So hello again. I am very very sorry for the wait on this chapter, but believe me, I've been waiting for it too :( It's been a while, and that's due to stress, and writers block in general. I moved to a new city alone, I went to school, and between travel and trying to keep up with studying and assignments and between my own emotional issues, Price just took a back burner and for that I am sorry.

much muCH MUCH love to Darkwolf76 for all her spectacular help!

To recap: Tyrion is now free from Catelyn and Sylvia was pleased because she thought, "ok that's that, it's all good now", though Robb knows that's the farthest thing from the truth. Sylvia got drunk when she was supposed to keep her wits about her to keep her daughter safe, now she's all remorseful and is almost following Robb's lead due to the guilt. Robb has decided, now that Ned is imprisoned, to march against the Crown, which is why Sylvia got drunk. Sylvia has also sent pleas to her uncles Stannis and Renly to support them, but has just received a message from Renly himself that he has now crowned himself king. In addition, Sylvia's love for her mother has encouraged her to send a message to Cersei, informing her of Robb's plans to march. Cersei previously asked Jaime to steal Sylvia away from the north and to bring her back south. The reason for Bran's fall is yet unknown to Sylvia, but the knowledge he's keeping from his wife, is really starting to eat away at Robb.

Chapter 26: Into the South

Stannis

The cold, salty wind lapped at Stannis' face as he looked out from his council's chamber balcony, watching the sea writhe, waves crashing against each other as though in battle. He felt just as restless, and had been ever since Jon Arryn died, taking his suspicions to the grave. But Lord Stark had taken up their cause, but had handled the truth poorly, swinging his accusations around like a green lad wielding his first sword. Now he sat in a Black Cell.

But not before he got word out. The scroll on Stannis' desk was written by the foolish man's hand, and not only did it change Stannis' status significantly, it would alter the Realm forever. His children—likely to only be Shireen—would inherit an entirely different world when his work was done.

Ned Stark claimed that the children Robert had called his own, were not truly his, but rather bastards born of an unnatural union between the Lannister queen and her brother, the Kingslayer. He claimed to have heard the queen admit it herself, although (oddly), she claimed the eldest girl, the one who looked most like Robert, was a trueborn.

That struck Stannis as strange. Cersei hated Robert—that much was plain—just as much as Robert hated her. And while Robert's resentment was deep enough to shamelessly father a slew of bastards under his wife's nose, Cersei had apparently found it within herself to do the same. With her own brother, no less. Why would such a proud, wicked woman like Cersei have Robert's child at all? Why only one?

He thought of the girl then: the onyx haired firstborn who was actually born second. Robert had boasted many times in those first few months that his son was born hearty and strong, although he had not even been in the castle when the queen whelped. He would then say his daughter was born soft and sweet, a demure little princess the kingdom would fawn over. The first time Stannis saw them, one twin was sucking the fist of their sibling, quiet and content.

The boy's name had been Steffon, after his and Robert's father, and he died before his first name day. He never heard Robert speak of him again, though he saw how his brother drank more, after that. The queen donned black for nearly a year, until her second pregnancy was announced.

The living twin, young Princess Sylvia, had never lost her Baratheon colouring. Once or twice, his little brother had even told him that some would mistake the two of them for brother and sister. If she were not Robert's, Stannis doubted the kingslayer was the girl's father. There was not a whit of fair hair on her head. She had her mother's fine features, but not her emerald eyes.

Yet, Cersei was a wicked adulteress, who was to say she hadn't bedded a dark haired man, in order to pass off her bastards as Robert's children? There had always been whispers around the court that Robert's eldest girl talked to people that weren't there, that she was abnormal in the head. Jon Arryn had once speculated that it had something to do with her dead twin. Surely that was sign that they were products of immoral union, just as Cersei's other children were. Joffrey wasn't right either.

He turned the men he had assembled, standing silently and at attention. Ser Davos, and trusted Maester Cressin were the only two men he trusted with this information for the time being. He would bring this knowledge to light as soon as he could, but preparations had to be made to ensure their survival in the coming months. If Cersei's secret came out before he was prepared to fight off the consequences, his people would suffer through another siege. He would not subject them to that ordeal, not a second time.

