STORM CLOUDS

THE FLAME EMPRESS

16 years and a half ago.

"By the Seven, I swear it's true!" exclaimed Simon. He was a short, middle-aged soldier with disheveled grayish hair and a rather peculiar hoarse voice. "Lord Steffon himself congratulated me on my bravery and gave me his own dagger."

"You're lying," retorted Donal Noye. "I know every weapon I've forged like the back of my hand, and I've never seen that dagger in my life. Stop making things up."

"Ha! You're accusing me now of making things up when you haven't said a word before? I understand you don't want to interrupt a good story, but I doubt those demonic beasts Caspar talked about even exist. My anecdotes are much more truthful."

"Hey! The thing with the beasts actually happened, ask Petra or Linhardt if you don't believe me," Caspar replied indignantly. All he received in response was one of Linhardt's snores from the other side of the table.

Edelgard smiled along with the others. The way the soldiers had integrated with them so quickly after what had happened a couple of days ago almost felt like cheating. Nonetheless, she liked these men and enjoyed chatting with them and hearing their stories, whether real or invented. In a way, it was much simpler than in Fodlan. Except for her friends, Stannis and Cressen, no one here knew who she was, and her actions wouldn't affect them or their families. She was just one of them, trapped in this place with no immediate prospects of change.

That was the stickiest issue of all, and one that much of the castle seemed to have forgotten since the death of the one named Randyll Tarly: the siege was not over. True, spirits had improved significantly, and the place looked more like a fortress than a graveyard now, but the enemy was still out there, and they were still trapped. And the food was inexorably running out with each passing day.

"At least his story was more entertaining," grumbled the blacksmith.

"And I dare say more truthful, too. I don't recall my father ever mentioning you in his stories of the War of the Ninepenny Kings," said Stannis, who had just finished his ration for the day. The young commander often dined with the troops, if only to show them that their lord was no different from them and also ate the meager rations.

She had decided she liked the young commander. He was stern, but his sense of duty was commendable. Although he usually appeared very serious, from time to time he opened up to participate in conversations, like at that moment. It was almost like looking in a mirror and seeing her past self, the girl who had just enrolled in the Officer's Academy. She wasn't the same anymore, not entirely, or at least that's what she liked to believe.

"Surely your lord father must have had other stories to tell you. But if it bothers you, I'll tell it some other time," Simon said.

"No, no. Please continue. If I like it, I might tell it to Renly," replied Stannis, with what seemed like a faint smile on his face. It was hard to distinguish from his usual serious demeanor, but she had some experience with Hubert.

"I want to hear how it goes on, Simon," Edelgard said. Her mind had been racing for days, as if something was slipping through her fingers right in front of her, but she couldn't quite grasp what it was.

"Do you see that, Noye? There's someone here who knows how to appreciate a good story," Simon said.

If we return... No, when we return, I will tell Stannis to come with us. It was a risky bet, but she truly believed he could be an interesting addition to the imperial forces. Having a good general to lead her troops wasn't something she could dismiss lightly with a war looming on the horizon. Plus, from what she deduced, Stannis didn't get along particularly well with his older brother, so considering e was unlikely to inherit anything, she hoped her offer would be especially attractive to him. Besides, she was sure he'd be interested in seeing the wonders Fodlan had to offer and learning more about the magic and creatures that inhabit it. As far as Maester Cressen had told her, there are no pegasi or wyverns in this land, although there was a time when dragons existed.

Edelgard chewed the last piece of meat for the day. It was from one of the last horses left in the castle. They had slaughtered them that morning, not without some sorrow, but it was what had to be done. After all, they weren't going anywhere. She hoped there would be some meat left for the days to come, or they'd have to start with the dogs and cats. Rats would come next, and she hated that taste, although at least it would taste better than the meat from a week ago. Another secret... They were beginning to weigh on her, and that was one of the less important ones. When they returned to Fodlan, she would tell the others her plans. It wasn't the most prudent thing to do, but she hoped they would all support her. And even if they didn't, it was the least she owed them for getting them into this mess.

Simon was recounting how he had worked his way through the ranks of the Golden Company to reach Lord Steffon when the drums and trumpets sounded. Stannis jumped up from his chair as if a string had been pulled taut.

"Attack on the wall!" Stannis shouted. "To arms!" The same cry echoed through the castle.

She rushed across the room to the adjacent armory, which was beginning to fill with agitated and nervous soldiers. She donned her armor and protectors as simply as she would have put on a shirt and took up the axe Donal Noye had forged for her, leaning against the wall with the rest of the weapons. She grabbed the first spear she found and threw it to the first man who arrived and continued distributing them as the men hurried to the courtyard. Caspar had made the same choice of weapon as she had, while Ferdinand and Bernadetta had opted for spears. The rest had swords strapped to their waists, the same ones they had brought from Fodlan. Linhardt was pale, although he managed to contain his nerves. Edelgard indicated that he should go with the maester and the healers. She knew all too well Linhardt's lack of predisposition for violence, and his skills would be much more useful in aiding the wounded. None of her comrades would die today. She would ensure that no matter what. Finally, she took one of the large, rectangular shields. Many soldiers looked at her in amazement, surprised that she could carry such weight without difficulty.

