A/N: Whoa, I haven't uploaded in about a week and half or even two weeks now. Sorry for the wait, so I will make it up to everyone by uploading every other day. So the next chapter will be Saturday, and that is a promise. We will not have an almost two This is the long awaited execution scene of Eddard Stark. It leaves off a cliffhanger, as in right in the middle of Stafford's 'confrontation' with Joffrey. I can't really divulge details of what happens during the execution, but there are major changes in the events. First of all there will be a minor skirmish, Secondly there will be a Ser Barristan Selmy present during the execution unlike the books, and lastly this is a set up chapter for Stafford's final chapter before Act III starts. Then the rest of Act III will focus on Essos, and we will get Ellions II, III, IV POV chapters, as well as Daenerys' first POV in the entire series. Ellion and Daenerys will not meet in any of the chapters, but since we've neglected the events in Essos so much in this book, and the two will eventually meet anyway. Ellion has not been spotlighted with a POV or even mentioned since his debut in Chapter 13, so he will return in Chapter 28, and get a double chapter in 29, and then Daenerys will get her first POV in 30, and the final chapter in Act II will be 31 with Ellion. Then we will begin the official War of Five Kings.

Golden Dragon King: Sansa has a fate much different than she would ever have in the books, so I'm glad you're enjoying the romance.

Nate Texans: Yes, Barristan is one of my most favorite ASOIAF series and sometimes makes me question my sexuality (NO HOMO). Sorry for my update literally coming almost ten days after your original review, but I had some things to take care of (AP EXAMS).

Arya

The scent of hot bread drifting from the shops along the Street of Flour was sweeter than any perfume Arya had ever smelled. She took a deep breath and stepped closer to the pigeon. Arya still couldn't believe what happened at the Red Keep, and had happened to Syrio. The First Sword of Braavos never runs. She had watched him, surrounded by enemies, and strike them all down with his wooden sword. But when he faced that Meryn Trant, his wooden sword had broken. And as she ran, that was the last she ever saw of her dancing teacher, standing alone, his face unflinching, against a Knight of the Kingsguard.

Her stick sword whistled out and caught it two feet off the ground, and it went down in a flurry of brown feathers. She was on it in the blink of an eye, grabbing a wing as the pigeon flapped and fluttered. It pecked at her hand. She grabbed its neck and twisted until she felt the bone snap. She felt like that swift motion relieved whatever pain she had felt after all of the events at the Red Keep. Now she was finally to herself, nobody else would bother her at all. It was just about her own survival now, and she didn't have to worry about Sansa, Stafford, Joffrey, or any of them anymore. Without me in their life it might be less complicated, and I wouldn't have to remind Stafford. Words really are wind.

She tied the pigeon to her belt and started down the street. A man was pushing a load of tarts by on a two wheeled cart; the smells sang of blueberries and lemons and apricots. Her stomach made a hollow rumbly noise. "Could I have one?" she heard herself say. "A lemon, or . . . or any kind." She hadn't eaten anything but pigeons and she really needed something to eat.

The pushcart man looked her up and down. Plainly he did not like what he saw. "Three coppers." Arya tapped her wooden sword against the side of her boot. "I'll trade you a fat pigeon," she said. "The Others take your pigeon," the pushcart man said. The tarts were still warm from the oven. The smells were making her mouth water, but she did not have three coppers . . . or one.

Arya glanced warily behind her. Two of the City Watch were standing at the mouth of an alley. Their cloaks hung almost to the ground, the heavy wool dyed a rich gold; their mail and boots and gloves were black. Arya edged back from the cart and hurried off. She began to 'investigate' conversation of others in Flea Bottom, a crowded district in King's Landing. It wasn't exactly the most dangerous part, like the back alleys, but certainly wasn't the most pleasant of places.

The talk in Flea Bottom was that the gold cloaks had thrown in with the Lannisters, their commander raised to a lord, with lands on the Trident and a seat on the king's council. There was also the talk of a herald of Renly Baratheon demanding that Joffrey abdicate the throne in favor of his brother, Stafford. She really didn't want to hear Stafford's name or even see him ever again. After what he and Sansa did to her, she really didn't want anything to do with him. But to be honest, she still hated Joffrey more than she hated Stafford for what he did. That gold-haired bastard was just creepy, and worst of all he just wasn't a good person. Stafford actually took the time to fool her into thinking he was.

She had also heard other things, scary things, things that made no sense to her. Some said her father had murdered King Robert and been slain in turn by Lord Renly. Some even said Stafford and Renly worked together in killing her father, which would have caused her considering killing both of them.