"Now you know the truth. My brother died with no trueborn heirs. By right, the throne falls to me."

A long moment passed, heavy and thick. "You are certain, my lord?" Asked the aged maester, his deep wrinkles making him look half a walnut.

"I had my suspicions—Jon Arryn and I both did. I suspect the queen found out we'd located Robert's many bastards and poisoned the old man to keep him silent." They'd found four boys and three girls in the slums of King's Landing, all of them with hair black as pitch, and eyes like the sea.

"The Hand's death was swift." Cressin pondered aloud.

"Aye. I would not be next, so I came home. Little did I know that woman would have a Baratheon body to bury, no matter if it was me or my brother." He cast both men a look. "The boy named Joffrey is not my brother's trueborn son. He and all his siblings, with the exception of the eldest girl, are bastards of incest. I cannot abide an abomination on the throne, and I will take it. As is my right."

"Yes, m'lord, there is no clearer course of action." Ser Davos said, his hands clasped behind his back. "But if not King Robert, who do you suspect to be the eldest girl's father? She always struck me as the king's."

"True, she has my brother's look. But when all her siblings are bastards, I am uncertain that her father is truly Robert. I myself have witnessed the girl talking to an empty seat beside her, as though there were a flesh and blood person there. Joffrey once sliced open a pregnant kitchen cat, only to show the dead kittens to Robert, like a sort of present." Stannis pursed his lips, recalling how his brother had punished the boy by hitting him so hard he lost a few baby teeth. "For all my brother's faults, he was not so mad."

"Now I've heard of many a lonely child have an imaginary friend. All children let it go, at some point." It was not strange to Davos that the eldest princess had a pretend friend, only sad that her only friend had been in her imagination.

"The girl thought her friend was real, Ser Davos." The lord continued. "She cried and screamed when a place was not set for it at the table, and once the second girl was born, she kept on and had her calling it by name, as well. She'd hide for hours and insist she was playing hide and seek."

Maester Cressin interrupted. "Regardless of the girl's parentage, she has no claim on the throne. She is married and confined to the north with her husband."

A beat passed. "The man who claims that Sylvia Baratheon is a true Baratheon is her good-father, the father of her husband. You must understand my hesitance to believe the word of Lord Stark on this matter, Ser Davos." Stannis said, turning once more to look out at the sea.

"Aye, it could be that Lord Stark wishes to spare his son the shame of the truth, and to spare his good-daughter the sting of justice. But if the girl is Robert Baratheon's true daughter, this can cast doubt on the claim that the other three are the kingslayers. It might be said they favour their mother's look."

"If that were true, Cersei would not have been frightened into murdering Jon Arryn." Stannis bit back. He turned to the aged maester. "As you said, Cressin, she has no claim to the throne, regardless of her parentage. And, she is already married. If she is a bastard, that will be her husband's shame to bear. It makes little difference to me."

Ser Davos spoke again, a frown tugging his brows down as he studied his lord critically. "If she is a trueborn, what will you do then? As Robert's daughter, as well as Cersei's, her support may carry weight. She would be Robert's only trueborn child, girl or not, and it might be that a lord or two follow who she decides to follow." Like Robb Stark or Renly.

"If she is my niece, she will support me, or she will be my enemy." The Lord of Dragonstone's ruling was final, and by the end of the month, his people called him King.

Cersei

Cersei's fingertips brushed over her daughter's flowing script as she read her message again, and again. Her good-son would march on them—on the entire south—with her daughter's support. Robb Stark would march to free his foolish father from his chains. The queen tore the measly message apart, the paper falling from her fingers and down to the floor.

I love you, Sylvia wrote thrice. If that were true, she would not support a stupid wolf, who drooled at the thought of their blood being spilled. Or was her child's hand guided, the way she'd guided Sansa Stark's? Yes, she thought at once, the idea far sweeter to her than the one where Sylvia turned on her.

"What news, Your Grace?" Lancel's voice is far too deep for his lithe body.