"Form up!" Edelgard shouted as she stepped out into the courtyard, clad in steel. Stannis did the same a second later, having also finished arming himself. Damn it, what am I doing? I'm not their commander. Feeling foolish, Edelgard hurried to form up with her fellow Black Eagles. In the sky, the clouds began to darken and obscure the sun, heralding the approaching storm. She was glad, as the rain should theoretically be a disadvantage to the attackers once the ground beneath them softened and turned to mud. Still, she was confused because she hadn't seen a single cloud in the sky that morning. These lands certainly lived up to their name or... She looked at Constance, who winked at her. Of course. She allowed herself to smile as the soldiers finished forming up.

"Mace Tyrell hasn't been able to break our will these past months, and he won't do it now," shouted Stannis trying to rally their spirits. The men looked at him, nervous, adjusting their armor or shifting their shields into position. Hunger had taken a toll on all of them, yet they stood before their commander, proud. "Storm's End hasn't fallen to any god or man. It's time to remind those roses of that."

The soldiers cheered, filled with pride and anger against the enemies who had been trying to starve them for months. Today, they could finally fight back and settle the score once and for all.

"Short but intense," Dorothea joked, trying to hide her nerves. "What do you think, Edie? Can we win?"

"We will win, my frieds. We will win and return to our home, safe and sound. I promise you," Edelgard replied firmly. She watched as the soldiers broke formation and headed to their positions on the wall, although some stayed behind, guarding the fortress's massive gates and bringing in timbers to reinforce them.

"Stannis!" Edelgard shouted above the tumult of voices and orders. "Our orders?" The commander watched them as soldiers moved back and forth, considering where to place them in the castle's defense.

"Come with me," he finally replied.

Edelgard rushed up the staircase of the northern wall alongside Stannis Baratheon, while the sound of drums and trumpets shattered the air like the echoes of an impending storm. Given the fortress's layout, this part of the wall was the longest before reaching the cliffs. If she were the one attacking the fortress, this was where she would launch the most forceful assault, and Stannis Baratheon undoubtedly thought the same.

"Hubert, Constance, and Dorothea would be more useful if they could fully employ their... abilities," Edelgard whispered, making sure the soldiers climbing with them couldn't hear her.

"We'll see," Stannis replied. At least it wasn't a flat-out no. "If we can keep the Tyrells off the wall, victory is assured. All we need to do is keep them behind the walls."

"They could use sappers. Or break down the gates," Edelgard reminded him.

"The gates are too solid. It would take hours, even days, to break through them. And Mace Tyrell has been too busy eating and taunting us instead of digging tunnels. A mistake he's going to pay for now."

The two of them emerged from the staircase onto the battlements of the wall, witnessing a chilling scene. Gradually, the massive army that had been camped in the distance had deployed and was slowly making its way toward the castle. The mass of flesh and steel stretched from one coast to the other, led by siege towers and men carrying ladders on their shoulders.

Stannis rushed to the right, shouting at the men to form up, and she did the same in the opposite direction. She might be skipping several ranks in the chain of command, but she no longer cared, and the soldiers seemed to care even less. If they wanted to protect this castle, it could only be done through discipline and order. For now. If things got ugly, she would order her friends to use their magic. She would have time to explain later.

"Men, grab your bows! Petra, Bernadetta, get up to the guard tower roof with twenty men. Don't come down until you've run out of arrows. The rest of us will defend the walls. Move, move!" Both women nodded, with Bernadetta looking grateful for being sent as far away from the battle as possible. The rest of the men hurried to do as she had instructed, without a single protest toward someone who had been a stranger to them just a few months ago. Edelgard heard Stannis' shouts in the distance but couldn't make out what he was saying.

Time passed, slowly. The men fiddled with their bows, leaning against the battlements as they awaited their commander's signal. Both Edelgard and her companions had taken up bows and a few arrows. It wasn't their preferred weapon, but there was no other choice until hand-to-hand combat began. Until then, it was time to see how effective Shamir's lessons had been. In the valley before them, the first thunder rumbled, and a relentless rain poured down as the tide of steel continued to advance. The first enemy arrows, no less copious than the downpour, whistled through the air and crashed against the rock. Very few even reached the battlements, and none found their mark, at least in her section. The attack had begun.

Behind the walls, there were taunts and threats, but the only real challenge came from the arrows raining down from the guard towers on the wall, which, unlike their counterparts below, seemed to be finding their marks.

"Nock!" Stannis Baratheon's voice sounded, soon echoed along the wall by other voices. She repeated the order and picked up her first arrow, resting it on her bow's wood.

The enemy forces halted, reorganizing their ranks and attempting to shield themselves with their shields from the arrows raining down from the towers. Some had to be pushed aside to make way for the massive wooden siege towers. Trumpets sounded from the valley, and then the enemy surged forward in a violent swell, some against the walls and, in the distance, against the fortress's gates. She hoped Stannis' confidence in the gate's resistance was justified.

"Draw!" Stannis shouted again as the enemy ranks began moving once more. Edelgard drew the bowstring taut as she watched the figures approaching the walls. Many had nothing more than helmets and leather armor, from what she could see, and some not even that.

