began breathing heavily too. Without the Dothraki, they had no one to support them. No one. And not one person in Qarth was willing to aid them in getting back to Westeros any time soon. The ship they had travelled here on having left the docks long before and neither of them had the coin to book passage with another. And then she was running after Daenerys and Xaro, desperately trying to catch up with them but finding she could not. Bells were ringing, signalling alarm throughout the grounds but all she could hear was her own blood rushing in her ears. One Dothraki emerging then and sighing in relief it had not been all of them. She did not know his name, yet he knew hers and he knew where she was going and so he followed them alongside Ser Jorah. They found Daenerys in her own room, panicking as she was yelling.

"They're gone! Where are they?!"

Sansa did not need to wonder why she was yelling such things, the cages where she kept her dragons all being broken and neither dragon within. Rhaenys' breath hitched as she began running towards her own room and without thinking she followed her as Shiera remained with Daenerys who was now yelling at Xaro and demanding answers for what had occurred here in their absence. A pained yell leaving the dark skinned woman which was all the confirmation she needed that her egg was missing too, running back to begin demanding answers as well. With strength she did not know she had, she walked over, grasped Xaro by the neck, and pinned him to the wall. What a funny sight it must be to anyone, a little girl preventing a much older and much taller man from moving.

"You will speak, and you will speak now."

The wolf had been unleashed, she could feel her fangs growing inside her mouth and desperate to bite down on soft flesh and rip it apart. Xaro only laughed at her but this stopped as her grip tightened until he could barely breathe.

"I will not ask again, you will speak and you will speak now."

Her voice had gotten dangerously low now, noticing the arakh of the Dothraki whose name she did not know pointed towards him as was Ser Jorah's sword.

"Why, I took them of course."

"Where?!"

He looked ahead to the window, turning her head to see what he was looking at and feeling dread deep in her gut. Shiera's warning echoing in her ears to not go there.

The House of the Undying.

Aegon Targaryen

The Narrow Sea, 301 AC

Three weeks.

That was how long had passed since they had set sail from Volantis.

A city he had visited numerous times both afoot and on the Shy Maid travelling up and down the Rhoyne from where Old Andalos was said to have been to the ruins of Chroyane where a great battle was fought and almost ended his mothers people. That is, if it weren't for Princess Nymeria having the sense to flee and striking an alliance with Dorne through marriage. His blood ran hot with that of the Rhoynar just as much as it ran hot with blood of Old Valyria, a fact that everyone with him knew and why they were sailing right now. Of course, it would take a good couple of months before they were actually on the soil of Westeros, but that gave them all plenty of time to prepare.

Gone was the Shy Maid, now he was on the Golden Lady, a war galley that had been used as a trading galley due to the lack of wars being fought in Essos. Whilst Myr, Tyrosh, and Lys fought often, it was rare Volantis got involved. Before he had left, he was solely Young Griff. To the Golden Company he was Aegon Brightflame, the son of the Lady Serra Blackfyre and grandson of Prince Maegor Targaryen who had been exiled solely because of his mad father and people fearing the madness would be in him. To everyone else though, he was Aegon Targaryen, and heir to the Iron Throne.

Torghen walked up beside him then, wearing a white cloak on his back. Jon had not been pleased by such a thing, but he had opted to bite his tongue instead on the matter and counselled him on what to do. It felt strange, knowing he was finally going home and heading straight into a web of deceit. Aegon didn't know what to think on it all, for the original plan had been for Rhaenys to befriend Jaeron so that when he landed they would have something to work with. But his sister had opted to travel east instead of west towards Qarth of all bloody places.

"Tell me about my brother, Torghen."

It was a good thing Jon was still asleep, for the pair always got into an argument on the matter. Jon was adamant Jaeron would step aside as per rights of blood, but Torghen was adamant he would not take it kindly to have worked so long for something only for it to be for nothing.