"Private news." The queen replied sharply, turning and striding to her desk, her slipper clad feet scraping against the floor.

Ever since Ned Stark confronted her in the gardens, extending his foolish hand in way he considered merciful, Cersei had worried for Sylvia, so far away in the clutches of wolves. At first, she'd worried the foolish northerner would tell her secrets to his son. A wife with such a stain on her reputation would not be treated kindly, for sure. But, for all his faults, Ned Stark truly loved his children and she had hope that he loved his son more than he loved his honour. He would not harm his son in such a way by telling him his wife and child were tainted by incest.

If she was mistaken, and his honour outweighed the love he had for his heir, may his own gods tear him apart.

Though she had little regret about the northerner's arrest, she wished this business had not come so soon. At least not before Jaime had retrieved her daughter and returned her to the Capitol, safe and sound. A little grin pulled at the queen's lips. Sylvia would enjoy the airy silk dresses and their bright colours, the sweet oils which would perfume her hair. Her daughter hadn't seen the ocean in so long; perhaps they'd make a day of sailing in celebration of her return.

Sylvia was but a girl when she left her home, and would return a woman with a child of her own.

But for now, she was in Winterfell, surrounded by her family's enemies, without a friend in sight. All it would take was one wrong word whispered in Robb Stark's ear, one misstep, one slight against the fragile male pride and then…was her daughter's brief message of compliance made under fear, or coercion? Had the young wolf's blood run hot to hear of his father's imprisonment? Had he struck her daughter?

Grasping her goblet tightly in her hand, she snatched the wine pitcher from the side table and refilled her cup to the brim. Robb Stark's sister was being treated gently, given a lush room and full meals, never abused in any way. If her good-son should harm a hair on Sylvia's head, she would send him one of his sister's fingers.

She then took a long drink, letting the sweet red liquid slide down her throat and fill her with a hazy warmth, gently lulling her away from her fear. Yes, I'll take the stupid girl's finger, and never let her forget it was her brother who forced my hand. It would be a small price to pay for Sylvia's pain.

She heard Lancel shift closer behind her. "Would you like me to fetch more wine, Your Grace?" Cersei spared her cousin a brief glance before she took another sip.

"No." she replied as she walked toward the open bed chamber balcony. No matter how worried she became, she would not drink more than she needed. She would not be like Robert, falling about like a colt just finding its legs.

"Some food, perhaps?" he persisted.

"No." She looked out at the city, the moon casting pale, silvery light across. Little pinpricks of light shone through some windows. It was quiet tonight, and that gave the Queen Regent some peace. Tomorrow, she would speak to her son, to her King, and tell him it would be best if his sister make her home here in the Red Keep, with her husband. Tomorrow, she would tell him of his good-brother's plans to march and that his sister had proven her loyalty to him by warning them. That would soften Joffrey, surely. When this was over, he would agree that there was no better place to imprison his good-brother than here, in the Red Keep. His and Sylvia's accommodations would be grand, but there would be little doubt of his true position beneath Joffrey's rule.

Cersei could almost smile, if at present her eldest child wasn't alone in the cold, dreary castle the Starks called home.

Sylvia had never once come to harm by another's hand, barring small hurts she and Joffrey had exchanged as little ones. She was soft, so sweet and gentle—so weak—she'd never think to strike until the enemy struck first. By then, it would be too late, and the harm would be done. Sylvia was unlike both her parents that way, a fact for which Cersei lamented, now. If she were a whit like Robert, I'd have her be stubborn and strong, and half-way back home already.

Perhaps Robb Stark himself had orchestrated the little message, hoping to blind her with worry while he made his move.

Somewhere in the city below, someone screamed, horses whinnied, and for a moment she thought she heard the distant call of a baby's cries. Once, she'd stood in this same place, listening to another woman tend to her daughter, thinking of how easy it would be to go over the edge.

When Lancel touched her shoulder, the queen jerked around, her wine falling over the edge of the balcony. A distant crash was the only indication of its demise. Her cousin stepped back, his green eyes wide and confused. "Did you…did you need me any longer, Your Grace?" Lancel was easy to read, and she knew he hoped she would say yes. His lips were still swollen from their time in bed, his hair was still tussled.