"Loose!" A storm of arrows met the surprised enemy soldiers, who, startled, began to flee. Those who could. Her arrow had found its mark, and it wasn't the only one. Behind the retreating men lay a trail of corpses and dying men. The same sight repeated along the walls, but they didn't have time to celebrate that brief victory.

Soon, the trumpets sounded again, and the enemies surged forward, dispersing when the rain of arrows fell upon them and regrouping to attack again when it ceased. Each time, they halted closer to the walls, and the organized volleys turned into a disorganized but constant shower of arrows. Beneath the walls, the grim mound of fallen enemy soldiers grew and grew, but that didn't seem to discourage the rest, who began to crowd near the wall. Arrows and bolts were soon joined by stones and boiling oil, but rather than diminishing, the enemy forces seemed to increase. Soldiers came and went, throwing rope ladders over the parapets of the wall. The defenders rushed to try to unhitch them, but often it was already too late. The enemy arrows, which previously didn't reach beyond the walls, now surpassed the battlements, although the vast majority continued to miss their mark.

"Hold them back!" Edelgard shouted after beheading the umpteenth soldier who had managed to stick his head over the battlements with a swing of her axe. He was soaked and covered in mud, but she thought he couldn't be much older than her. He was little more than a boy. She left the corpse behind and ran along the wall until she found the commander. "Stannis!" she shouted again, catching his attention. She was almost frightened when she saw his blood-smeared face, but she was relieved to see no visible wounds. "We have to bring down those towers! And quickly!"

"The trebuchets won't be able to hit them now that they are so close to the walls. No matter, we'll hold steadfast!" he said, impassive, though Edelgard knew he was trying to keep his men's courage from faltering.

"There's another way!" she reminded him. "Let us do it! Let us save this fortress! Let me save you!"

"I... Do it! Do what you must, Edelgard!" Stannis said as he turned away, looking for a new enemy to face.

Edelgard nodded and ran back to her section before Stannis could change his mind. Fortunately, she quickly found Dorothea and Constance leaning against one of the battlements away from the main combat. Like the others, blood and water mixed on their faces, and Constance seemed to be bleeding profusely from a head wound.

"Constance! Dorothea! Are you okay?" Edelgard asked.

"Just some bruises and cuts, nothing to worry about, Edie," Dorothea replied.

"Those who gave them to us fared much worse. Do you need us? Give me a moment, and I'll be with you. I just need this bleeding to stop once and for all," Constance complained.

"It's time, girls. We need to destroy those towers."

"Good luck with that. I don't think we can do anything to stop them, unless..." Dorothea chuckled, realizing what Edelgard was hinting at. "Has our dear Baratheon given you his approval?"

"There's no other way. He knows it as well as I do," Edelgard replied firmly.

"All right. It's time those wretches witnessed the power of a Nuvelle. I'll make the sky fall on them," Constance said, rising. She was still bleeding, but she seemed to have completely forgotten about it.

" For now let's just bring down the towers.," Edelgard said.

"Well, they'll serve as practice. Let's go!" Constance shouted and extended her arm toward one of the wooden towers. With a quick, precise motion, she drew a rune in the air that would have taken minutes for others to create, and a large fireball shot out from the palm of her hand. The projectile hit the tower squarely, causing it to wobble and flames to spread across the top. The screams of burning soldiers were soon heard.

The defending soldiers, who had until that moment been focused on fighting off the attackers, turned to see the fireball pass over their heads. Edelgard watched them fiercely, expecting that someone among them would try to harm the witch among their ranks. Their eyes were wide, and some seemed on the verge of fainting, either from shock or exhaustion. Fortunately, none showed the slightest inclination to harm her friends, and a brief moment later, a second projectile, this time from Dorothea, flew toward the other tower, hitting its base and sending the soldiers pushing it into panicked flight. To her pleasant surprise, the garrison of Storm's End didn't rush them or flee but instead smiled and began to chant, "Baratheon!" "Stannis!" "Storm's End!" and even Edelgard's name and her companions, returning to the fight with renewed vigor. She wasn't fooled; she was sure that when the battle was over, they would have to give several explanations, but at least it was a good sign.

The battle continued for about another hour, but the result had been decided from the moment the siege towers had collapsed. Without a strong enough battering ram to breach the fortress gates or towers to surpass the garrison, the army of the Reach, impressive as it was, was doomed to failure. Nevertheless, they continued to press on until they realized that the huge number of casualties was not being compensated by their limited success in assaulting the wall. When they finally withdrew, leaving their dead and wounded behind, the Baratheon fortress remained intact, except for the numerous corpses they had left on its walls, only surpassed by those lying in front of them.

It seemed that all of the Black Eagles had survived, at least. Those who weren't with her when the battle ended came running, except for Linhardt, who she assumed was still behind the walls with the wounded. Petra and Bernadetta, the only ones not soaked in blood, smiled when they descended and saw that all their comrades had survived. Dorothea had to tend to Caspar, who had a rather nasty cut on his arm, and Ferdinand and Hubert leaned against the battlements, exhausted. But they were all alive; that was all that mattered.

"Stay here; I need to speak with Stannis. I'll be back in just a moment."