"Jaeron reminds me a lot of your father, but there's no denying he has the blood of wolves in his veins much like you have blood of the Rhoynar in your own. He has a short temper but despite this he remains level headed. I watched him grow from an insecure boy who had his entire life ripped up root and stem as unlike yourself and Rhaenys, he was unaware of his name until his sixteenth name-day. There have been times where he got far too comfortable which is what led to multiple executions at the Night's Watch for bragging about it in the brothel at Moles Town. I have not seen him since I was tasked to meet with Lord Ardrian, so whether he is still the same boy I cannot say unfortunately, your Grace."

That was about what he had expected to hear. When the raven had arrived from Ser Alliser Thorne and Maester Aemon explaining who was at the Wall, he had agreed with Torghen heading to the shores of the place where he had openly been exiled from. News came every so often but nowhere near as much as he would've liked but nothing could be done there because they had to send all communication through multiple people so it could never be traced back.

"May I speak freely, your Grace?"

"You may."

By now, they were standing at the prowl. The captain paying them no mind and no one else was awake on deck. Spotting a flash of white and turning to see Vēzos. That was one thing he had to thank his brother for- never would he refer to him as half brother like Jon Connington always said. Jaeron had been the one to figure out how to hatch eggs, knowledge which had been passed to Torghen who had then passed it to him. The simplicity of it made Aegon frown, yet the egg had cracked in the flames with the still warm body of the slaver he had killed and whose blood was dripping onto the shell.

"You should tell the Golden Company."

Not this again. That had been an ongoing argument, but he had said Torghen could speak his mind and keep his word he would do. Biting the inside of his cheeks as his hatchling wrapped herself around his leg and began climbing up, wincing as the claws dug into his skin. How long it would be until Vēzos was large enough to ride was unknown. For Jaeron it had been a little more than a year, but he had the added bonus of them growing abnormally quickly for reasons no one could say. It was not a given his own would grow in a similar fashion.

"They are fighting for you believing you to be the son of Serra Brightflame and grandson of Prince Maegor and Princess Delaena Blackfyre. The Golden Company were formed by the Blackfyre's and do not deny the obvious for there are still the female line of House Blackfyre alive somewhere. Where they are or how many there are no one can say. But if word gets out you lied to them and they are fighting for a cause on a lie, that is grounds to nullify a contract- "

"The Golden Company have never broken a contract, Ser- "

"Nay, they have not. But because they have not does not mean they never will."

For a moment, anger welled up in him at his Kingsguard cutting him off, biting the inside of his cheek more until he felt the skin break and mouth beginning to fill with blood. Leaning over and spitting it out into the water below them before taking a swig of wine from the flagon he carried at his hip for the long journey to rid him of the taste.

"Black or red, a dragon is a dragon."

Words spoken to him by many people, words he clutched to with an iron grip.

"Yet loyalty runs deeper than simply coin. I fear for you, Aegon. I basically helped raise you and Rhaenys alongside my sister. Whilst I am not and never will be, I cannot deny I think of you as a son much like Lord Jon does too. Don't forget that ultimately the Golden Company's main goal is to go home, but they want to go home fighting for a cause they believe in. And House Targaryen's cause is not one they do believe in. Remember these next words, Aegon, as a precaution more than anything. Beneath the gold the bitter steel."

Beneath the gold the bitter steel.

Beneath the gold the bitter steel.

He knew those words alright, words associated with Aegor Rivers who had formed the sellsword company so long before. Being more loyal to his half-brother Daemon Blackfyre and despising his other half-brother Brynden Rivers because the pair fought over their half-sister Shiera Seastar. Suddenly feeling like a shard of ice had ran him through but there was little time to think on it as by now the night sky had turned to dawn and people were coming up atop deck. Seeing a second white cloak adorning Ser Rolly Duckfield- the first of his Kingsguard heading his way. Vēzos hissed and snapped for a moment but stopped when he recognised who it was and returned to curling around his body much like a snake would do before crushing its prey.

"Captain says we will be landing in Lys within the next twelve days provided the waters are kind."