In the dimness of her chamber, with a cup of win in her belly, he'd almost looked like Jaime. It was easy to kiss Lancel and pretend he was her twin, to run her fingers through his hay coloured hair and think of all the times she'd done so to Jaime. The little bit of pleasure she'd found with Lancel had given sweet respite from her fears. For that, she was thankful. But she could have a bedfellow pleasure her as well as Lancel had, and at least the maid wouldn't talk.

"No." she dismissed, sounding bored. But then she sweetened her voice, and offered the young man a smile. "No, but you've comforted me greatly, cousin. Please, leave me, and tell the guards I am not to be bothered unless one of my children needs me."

Lancel smiled a stupid little smile at her, and took his leave. When the door closed, Cersei breathed a sigh of relief and poured herself a new cup of wine.

She took a seat at her desk, her eyes settled on the little pile of torn up paper that contained her daughter's message.

Whatever it meant, it mattered not in the end. Robb Stark was a foolish, green boy, and her father would destroy him in the field. What a shame it would be, for Sylvia to have a laughingstock for a husband. Well, better a fool than a traitor. Anyway, Sylvia was a young woman yet. She had time to take another husband, one who was loyal to the Crown, one who would never go against her or her family. She might love Robb Stark now, but it was a child's love, and would fade eventually.

The queen had time enough to plan her daughter's second wedding, and her next bridegroom was already decided, in Cersei's view. She only need to ask it of her father, and he would see that a western husband was all Sylvia needed. While Sylvia may hate her for it, Cersei would ensure her children's safety, and the prosperity of her House.

She would burn the world into dust if she needed to, so long as Sylvia and the other three could rise above the ashes, unharmed.

Renly

Within the grand castle of Highgarden, Renly—or King Renly, as he would come to style himself—poured golden wax over a scroll of paper before sealing it with the crowned stag of his House. With a grin, he set aside the letter, planning to send it off later, and took up the little raven's scroll his sweet niece had sent to him, one that he'd read a dozen times since he woke up.

The message inside was weeks old. She told of how Ned Stark was imprisoned upon charges of treason (though the message made no mention of what the fool had done), and pleaded for his support in freeing him. However, another message from King's Landing told of how Ned Stark had denounced Joffrey in Court, thereby committing treason.

Because he would be a good king, and because he dearly loved Sylvia, he had written back, pledging his support. Of course, forging a new kingdom would not come without compromises.

He pledged his support to his niece, if she would swear her support in overtaking King's Landing and taking the throne away from her incompetent brothers. He needed her support to win the throne, and she would need his in setting her good-father free.

Renly had wished for Ned as an ally in usurping Joffrey, and though this was a very distressing turn, perhaps Baratheon and Stark could still align themselves once more for the common good of the country.

From his place by the window, Loras watched him set the scroll aside before pulling up a new bit of paper. "The message won't change no matter how many times you read it." He said as he closed his book. "You know it by heart, now; you've read it so many times."

"Ned Stark would not need rescuing had he listened to my council." Renly pondered aloud, tapping his fingers on the surface of the table. He held a quill in his hand, but he made no move to start writing. "And now his good-daughter pleads for my help. And Stannis', according to this letter."

"Of course the promise of freedom doesn't come without its price." Loras replied, pride rising inside him as he thought of how well this was all coming together. By the year's end, a crown would be nestled in Renly's black hair. He tried not to think of the woman who would sit beside him. He'd always thought he would hate Renly's future wife, but how could he ever hate Margaery? Every week that passed without a wedding, was, to Loras, a blessing.

"No," The youngest Baratheon leaned back in his chair, thoughtful. Truly, he didn't enjoy invoking Sylvia's (rather, her husband's) support in exchange for his help in freeing Lord Stark.

"Doubtless Stannis will ask her to kneel." There had been no word on Stannis' claim to the throne, but Renly knew his brother well enough to know it would come. If good and honourable Ned Stark denounced Joffrey's claim, there was little doubt his brother would as well.