She walked away from the group, and she saw the surviving soldiers watching them with fearful eyes. None dared to approach, and they looked away as she passed. She found Stannis inspecting the casualties near the guard tower where her friends had been during the battle. He looked exhausted, like the rest of the garrison, and they all seemed to be making a tremendous effort not to collapse in their positions.

"It's the witch, Ser," one of the nearby soldiers, a red-haired man with finely trimmed hair and beard, said. She had seen him before, but she didn't remember his name. "I saw her companions shoot fire from their arms. I swear it by the Seven. We all saw it. We should burn them or throw them to the sea before it's too late."

"Shut up you fool. Be thankful you saw that and not a Tyrell thrusting his spear into your stomach," another soldier next to him replied.

"You certainly didn't lie when you said your companions were true prodigies, Edelgard," Stannis said, smiling even after that carnage.

"We had a good teacher," Edelgard said, with a hint of sadness. She didn't know how it happened, maybe it was the nostalgia for Byleth or the mix of emotions after the battle, but she found herself hugging him. She had to be careful because they were both wearing armor. From the outside, the scene must have been quite comical, but she kept hugging him, and after a few seconds, she found that he was returning it, albeit uncomfortably, holding her with all the strength he had left.

"Hmm," she warned. "Your men are watching. They'll talk. I shouldn't have..."

"I don't care," he replied. "It wouldn't be the strangest thing I'll have to explain today."

Edelgard allowed herself to laugh and stepped away from the embrace. Suddenly, she realized what they had just done, and it seemed Stannis did too, judging by the redness of his cheeks. She forced herself to assume her cold facade once more. She couldn't afford this kind of thing, especially not with him. They didn't even belong to the same world. Their relationship was one of convenience: he allowed them to stay in the castle until they could return, and they helped him with the defense, and that's how it should remain. She was shaken by an obvious revelation: they had been in Storm's End for only a few months less than they had been in the Officers' Academy. Or maybe it was the same length of time; it was hard to tell, as they couldn't perceive the changing seasons in this world. Either way, this couldn't go on like this; she was growing too attached to these people. If she allowed this to go any further, things could get complicated, and she had already crossed too many lines.

"I should do a casualty count. We may have won the battle today, but this siege isn't over. No, Mace Tyrell will still be out there, starving us, if only out of pride," Stannis said, regaining his composure.

Stannis descended the stairs of the wall, his blood-stained golden cape billowing behind him. Edelgard walked alongside him, her men and the Black Eagles following. Wherever they passed, they heard cheers and saw emotional looks. They knew as well as they did that it wasn't over yet, but for once, they could afford to enjoy it.

"Lady Edelgard," Hubert whispered in her ear. "The soldiers are talking about recent events, but they don't seem as averse to it as I imagined. Your decision was correct."

"These soldiers are survivors, Lord Vestra. All of these men have been left to fend for themselves. If your magic helps them survive one more day, most will accept it. In any case, don't be surprised if you have to provide several explanations when they recover from the battle," Stannis said, having overheard everything.

"Of course. What will you do with the prisoners?" It was a complicated question, and an even more difficult one to answer. She herself wasn't sure what they should do. On the one hand, releasing them would feel almost like a defeat, but they couldn't keep them in the castle. They already had too many mouths to feed, and fewer means to do so every day.

"I haven't decided yet. I'll do so after checking the state of the garrison."

"Perhaps I've judged you and your men too soon, Ser Stannis. But I'm sure you understand my reasons," Hubert replied. Edelgard knew all too well that this was as close as he would come to apologizing to someone other than her. Like her, it seemed that he was gradually opening up to these men, just as he had at Garreg Mach, although he refused to admit it.

When they reached the makeshift infirmary that Maester Cressen had set up in the castle's main hallway, Edelgard was surprised by the small number of dead and dying. Apart from a few caregivers and the maester himself, the castle had hardly any personnel to quickly treat the wounded from the battle. How had they managed to have so few serious casualties? Had the battle not been as fierce as she had imagined?

"My lord! My lord!" a voice cried out. Donal Noye, the blacksmith, came running as soon as he noticed their presence. He appeared the same as before the battle, much thinner than the day he had forged her new axe, sure, but that was common to everyone in the castle. The only striking thing was the bandage on his left arm. "My lord, it's a miracle! You have to see this!"

The burly man led them to the back of the room, passing by beds occupied by dozens of wounded soldiers. Donal Noye guided them to one of the beds, where Maester Cressen and Linhardt seemed to be treating one of the wounded. When she saw it, she didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Her companion was drawing runes of light with his hands, causing the wound in the patient's abdomen, lying in front of him, to close in a matter of seconds, leaving behind a gruesome scar, but the man continued to breathe. They had been on the verge of losing the battle, debating whether or not to use magic and he…

Dorothea was the first to break the silence with laughter, in the face of Donal Noye's and the other wounded men's surprised expressions.

"Lin, you truly are one of a kind," Dorothea said, tears in her eyes.

SANSA

It's perfect, Sansa thought as she gazed at the newly finished embroidery. There were still several days until her prince's name day, but Sansa already had the gift ready for the occasion.