Twelve days. Aegon gulped as nerves began to eat at him from deep within. They were going to stock up on supplies at Mychelah's manse and await news on what had occurred since their last communication received from Varys about the situation in Westeros. As of right now, their plan had not changed. They would land on Claw Isle and be received by Lord Ardrian Celtigar to recover from being on the sea for a few days before heading for Storm's End. One of three Kingdom's undeclared, and one that was at civil war over two brothers which meant they were weakened considerably. This would then compel Stannis to meet him on the field where they would beat him and take the remaining forces which would give him more men that would be loyal for removing one of the King's fighting for the throne his ancestor had built.

It did not take twelve days to arrive in Lys. It took nine. Mostly due to a storm where the currents created done them more favours than foe by quickening the Golden Lady on its journey. Landing in the port where Mychelah's guards and servants were waiting for them to take them up towards her manse. Upon entering, one of them slipped a roll of parchment his way stamped with the seal of Lord Varys, wasting no time in cracking it to begin translating the ciphered words they had worked for weeks to create.

"The Old Lion played a trick which backfired on the Winter Dragon and the Young Wolf. Alas, the plot was figured out and both are riding hard for the capital. The Flaming Stag has lived up to his sigil and is now a prisoner in his own home courtesy of the Winter Dragon and the Roses who are wrapped around the leg of the dragon and climbing higher than ever. A Mockingbird has wed a Trout with wings and the Falcons are with the Lion's."

There was more there, but he was too stunned to read any further ahead. Which judging by the wide eyes of Torghen and Jon they felt the same as he did. They had run out of precious time and their plans were squashed once again. Calling a council immediately in the main hall of the manse where servants brought out bountiful amounts of food for them all to enjoy but Aegon took none of it. For hours they discussed, late into the night actually.

No more would they be stopping on Claw Isle. They would head straight for Storm's End.

Tyrion Lannister

Kings Landing, 301 AC

His fathers words were still circling in his head. Wondering to himself why Tywin Lannister of all people would be asking about. Of all the things he could've asked, he had asked about the tunnels built by Maegor the Cruel so long before? There were only two Tyrion knew of, one that he had wriggled from Varys and one he had heard of from Chataya and Alayaya on one of his many trips to said brothel in question.

Despite the confusion whirring around everything, he had opted to be honest in that regard. The walls were heavily guarded, the City Watch had formed a secondary wall behind the actual walls, the Red Cloaks forming another wall behind them right before the buildings of Kings Landing began, then there was the Castle Guard surrounding the walls of the Red Keep itself. According to his father, there were seventeen thousand in their current army. More could be called but there was no point in doing so because they all knew it would be a matter of days before the enemy was knocking on the walls. In most cases, their numbers would be enough to secure them alongside the fact the Red Keep itself had never been taken. Granted, the city had been taken a handful of the times, but the castle itself had never fallen. But there was an obvious advantage the other side had and there was a pit deep inside of him that was excited to see them.

Ever since he could remember, he had been fascinated with dragons. From reading the very few tomes that had survived the Doom, to reading up on the little the Targaryen's wrote about their bonds to their beasts, to seeing the skulls adorning the throne room of the Red Keep. No, he could not deny the fact that deep inside there was a little boy desperate to jump in excitement. But the little boy could not be on show, for the attack was looming, and no man survived a dragon attack.

Scorpions had been built, trebuchets had been built, catapults had been built, buckets of oil ready to be boiled were in stores surrounding the walls of the city to be poured on the army advancing their way. They'd received word from Varys that three days before they had departed from Rosby which meant there was a very real chance they would be knocking on their doors any moment now. Tyrion walked around the Red Keep, eyeing the many people there were and ignoring the looks of disgust sent his way over his scars. Whilst the skin had healed over somewhat, it was still tight and red and angry. Not to mention his nose would never grow back and he just had an empty hole in the middle of his face. He was grotesque before, that much he knew with certainty, but he may as well be a monster now.