One thing all the stories agreed on: King Robert was dead. The bells in the seven towers of the Great Sept of Baelor had tolled for a day and a night, the thunder of their grief rolling across the city in a bronze tide. They only rang the bells like that for the death of a king, a tanner's boy told Arya. If that's the case, Joffrey would have already been ascended to the throne. A sixteen almost seventeen year old boy, on a King's Throne, was a thought that unsettled Arya. There were many great young Kings, but Joffrey certainly did not seem like one of the best kings. Not that it mattered now, they likely thought Arya had died or gone into hiding. The Lannisters didn't care what happened to her now.

All she wanted was to go home, but leaving King's Landing was not so easy as she had hoped. Arya had visited each of the seven city gates in turn. The Dragon Gate, the Lion Gate, and the Old Gate were closed and barred. The Mud Gate and the Gate of the Gods were open, but only to those who wanted to enter the city; the guards let no one out. Those who were allowed to leave left by the King's Gate or the Iron Gate, but Lannister men-at arms in crimson cloaks and lion-crested helms manned the guard posts there questioning everyone who tried to pass on foot. Sometimes she thought about swimming the river, but the Blackwater Rush was wide and deep, and everyone agreed that its currents were wicked and treacherous. She had no coin to pay a ferryman or take passage on a ship.

Far across the city, bells began to ring.

"What's this now?" a fat man called from the pot-shop.

"The bells again, gods ha'mercy," wailed an old woman. A red-haired whore in a wisp of painted silk pushed open a second story window. "Is it the boy king that's died now?" she shouted down, leaning out over the street. "Ah, that's a boy for you, they never last long." As she laughed, a naked man slid his arms around her from behind, biting her neck and rubbing the heavy white breasts that hung loose beneath her shift.

"Stupid slut," the fat man shouted up. "The king's not dead, that's only summoning bells. One tower tolling. When the king dies, they ring every bell in the city."

A summoning? What type of summons was this? Was this a formal coronation or something more? Arya wanted to know what the people had gone on about. So she began walking around the city to figure out what will happen.

Two boys close to Arya's age scampered past, splashing through a puddle.

"Where you going?" she shouted when she was right behind him. "What's happening?" He glanced back without slowing. "The gold cloaks is carryin' him to the sept."

"Who?" she yelled, running hard.

"The Hand! They'll be taking his head off, Buu says." Her father in the Sept? Why would he be there of all places? And what happened after she left the keep? Why would he even be tried there? All these questions emerged as Arya,

"Make way!" someone shouted from the cross street. "Make way for my lords of Redwyne!" They wore checked cloaks, blue-and-burgundy. Behind them, two young lordlings rode side by side on a pair of chestnut mares alike as peas in a pod. Arya had seen them in the bailey a hundred times; the Redwyne twins, Ser Horas and Ser Hobber, homely youths with orange hair and square, freckled faces. Sansa and Jeyne Poole used to call them Ser Horror and Ser Slobber, and giggle whenever they caught sight of them. They did not look funny now.

She bit her lip as she limped along, listening to the excited voices around her.

"—the King's Hand, Lord Stark. They're carrying him up to Baelor's Sept."

"I heard he was dead."

"Soon enough, soon enough. Here, I got me a silver stag says they lop his head off."

"Past time, the traitor." The man spat.

"I heard he was conspiring with the Renly and his prince," the other man said.

"Renly doesn't have a son,"

"Are you daft? I'm talking about Prince Stafford Baratheon. Rumor is during a session a herald came demanding an abdication from Lord Renly himself," That was indeed some intriguing news. It confirmed at least a hint of an alliance between Stafford and Renly, though no one would be surprised with that one.

Arya squirmed through the press, ducking between the legs of horses and clutching tight to her sword stick. From the middle of the crowd, all she could see were arms and legs and stomachs, and the seven slender towers of the sept looming overhead.

Arya grew frantic. Forcing her way to the front of the crowd, she was shoved up against the stone of a plinth. She looked up at Baelor the Blessed, the septon king. Sliding her stick sword through her belt, Arya began to climb.

That was when she saw her father. He was dressed in a rich grey velvet doublet with a white wolf sewn on the front in beads, and a grey wool cloak trimmed with fur, but he was thinner than Arya had ever seen him. She wondered what they had done to him, as he had probably not been in the most royal accommodations.

The High Septon himself stood behind him, a squat man, grey with age and ponderously fat, wearing long white robes and an immense crown of spun gold and crystal that wreathed his head with rainbows whenever he moved.