The stitches on the fabric were perfectly straight, and the golden lion of the Lannisters and the black stag of the Baratheons, the emblems of the royal family, were reflected on the garment. She would have liked to make the garment entirely red and gold, as it would have stood out much more, but she imagined that would have displeased King Robert, and who knows, maybe even Joffrey too, and she didn't want that at all. Although now that she thought about it, he was always surrounded by Lannister guards, so those fears might have been unfounded. Nevertheless, it was fine. The Baratheons were a proud family, like the Starks, and none of them resembled the king. Joffrey was handsome and kind, just like his uncle, Lord Renly. And her friend Morgan was the very embodiment of what a southern lady should be. The only exception seemed to be King Robert himself, but he was the king, so he had to be respected. Erase these stupid opinions from your mind, Sansa told herself. They have no place here, and all they can do is get you into trouble.

A series of loud knocks sounded on her bedroom door.

"Sansa, child, hurry up. Your father is waiting for you and Arya. You haven't forgotten about tonight's dinner, have you?" Septa Mordane called out.

"I'm coming down now," Sansa exclaimed as she tucked the garment into the folds of her dress. Forgotten? She had been looking forward to that night for days. When the king returned from the hunt, with a monstrous boar at his back, Sansa had felt like it was the return of heroes after defeating a fierce monster. The king had decided to invite Eddard Stark and his daughters to enjoy the taste of such delicacy. Her father hadn't been too pleased about it; he grew more serious every day. But she was ecstatic. It was going to be perfect, an evening with just them and the royal family. Couldn't her father appreciate such an honor?

Those months in King's Landing were just as Sansa had imagined them to be: banquets, tournaments, and noble knights and ladies everywhere. But her father and her sister seemed determined to make her life impossible. Her lord father had strictly forbidden them from leaving the Red Keep for several days now. She hadn't been able to witness the triumphant return of King Robert or go to the opera. She hadn't even been able to visit the ruins of the Dragonpit or the Great Sept of Baelor yet; she had to settle for seeing them from a distance within the castle. It was so unfair... She had hoped that her father would relax after Lord Stannis and Lady Edelgard left for Dragonstone, but it had been quite the opposite, and now he seemed more tense and uneasy than she had ever seen him.

When the septa accompanied her to the entrance of the tower, Sansa saw her father talking to Jory, giving him instructions.

"Watch that absolutely no one enters the tower until I return. Let them wait outside if necessary. Put guards in the rooms as well; you never know..." Her father stopped when he saw her enter. "Ah, Sansa, here you are," he said with a caring voice. "You look radiant."

Septa Mordane returned with Arya, almost dragging her. Her sister was wearing a gray dress, the color of the Starks, but the cold and subdued color made the dress look very plain. She, on the other hand, had put on a beautiful cobalt blue dress that made her fiery red hair stand out.

"I don't want to go to this stupid dinner," Arya said when she regained her composure.

"Neither do I, but King Robert has invited us, Arya," her father replied, sighing. "So we will go.

"You should get used to it, Arya," Sansa said. "With any luck, you'll marry Prince Tommen, and then you'll have dinners like this every day."

"I'm not going to marry Tommen," her sister said angrily. "He's just a silly child. You can have him when you get tired of Joffrey."

"I won't get tired of Joffrey. I love him with all my heart, like Jonquil loved Ser Florian. You won't dare say that to me when I'm married to Joffrey."

"Or what? Will you tell him to impale me with his sword like he tried to do to Ser Edrik?" Arya teased.

"That was just a misunderstanding. And it was your fault anyway. If you had trained Nymeria properly, Lady would be here with me now, not in Winterfell."

"It's your fault. If you hadn't come, nothing would have happened."

"That's enough, both of you!" Their father's voice was filled with impatience and anger. "I don't want to hear you argue anymore today."

The storm outside raged like a mad horse, with such fury that Sansa had to wrap herself in several layers to protect her dress from the rain, although she couldn't prevent her shoes from getting covered in mud as she crossed the courtyard to reach Maegor's Holdfast. The enormous hall where the feast was to be held was adorned with Baratheon banners and hunting trophies, which Sansa assumed must belong to King Robert and maybe even some from her beloved prince. Her father hurried her along, and that's when she realized they had been the last to arrive.

Her father had been saved a seat to the right of King Robert, who presided over the table, a place of great honor, while her sister Arya had been relegated to sit with Prince Tommen and Princess Myrcella. Her heart almost skipped a beat when she saw where she was seated, between her prince and Lord Renly, the king's brother, who had come accompanied by Ser Loras Tyrell. Her prince looked very handsome, dressed in a crimson doublet with a golden lion and a black stag embroidered on the chest. Lord Renly, on the other hand, seemed to have bathed in gold, as his garments were entirely golden except for the dazzling and intricate emerald embroideries.

Joffrey smiled and kissed her hand, just like the princes in the songs.

"Ser Ferdinand doesn't know how to recognize true beauty, my lady. If he did, he would have given you that crown without hesitation."

"You are very kind," Sansa replied, blushing.

"When I am king, I will never allow anyone to disrespect my lady in that way. You can be sure of that."