Demon Monkey they were calling him. A name which made him grit his teeth in anger. How many names did he have now? The Imp, the Half-Man, the Dwarf of Casterly Rock. On and on the list went and as the days went on the longer the list grew. But he didn't have much time to think on it as he overheard his cousin Lancel talking about a war council, so he turned to head towards where they were held so he could hear what was happening. At least they had one boon, with Lysa Arryn now married to Petyr Baelish which further split the Riverland's and secured the Vale to his vile nephews side. He'd been surprised when he walked in to see Joffrey, wholly expecting for him to be hiding under Cersei's skirts like usual. Eyeing everyone who was in the room.

Osmund Kettleblack, Meryn Trant, Boros Blount, his father, uncle Kevan, Lord Varys, his sister, cousin Lancel, Joffrey, Addam Marbrand, and many others who's faces he knew but was not in the mood to put a name to their faces.

"Kind of you to join us, brother."

Cersei's honeyed words were bitter to him.

"It was kind of you to invite me so, I do apologise for my lateness sister dearest."

It was there for only a moment, but her lips tightened ever so slightly before returning to stoic. His nephew's face was bright red in anger but not at him, angrily muttering under his breath and pointing at the map of the city that had been unfurled on the table. Noticing there were red lines drawn throughout and realisation dawning on him of what these lines were. Anger swelling within him at one in particular, the one from where Sansa Stark had been held but had escaped from which led directly down to the banks of the Blackwater close to the docks. That must've been how she had gotten free.

"I will not flee like a maiden- "

"I assure you, your Grace, it is simply a precaution."

Joffrey did not like that one bit, going redder and about to begin spluttering but his father put an end to such a thing by walking over and making a show on how he was taller than he was.

"Do we have a report of how many men they have?"

Addam shook his head in annoyance, wearing the gold cloak of the City Watch proudly which angered Tyrion more because once again, his work had been swept out from beneath his feet. Gods damn you Jacelyn Bywater, he thought to himself. Had he not died, the position would not be able to be filled. Alas, he had died, and his father and sister had swooped right in to steal the City Watch from him. A fact that tasted even more bitter than Cersei's sweet words that were no doubt used to make him feel like he had bugs crawling under his skin.

"We do have seventeen thousand men- "

"Who are injured, tired, and still recovering from the attack from Stannis. Factoring that into consideration we perhaps have twelve thousand good fighting men who are healthy."

Cersei's lips tightened again as she stiffened openly at the way uncle Kevan cut her off. Good. If anyone needed knocked down a peg it was her, it tasted like honey to him and he was going to savour every moment of it.

"We have the Vale though- "

"Aye, we do. But it will take weeks for the Vale armies to group and almost as long for them to march down."

Then an idea struck him. Leaning over to stare at the map and going over it in his head. If they did flee, they could call the Vale to come down where they could group together which would cut off the whelps army from anything to the North. He would be unable to call for more reinforcements as there would be no way for them to get to them, and they could use that to gather support to take back the city in the name of House Lannister. Granted, refinement would be needed, but it made sense to him. So, he spoke it aloud, looking at everyone's faces as he done so to take in how they felt about it. His nephews face getting redder and about to throw a massive tantrum and Cersei was nearing the end of her patience too as her nostrils flared ever so slightly. Some were clearly against it, others were considering it.

For two days they planned everything and thoroughly at that. Going through as many possibilities they could. It felt like only minutes had passed before the horns sounded, signalling the incoming army had been spotted. Everyone was running then. All the women and children escorted into Maegor's Holdfast where the drawbridge was raised so no one could get within the walls of the castle within a castle. The lines beginning to form of their own armies but not all of them.

And then there was a massive shadow overhead. There for only a second as scorpion bolts were fired but it was far too fast. Tyrion not even able to see the colouring of the beast before it disappeared within the clouds. But there was no denying what it was, and the giddy little boy smiled brightly for only a moment before wiping clear of all emotions.

The fight was here.