Clustered around the doors of the sept, in front of the raised marble pulpit, were a knot of knights and high lords. Joffrey was prominent among them, his raiment all crimson, silk and satin patterned with prancing stags and roaring lions, a gold crown on his head. His queen mother stood beside him in a black mourning gown slashed with crimson, a veil of black diamonds in her hair. Arya recognized the Hound, wearing a snowy white cloak over his dark grey armor, with four of the Kingsguard around him. She noticed that Ser Barristan Selmy was no longer among them, and instead he was standing next to… Him. Ser Barristan wore a white cloak, but it was much, but this time instead of the Kingsguard armor, he wore plate, plain plate armor. He still had a sword in his scabbard. He stood next to Stafford Baratheon, this time wearing his signature cuirass and greaves and gauntlets atop a coat of mail, only this time only a stag was shown on his left shoulder plate on his off hand. His cloak also discarded most of the Lannister garb, which seemed to be a statement. His cloak was yellow, but she couldn't quite see. And right next to him was Sansa, dressed in sky-blue silk, with her long auburn hair washed and curled and silver bracelets on her wrists. They exchanged looks periodically, and it was probably due to the fact of their certain intimate relationship, which Arya continued to resent. The only person who committed a great treason was him. May the Seven Hells burn him and the Others take him.

Her father raised his voice and began again. "I am Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King," he said more loudly, his clear, dignified and booming voice carrying across the plaza, "and I come before you to confess my treason in the sight of gods,"

"I betrayed the faith of my king and the trust of my friend, Robert," he shouted. "I swore to defend and protect his children, yet before his blood was cold, I plotted to depose and murder his son and seize the throne for his brother on behalf of Lord Renly Baratheon. Let the High Septon and Baelor the Beloved and the Seven bear witness to the truth of what I say: Joffrey Baratheon is the one true heir to the Iron Throne, and by the grace of all the gods, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."

A stone came sailing out of the crowd. Arya cried out as she saw her father hit. The gold cloaks kept him from falling. Blood ran down his face from a deep gash across his forehead. She stared at Stafford, who decided to be passive and do nothing at all. So this was the man she thought would rival even her father in honor. Truth is, he was a person, who let anyone trample over him just so he can protect someone he would betray anyway. Your fate is fixed.

Another went clanging off the breastplate of the knight in the black-and-gold armor. Another one hit, Stafford in the shoulder, which caused Ser Barristan to step right in front of him to act as a shield. She wanted to see another person hit Stafford.

"As we sin, so do we suffer," he intoned, in a deep swelling voice much louder than her father's. "This man has confessed his crimes in the sight of gods and men, here in this holy place." Rainbows danced around his head as he lifted his hands in entreaty. "The gods are just, yet Blessed Baelor taught us that they are also merciful. What shall be done with this traitor, Your Grace?" Joffrey had a choice now, and Arya hoped he would make the right decision.

A thousand voices were screaming, but Arya never heard them. Prince Joffrey . . . no, King Joffrey . . . stepped out from behind the shields of his Kingsguard. "My mother bids me let Lord Eddard take the black, and Lady Sansa has begged mercy for her father."

He looked straight at Sansa then, and smiled, and for a moment Arya thought that the gods had heard her prayer. Stafford gave Joffrey a look, and it looked like he had eased up before now. Ser Barristan also let out a sigh of relief. This was until Joffrey turned back to the crowd and said, "But they have the soft hearts of women. So long as I am your king, treason shall never go unpunished. Ser Ilyn, bring me his head!"

The crowd roared, and Arya felt the statue of Baelor rock as they surged against it. The High Septon clutched at the king's cape, and Varys came rushing over waving his arms, and even the queen was saying something to him, but Joffrey shook his head. Stafford had a look of utter shock, and he stood there frozen for a long moment. Dimly, as if from far off, Arya heard her sister scream. Sansa had fallen to her knees, sobbing hysterically. Ser Ilyn Payne climbed the steps of the pulpit. She saw Stafford look at her in pain, and then to Ser Barristan. The two had a long look of quiet deliberation.

High atop the pulpit, Ser Ilyn Payne gestured and the knight in black-and-gold gave a command. The gold cloaks flung Lord Eddard to the marble, with his head and chest out over the edge. "Here, you!" an angry voice shouted at Arya, but she bowled past, shoving people aside, squirming between them, slamming into anyone in her way. A hand fumbled at her leg and she hacked at it, kicked at shins.

Ser Ilyn drew a two-handed great sword from the scabbard on his back. She could still hear Sansa screaming, as she was being held back by a few guardsman. He raised the sword, which she recognized as ice. Then she turned her attention to Stafford and Ser Barristan. For a moment, it looked like Ser Barristan had nodded to Stafford, but only the Gods knew what that meant. She saw Stafford take in a deep breath. What was that signal about?