"And what would you do, nephew?" Lord Renly, who had been listening to the conversation, asked. "Face the Astral Knight?"

"I would have told Ser Ilyn to cut off his hands for insolence," Joffrey replied, offended. Sansa was so surprised that she didn't know how to respond.

"The common folk would have turned on you before Ser Ilyn even had time to fetch his sword," the Lord of Storm's End replied, laughing, which only stopped when he almost choked on the piece of meat he was chewing.

Sansa tried to conceal her discomfort by taking a sip from her wine goblet, and luckily, the conversation between Joffrey and his uncle ended there. The night went on, and Sansa became increasingly enchanted by the luxury and splendor of the evening. A couple of minstrels filled the hall with music, accompanied by a full orchestra, while the Moon Boy appeared from time to time to make some jibes, until Queen Cersei grew tired of him and sent him back to his chambers. In the meantime, the various courses of the dinner were served, which, although much less abundant than those at the tournament feast, were no less appetizing: a hearty chicken soup to warm up on that damp night, all kinds of juicy fish bought at the market that morning, and finally, the star dish of the evening, the gigantic boar that the king himself had hunted in the Kingswood, baked in sauce.

It was as horrifyingly large as the rumors had it, and the servants had quite a struggle getting it onto the table. The king couldn't stop laughing and congratulating himself, recounting how he had pierced it with his spear before it could charge and gore him with its tusks. He grew louder and Sansa found it hard to distinguish some of the words he was saying. Her father forced an uncomfortable smile, and she thought she saw the queen shoot her husband a frigid look of contempt, which vanished instantly. When the servants began to carve and serve the enormous beast, Sansa knew they wouldn't be able to finish the boar. By the Gods, Sansa didn't believe she could even finish the small portion they had served her.

But King Robert's appetite was insatiable, and as his wine goblet emptied, a servant promptly refilled it again and again. The same was true for his plate, which never seemed to be empty.

"My prince," Sansa said, remembering her gift as they waited for dessert. "I've made you a small present. I know it's not your nameday yet, but I hope you'll accept it, so you can wear it at the tournament." She took out the embroidered garment and handed it to Joffrey, who glanced at it as he brought his cup to his lips.

"It's beautiful, my lady, as beautiful as you," he said, delicately picking it up and smiling at it. Sansa almost had to suppress a moan as she watched him bring it to his lips to wipe away the wine he had just drunk. "Unfortunately, I won't be participating in the tournament. The prizes are paltry, and only minor knights and riders will be competing. It would be beneath me to stoop to their level."

"I understand," Sansa replied, not quite sure what to say.

"But don't worry; I know who can wear it for me," he said with a smile. "Hound, come here, look at this."

Amidst all this luxury, Sansa had forgotten about Sandor Clegane's presence, hidden in one of the room's corners, cloaked in shadows. He wore a plain ash-colored tunic, with his sword sheath fastened to his belt.

"Yes, Your Highness?"

"My betrothed has given me this garment. I want you to wear it in the tournament. Don't you dare lose this time," Joffrey ordered him brusquely.

"As you command, Your Highness," the Hound replied, casting a glance at the Knight of Flowers, who was laughing at one of Lord Renly's jokes and seemed oblivious to what was happening. He roughly tied the garment that Sansa had crafted with such care to his forearm, so forcefully that Sansa feared he might tear the seams. "Don't worry, little bird. I'll win that stupid tournament," he said with a cruel smile, further contorting his already twisted, half-burned face.

MORGAN

If Morgan had to choose a favorite place in Dragonstone's castle, she would say it was Aegon's Garden. It had a pleasant scent of pine that completely masked the rest of the smells on the volcanic island. There were all sorts of vegetation, from fir trees and blueberries to cypresses and even small rose bushes. It was considerably smaller compared to the gardens at the Red Keep, but that made it all the more charming.

The sound of her sister's childish laughter, accompanied by the jingling of the bells, brought her back to her childhood memories when she used to play with her brother while a young Sonia watched them from the same bench where she sat now. Other times, it was Brienne and Asha, or even Hapi, Lady Constance's eldest daughter, who joined in. The only constant was the presence of Patchface, her father's simpleminded jester. When she was a child, he used to amuse her, but now he mostly inspired pity and a certain sense of revulsion.

Of course, all of that had changed over the years. Edrik had responsibilities as squire to her uncle Ferdinand, and Asha and Brienne were becoming busier as they climbed the ranks of the Black Eagles. As for herself, she had ended up doing what little she was good for back then, which was accompanying her mother here and there. The long stays in the capital, the banquets, and the receptions... In all of them, she had behaved like the perfect daughter, eager to please her parents. But it wasn't enough; in their faces, she always sensed an expectation for more.

"Something strange is going on, Morgan," Brienne said in a hushed voice, as if she feared someone might overhear.

"What do you mean?" Morgan asked. Brienne worried about everything, but she rarely did so without reason. She just hoped this time it was a trivial matter.

"I'm not sure, but lately, there have been many strange occurrences. The Battle of the Eagles was held too quickly. It's never happened before, and I've been in the Black Eagles for a decade. Not only that, since shortly before you returned until now, there's been a frenzy of activity at the Academy. The barracks are almost full, and some recruiters have even returned. It's as if the Director wanted to have the largest number of soldiers for this year's Battle."