"You've asked her to do the same," Loras reminded him with a quirked brow.

"Yes, but she loves me more than she ever loved Stannis. Stannis may have a better claim, but Sylvia will know he will make a poor king."

Loras scoffed. "The little chit thought Robert was a good and fair king." He recalled the girl's wedding. Some knights from the Reach had come north with him to witness the princess' wedding to the Stark heir. During the feast, she'd been tense—stealing glances at her father with a look of embarrassment, and, possibly, panic. Perhaps it was the first time she'd ever seen her father like that without the haze of childhood worship over her eyes.

"He was her father," he replied, standing and going to pour himself some water. "She can't be faulted for being blind to him." Sylvia was always hungry for Robert's praise.

"If she's blind for a raging drunk because he was her father, what makes you think she'll see any clearer for her brother? Or, rather, her mother?" The flower knight was starting to become impatient with Renly and his faith in his niece.

Renly paused, his water spilling and landing cool and wet against his hand. "She'll have to." He returned. "The Lannisters have her good-father, and with these accusations, Ned Stark's fate does not bode well." The would-be king leaned back against his desk, eying his lover steadily. "Even though his punishment will be decided by that woman's malicious little mind." He sipped his drink, the cold liquid startling him, keeping him focused.

"It will be Joffrey's decree, though." Loras reminded him, crossing his arms. "Ned Stark will be his own good-father, come his marriage to the man's eldest daughter."

"That won't make the punishment any softer." The black haired man countered. "Joffrey is a spiteful, cantankerous little worm. He had the poor girls pet slaughtered on the road, by her own father, no less. No. Cersei will at least strip the man of all his titles and property, and send him off somewhere to die in disgrace." He set aside his goblet, before straightening. "The only chance Ned Stark has to walk free, titles and honour intact is if Sylvia pledges her support to me."

"Sylvia, Sylvia, Sylvia, Sylvia." Loras grumbled, shaking his head in derision. "You talk of Sylvia as though she had command of the northern forces. You ought to be writing to Robb Stark." The letter Renly had written to his niece—declaring himself as the king the Realm needed—had defied the custom of addressing the castle's acting lord, and instead, addressed Sylvia personally. Robb was mentioned, but only within the letter's contents.

Renly half grinned, but it was tight and almost cynical. "My niece loves me. Robb Stark does not."

"Asking her over her husband certainly won't make him love you."

"If he refuses, he will not only be refusing me, he will be refusing his wife." Renly shrugged carelessly. "I imagine that fact will eat away at their happy bed quite a bit."

Loras suddenly laughed, a high bitter sound. "Our entire future, resting on the happiness of a man in his marriage bed. This is madness."

Renly smiled at his lover as he settled back into his chair. "We've the army and bounty of the Reach and most of the Stormlands. The Lannisters have only the west, and Stannis has only a few Houses on his side. With the north at our back, it will be quick work in changing out the former monarchy for my own. If Robb Stark is agreeable, he will gain his father back. I'll even offer him a place on my Small Council, as a show of my gratitude."

"Grandmother will not like that." Loras replied, a smirk tugging his lips.

"No, I don't imagine she will. But, rest assured, I am certain the boy will not accept. Sylvia wrote me once that he refused to hear about touring the southern lands, before their child was born." Loras still did not look appeased. Renly sighed. "It's a harmless gesture, Loras."

After a moment, the knight nodded. He started forward, his strides sure and smooth, standing before Renly with his arms at his sides. "You still asked for them both to come south. The boy and his wife."

"Aye." He said. Then a wide smile pulled at his lips. "As I said," he met Loras' eyes, his own full of mirth. "Robb Stark loves me little. Sylvia loves me greatly."

So all the southern monarchs are plotting and some of their plots surround Sylvia, and at least one major scheme involves Sylvia, although she is a loved one to 2/3 of these people...though, perhaps their ambitions outshine their affection. Sylvia, (the pawn?) will return in the next chapter, with some surprising news :D What could it be?

please review :D