Without warning, Barristan drew his sword from his scabbard and whistled. Suddenly from the crowd, twenty some armed troops emerged swords, spears, lances and all manner of weaponry drawn. Stafford brandished a hand axe, and right when the Ser Ilyn would have made contact with her father's head he met the Valyrian steel blade with the hand axe. I can't believe it, he actually intervened...

Everyone in the crowd either began to flee, stay there awestruck at what they are seeing before their very eyes, or getting shoved to the ground by city watchmen, who began to try to support and protect Joffrey and the kingsguard during the chaos occurring before their very eyes. Stafford managed to miraculously knock the blade to the side and disarm the executioner.

As the chaos continued, Stafford using all his might from what Arya could tell grounded Ser Ilyn, and forced him down to the ground.

"You!" He stated pointing at one of his own men at arms, "Make sure he doesn't move. Ser Barristan, watch Lord Eddard, he is not to DIE," He had a loud booming voice, especially for someone his age. Ser Barristan nodded and managed to stand over Lord Eddard. Stafford turned his attention to Joffrey with his axe drawn. His Kingsguard was surrounding him.

"Stafford! What in the Seven fucking Hells do you think you are doing?" Joffrey screeched.

"You know Joffrey, There's a consequence for the paths people choose. And now that you have chosen your path, you will face the consequences of the path you chose,"

"Enough with the cryptic metaphors! What you are doing is treason!"

"It's not treason if I never supported you to begin with," Stafford boldly stated. He turned to the crowd, and Arya got a good view of what was happening, "People of King's Landing. What you bear witness to today is the true nature of a false king. Instead of showing benevolence, he shows cruelty. This is not a king you should rightfully support. Which is why I will TAKE the throne from him, even if it means war!"

"Kill him! Kill him! What are you all waiting for, I want his head and that wolf!" Immediately the kingsguard tried to surround Stafford, but they were immediately met by the men at arms. She recognized one men at arms, as that Dornishman from the tournament, the one that narrowly lost to him in an axe throwing competition. The men engaged and Stafford turned his sights to Sansa, who was still being held onto by who she now recognized as Meryn Trant, who looked as if he ached and limped with his steps and raising of his arms.

Stafford with only a handaxe turned away from the main action, which saw some of his makeshift force engage the Kingsguard, which had halted to deadlock, with the Kingsguard gaining some traction and beginning to push them back. Meryn Trant knowing Stafford had targeted him, threw Sansa on the ground, and drew his sword. Stafford smiled.

"I'll wipe that smile off your face, traitor," Meryn Trant declared as he charged for Stafford. Stafford met Meryn Trant's first slice with his axe, and easily moved it away. Meryn Trant looked like he had the reach on him with his long sword, but Stafford quickly closed the distance. Meryn Trant let out a flurry, which Stafford managed to easily weave through. So much for the image the Kingsguard had as the most fearsome bodyguards for the king. Meryn Trant was being stood up by a fifteen year old boy, which should not be the case. Stafford should have been defeated within seconds after he tried to stand against the knight. But even with the weapon Stafford had being live steel, Stafford was unusually composed during the battle. Like had expected what was going on, or at least knew this would happen. Arya had never seen this out of Stafford, as he is usually a person, who improvises in the battlefield, with little or no planning whatsoever.

And as if in an instant, as soon as Meryn Trant tried to land a heavy blow from the top, Stafford skillfully met it, but this time used the beard of his axe to disarm the knight. The knight stunned and staggered watched helplessly as Stafford landed two heavy blows with his axe to his knees. In agony, Meryn Trant fell to the floor grounded and disarmed, clutching his swollen legs. Stafford ran over to Sansa, and they both embraced. Arya still felt enraged even with this show of affection, and it even distracted her a little from the battle against the Kingsguard, which was now going very badly for the men at arms, Stafford had used to surprise Joffrey. Sansa whispered something to Stafford, still almost in tears. Stafford nodded and said something back.

However this was interrupted when suddenly one of the white coats from the battle to protect Joffrey came over and decided to bash Stafford to the ground. Stafford got up quickly, and turned to face his opponent. It was the hound, who began to go on the offensive. The hound hit Stafford from all sides, and Stafford managed to deflect all the blows, but Arya could tell that Stafford was tired. Sansa could do nothing, but watch as Stafford fought off someone bigger, stronger and more experienced in combat than he was. It made it even worse that some of Stafford's techniques with an axe were taught to him by the man he was fighting.