"Ah. Don't worry about that. You know Bernie loves to surprise you all."

"Yes, but... it's been strange, and that's not all. General Caspar has been missing for several months now. He left with Ser Davos shortly after you went north and hasn't returned. I've asked around, and no one knows anything. Not where they are or where they were going."

"Now that is strange," Morgan admitted, but it didn't seem like something to worry too much about. Her Uncle Caspar was like that. She still remembered when she was young, he went to Essos to try the life of a mercenary almost overnight, and a few years later, he returned as if nothing had happened. Perhaps he needed Ser Davos to take him somewhere. Surely the good Onion Knight would show up one of these days and tell them all about their little adventure.

"Right?" Brienne insisted. "And that's not all. Asha told me that..."

"Morgan, Morgan!" her little sister Shireen called, dragging herself over to where she and Brienne were sitting. "Morgan, come play with us, please!" She tugged at her skirt and looked at her with bright blue eyes. Her hair, as black as Morgan's and Edrik's, partially covered the scars left by greyscale. If it weren't for that, her sister would be the envy of all the ladies in Westeros, but instead, she was practically confined to this island.

Patchface reached them with exaggerated strides, his bells jingling incessantly.

"Here, wolves and stags fight, but under the sea, they both swim together, I know, I know, oh, oh, oh..." sang the jester. He turned around and danced back to the clearing from where he had come. Her brother was still there, sitting on the ground, looking at them with amused eyes.

"You should stop playing with Patchface," she told Shireen. It wasn't the first time she had mentioned it, although the previous times she had been more subtle. "Isn't Devan around somewhere?"

"He's with Father, as always," her little sister replied somewhat angrily. "Besides, I can't leave Patchface. If I'm not here, no one will play with him." She was sure the jester couldn't even remember her sister's name or the sentence he had just said. She had figured that out a long time ago when she was younger than her sister. However, she didn't dare to shatter her innocence. She would realize it for herself eventually.

"Let's play the Dance of Dragons," her sister said, changing the subject. "Edrik said he would be my dragon, and I'll be Queen Rhaenyra." Of course, Morgan thought. It was her sister's favorite game, just as it had been hers years ago. Maybe she had even been the one to teach it to her; she couldn't remember, really. Those memories seemed very distant to her, although it hadn't been that long in reality.

"I'm really sorry, Shireen, but we made plans with Asha as soon as her meeting with Mother is over, and the last thing I want is to have to change because I have dirtied my clothes. Besides, I don't think Patchface could carry me on his shoulders. I doubt the jester even knows what he's doing, and I certainly don't want to risk anyone seeing me like that."

"Not Patches, but Brienne could. She's very strong," Shireen said with an innocent smile. Brienne's cheeks turned red with embarrassment, although in her opinion, it wasn't something she should be ashamed of. Her friend was extraordinarily strong and sturdy, even more so considering she was a woman and didn't bear any crest like herself. Perhaps in the rest of Westeros, that was a reason for mockery, but not in Dragonstone. Still, Brienne felt embarrassed about it. Maybe it was something from her childhood, but neither Morgan nor Asha had dared to ask her about it.

Shireen continued to tug on her skirt insistently, but seeing that her efforts were in vain, she returned to Edrik to continue playing. Morgan was about to follow her when she saw the disappointment on her sister's face for not being able to get them to play with her. However, before she could move, Asha appeared from among the bushes.

"Ladies," she said in a mocking tone, though quieter than usual. "I apologize for keeping you waiting."

"You can make it up to me by inviting us to a nice dinner in the city this evening," Morgan replied.

"I will, but I'm afraid it will have to be another day," Asha said. Her usual smile had disappeared, and her face was completely serious. Morgan didn't know what her mother had told her, but it had to be something grave.

"Has something happened with my mother? Is it about what happened in Winterfell?"

"No, nothing like that. Brienne, come with me, we need to talk," Asha said. "Alone," she added when Morgan started to follow them.

"Talk? Can't it wait, Asha?" Brienne asked, confused.

"Now, Captain. That's an order. I'm sorry, Morgan, but we'll have to leave this for another day. Seriously, it's an a matter of grave importance." Brienne hesitated for a moment but eventually got up and went to where Asha was, who was growing impatient.

"Is it as important as leaving Lord Stannis's daughter stranded?" Morgan questioned her friend when she realized they were leaving her alone. She was starting to regret not joining her brother and playing with Shireen.

"Yes. I'm sorry, really, but it's military business. You'll understand," Asha said, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. It was clear she didn't want to be there any longer than necessary.

"Can I at least know what it's about?"

"You'll have to discuss it with your mother; my lips are sealed. Come on, Brienne." Without saying another word, Asha briskly walked away, with Brienne following closely, keeping up with her long strides. Morgan sat there, completely perplexed, not knowing what to say or do. She had never seen Asha so serious since... well, never. Whatever it was, it had to be extremely serious. And she intended to find out what it was all about.