Stafford held out, with a vigor, even landing a few heavy blows to the hound, which only seemed to make him more vicious with his strikes against Stafford. Finally, after another clash, Stafford was hit square in the gauntlet with a sword strike knocking out his sword. Sansa's expression turned bleak when Stafford was disarmed, and Arya even worried what might happen to Stafford now. He was at the mercy of someone, no one wanted to be at the mercy of.

"You need to practice more, boy." He turned to her sister, Sandor Clegane rasped. He hefted his blade ready to strike. Arya might have wanted to shield her eyes.

Suddenly, something struck the hound. And before he knew it, he had been staggered. Standing before him was Ser Barristan, who had moved all the way from where her father was to where Stafford was protecting Sansa.

"No one touches the king on my watch!" Ser Barristan proclaimed.

"So you got the old knight to help you," Sandor Clegane stated, "Well, let's if those old bones of yours still have any fight left in them." The two clashed their blades with Stafford trying desperately to get his weapon. Arya turned to notice more of the people fighting and saw that the Kingsguard had begun to push through the men at arms. Ser Barristan and Sandor Clegane were still at full combat, blocking and parrying and riposting with their swords. Ser Barristan, though very old, still had strength in each strike of the blade. Sandor Clegane, however gained a bit of momentum, but somehow the old man stayed in it, and continued to hold his ground. Each block he made of Sandor's heavy blows showed just how experienced the old man was. Stafford managed to recover his hand axe, and made sure that no gold coat got anywhere near Sansa. He fought off some spearmen, his axe literally broke the spears in half. This must have taken a lot of strength, as hand axe, as far as Arya knew did not have the power to chop the shafts of spears in half.

And then it happened. While Stafford and the rest of his men were busy dealing with the now large number of gold coats, the handful of Kingsguard, and other allies of Joffrey, Arya noticed that Ilyn Payne had gotten up. The simple men at arms in charge of watching Ilyn Payne tried to lift his sword to bring it down on the knight, but Ilyn Payne literally caught his hand before it made contact, grabbed him by his throat and threw him down. Then if the situation couldn't get any worse, any person near that place got swarmed by gold cloaks. And somehow against all odds, he managed to recover Ice, and he had it in his hands. Like a demon made flesh, Ilyn Payne hacked and whirled and killed all the guardsmen in his way, the silent phantom a grey blur behind Ned Stark, that Stafford didn't notice as he was fighting. It was now he noticed the Dornishman, who had driven back most of his enemies that were surging from a shield wall behind Stafford, busy taking on both gold cloaks and white cloaks with brutal and rapid strikes, dragging two of the Kingsguard to their feet with the lugs of his spear and trying to stab them through the larger slits of their helms. This had knocked them into clawing at their helms and twitching on the ground, and there those Kingsguard lay. All the while, he laughed from beneath his visored helm with a mail aventail that covered his face. Despite his bloodthirst, he was surrounded, the shield wall against the Lannisters waning in strength.

Her father had not moved, still bound. He could have used the chaos to slip away, but Arya knew her father had far too much honor to do that. He didn't want to abandon Sansa to whatever fate Joffrey gave to her if he managed to slip away. As he slaughtered the last few of the nine guardsmen surrounding and protecting her father, Ilyn Payne lifted the blade above his head, sunlight seemed to ripple and dance down the dark metal, glinting off an edge sharper than any razor.

And then a hand shot out of the press and closed round her arm like a wolf trap, so hard that Needle went flying from her hand. Arya was wrenched off her feet. She would have fallen if he hadn't held her up, as easy as if she were a doll. A face pressed close to hers, long black hair and tangled beard and rotten teeth.

"Don't look!" a thick voice snarled at her.

"By the Gods, how in the…" She heard a voice, which she knew belonged to Stafford. Then she heard silence, and then a scream, which she recognized as her sister.

"Stafford, the line's faltering. We got to get out of here and to the ship fast!" He heard a voice, which didn't sound familiar to him. She could still Sansa's hysterical wailing in the background. She wanted to turn around to see what Stafford was doing now, but she would see her father, or rather what might have been left of her father. Yoren, yes, his name is Yoren.

She did not recall him finding Needle, until he handed the sword back to her. "Hope you can use that, boy."

"I'm not—" she started. He shoved her into a doorway, thrust dirty fingers through her hair, and gave it a twist, yanking her head back.

"—not a smart boy, that what you mean to say?" He finished for her.

Arya threw herself backward, kicking wildly, wrenching her head from side to side, but he had her by the hair, so strong, she could feel her scalp tearing, and on her lips the salt taste of tears.