Without anything better to do after her friends left her hanging, she stood up with determination, ready to find the answers to this enigma. The first thing that came to mind was to ask her brother Edrik. She doubted that her parents had revealed whatever they were trying to hide from her to Edrik, but maybe her uncle Ferdinand had let something slip. It wouldn't be the first time she had seen him get into trouble with Hubert or her mother because he had talked too much.

To her disappointment, neither Edrik nor Shireen were where she had last seen them. The garden clearing where they had been playing moments ago was deserted. She couldn't even hear the jingling of Patchface bells, so she deduced they must have left at some point while she was talking to Asha. She cursed herself for not noticing, but quickly began searching the garden for them.

After several minutes of coming and going, and getting her dress dirty and torn among the brambles and bushes, Morgan gave up. There was no trace of her siblings, and she thanked the Seven that no one had appeared to see her running around like a madwoman. With all the dignity she could muster, she gathered her skirts and headed inside the castle.

Dragonstone's castle was a dark labyrinth of black and gray stone. Her mother used to say it had a certain mysterious and charming air about it. Her father, on the other hand, despised it. It was true that the castle was twisted, and the gargoyles that decorated its walls and parapets did little to improve its beauty, but it was her home, and despite its countless flaws, it still felt welcoming to her, in its own way.

She quickly navigated the dark stone corridors. Anyone visiting the hallway for the first time could be lost for hours, but she knew it like the back of her hand. She could distinguish each of the dragons, griffins, demons, and infernal creatures that guarded the castle. She left behind a patrol of Black Eagles by hiding behind the wings of a manticore statue the size of a horse, with the guards not even close to noticing her. Her parents would be furious if they found out how easily someone could sneak around their castle.

She passed two more patrols, a dozen servants, and saw her uncle Linhardt and her aunt Bernadetta leaving her mother's office. The Director of the Officer's Academy seemed nervous about something, while her second in command just looked terribly tired. It would have piqued her curiosity if these weren't their usual states. She was about to step out of her hiding place to greet them when a second group crossed the hallway. A slender woman with hair as black as hers entered the room that her aunt and uncle had just vacated. She was flanked by a pair of guards who waited outside the room. She couldn't remember ever seeing that woman before, and her escorts neither. In fact, after giving them a once-over as she slipped through the shadows and climbed the stairs to her room, they seemed foreign, maybe even Dornish. Mercenaries, most likely. It wasn't the first time her parents had met with Essosi merchants or dignitaries.

She hurried up the spiral staircase as quickly as she could afford, making as little noise as possible. However, when she was just a few steps away from her room, a voice interrupted her.

"Lady Morgan," she said. The voice was soft and melodic, but the person it came from was anything but sweet. Morgan turned around, her face stiff, trying not to show the slightest emotion. There, in the middle of the hallway, stood a young woman with fiery hair, the same color as her eyes and clothes, a long, shiny silk robe. Around her neck, a choker with a huge ruby reflected the torch flames and seemed to glow on its own. She would have sworn that there was no one in the hallway a moment ago, but there she was, Lady Melisandre.

"Melisandre," said Morgan. Few people on the island dared to even speak her name. The Red Woman, they called her, both the castle servants and the townsfolk, fearful of saying her name aloud as if she might appear to them in an instant after uttering it, although she was starting to have her doubts about that.

The priestess of R'hllor had climbed the ranks in her parents' court since arriving on the island a couple of years ago and began spreading her strange religion. Almost without realizing it, a good part of the island already worshipped the sun of light and flames, and the supposed sorceress walked through the fortress as if it were her home. She had never considered her parents to be people of faith, quite the opposite, but maybe they had found something to believe in with this new religion, although she hadn't seen them in her nighttime fires or gazing into the flames like the believers did. At the end of the day, though, Melisandre was still there, whispering in their ears.

"I have seen you in my flames, my lady," Melisandre replied ominously.

"Good for you. If you'll excuse me..."

"Don't you want to know what I saw?"

"I am still devoted to the Seven, my lady, so forgive me if I don't believe you can see the future in the fire. Besides, my mother usually says that everyone forges their own path. The future isn't written, and even less so in the flames," Morgan said, letting some of her anger show.

"Wise woman, Lady Edelgard, but even someone like her has her flaws. I know that even now I am only a tool to your parents, but I don't mind, for my life is destined to serve the Lord of Light and his champion."

"I don't know what lies you've told them to convince them to let you stay here, but they won't work on me. Have a good day, Lady Melisandre," Morgan said, entering her room. Melisandre's last words reached her ears before she could close the door.

"I have seen you surrounded by daggers, darkness, and pain. But also by hope. Take care, my lady, for the night is dark and full of terrors. And the night will reach us all sooner or later, whether we like it or not."

Hello again. Sorry it's been so long since the last chapter but I've been focused on things from my job and also on finishing the last chapters of my other fanfic, Unbroken Fury, so this chapter had to be written in the few moments I could get. This is a bit of a transition chapter but I hope it's been enjoyable for you people. The next one will also take a while, so it probably won't be up until Christmas or so, but hopefully the next ones after that will take less.
Thank you again for all your kind comments and also for the favs and follows. I didn't really expect that many considering that this is a crossover! See you next time.

I leave you with a bit of a spoiler of things to come.

Next chapter: The Flesh Failures