A/N: Hey guys. I am exhausted after moving to Tampa - the apartment I was gonna get ended up being a slum, so had to scramble to find a new one. Living in an Airbnb until I move in next week.

In spite of it all, here we go. Sorry bout the cliffy last chapter.

Enjoy and comment!

Chapter 14: The Black Pearl

"Oi' love. Care to get supper with me?"

Rolling her eyes, Cella swatted Mord's shoulder. "Enough. Not gonna happen."

"But Robert Baratheon always gets the girl."

"Firstly," the Tyroshi beauty that landed the role as Queen Elia Targaryen remarked. "The fact that Lyanna Stark is 'Her Grace, Queen Lyanna Targaryen' proves that Robert Baratheon doesn't always 'get the girl.' And secondly, you're not Robert Barathe… oh fuck it, why not?"

Mord pumped his fist. "Persistence. That's the way to go."

Laughing from where she sat, combing her hair in front of the polished silver looking glass, Lady Crane watched as Izembaro - her boss - stepped through the dressing room. "A good mummer can recite their lines, but great mummers become their characters," he said in his lilt. "Ensure it is done. Live the role."

"Then should I take a sword and cave Mord's head open?" laughed Deller, who played Rhaegar Targaryen. "Believe me, if the actual Robert's personality is anything as Mord plays it, we'll have a repeat of the rebellion of Lyonel Baratheon to deal with."

"Even better. More material for me to write, you to act, and the audience to pay to eat up."

"That's a new one for you," Crane drolled. "Wishing for war in order to line your pockets."

The King of the Mummers grinned. "You know me so well, my sweet." He made kissy faces in the air before dashing off to places unknown… not that Lady Crane cared.

He could handle the business side of things. The stage was where she belonged.

"So, some wine?" asked Deller, kissing her head affectionately but platonically. It wasn't women that he desired in his bed - living so closely brought these secrets out.

Crane leaned back with a cross frown. "You know very well I'm a rum girl, not wine. Fetch it for me."

"Oh, but sweet Lady Stark, shouldn't our dragonwolves have a taste for ale? It comes from your home keep." The grin spread on his face.

"Git," Crane laughed, pretending to throw something at him before going back to her long, raven tresses. She did miss her family sometimes, mother and brothers lost in one of the poxes that ravaged the countryside, but her troupe… it was her new family and she loved them. Even the young, arrogant whelps that didn't know their place.

She had been one of them, after all.

A slight whimper drew her attention… only for her to smile. "Hey boy," Lady Crane murmured, leaning down to ruffle the fur of a rather large wolf, tail swishing on the floor as he accepted the pets. Tongue lolling out. Red eyes… fierce but hypnotic. Looking up, she found a young lad with raven hair and purple eyes. Alongside was a girl of the same age, her purples joined with silver hair. "You own this beautiful creature."

The lad chuckled. "Ghost here doesn't like being called beautiful… he's a fierce hunter." Ghost took that moment to let out a cooing creen, flipping over onto his back to let his tummy be scratched, leaving the lad groaning.

Laughing, the girl bumped him with her hip before leaning down to join Lady Crane in rubbing the tummy. "He is beautiful, thank you. And yes, we own him."

"Rare to see a white wolf in these parts, let alone a Lysene with one." Crane's brow rose.

Jon went quiet, while Dany merely laughed, eyes sparkling as she deftly answered with her usual radiance. "Believe me, we were as shocked to see this cute little pup on the road… but we just had to have him." Giving one last rub, she rose and curtseyed. "Larra, Larra Snow. And this is my nephew Eddard."

"An aunt, yet so young."

"My father was a randy man at all ages."

Crane snorted. "You have a good wit, I'll tell you that." She turned fully, leaning back in her seat. "So, how did you get backstage with a wolf?"

Jon shrugged his shoulders. "Copper star."

"Ah, you know how the world works, that's good for bastards. Coin could come from the worst sinner and people will look the other way." There was something… off about these children, but Crane didn't feel it was dangerous or anything. "You were in the grounds, watching the play."

Daenerys beamed. "Oh, it was amazing."

Shaking her head, Crane tried not to snicker. "Japes hit the mark, didn't they? Usually do, that's why the King of the Mummers has that title."

"Well, those were amusing," Dany replied. "But I was talking about the story… how all of you portrayed the love story, it was wonderful."

"The love story of the King and his Queens, Valyrian marriage reborn along with the dragons." Crane clapped her hands. "Braavos founded by slaves fleeing Old Valyria yet flocking to see the play of their ancestors."

Eyes narrowing slightly, Jon coughed. "The Targaryens are nothing like that."

"Oh, I know dear lad, calm down." They were Westerosi… or at least a mix. One of their ancestors was Lysene, certainly. "Just that it could be better. Something not only entertaining, but good. Purely good, one I could perform in front of King Rhaegar, Queen Elia, and Queen Lyanna themselves."

Dany's brow rose. "Oh, that is something you wish to do?" Wheels were turning in her head. "I'm sure Queen Lyanna would love how you play her."

Why was she telling them this? Eh, boredom probably, but Crane saw no problem in it. "In spite of my surroundings, young lady, I enjoy this and want to be the best. Used to sneak in when the mummers came to the town near my father's farm. I love it, love every bit of it, and wanted my art to be perfect." She leaned forward. "Did you know I helped the King of Mummers write this play?"

"No, but I'm not surprised." Dany was intrigued. "Your writing is as good as your acting."

Crane was flattered. "Well, I traveled to King's Landing, last tourney when Queen Lyanna fought as the Knight of the Laughing Tree. Wanted to see their mannerisms, their speech… but truly, they are great people. Fully worth the hype they get for good or for ill." She sighed, covering her eyes. "But I am but a common actress in a troupe for the Braavosi merchant class. Silly dreams of meeting royalty are likely just that, silly dreams."

For once, Jon's lips curved up. "Silly dreams could turn into reality, Lady Crane." He pulled a gold dragon out of his pocket, emblazoned with his father's profile. "A little gift from us, for the performance."

Taking it, Crane smiled at them. "Thank you, Eddard and Larra Snow."

Sneaking out through the corridors of the Gate until they reached the courtyard, Jon turned to Dany. "You're not thinking of having muna and kepa…"

"Aye, Jon. I want her in King's Landing. All of them even."

He laughed. "Lord Robert won't like it."

Dany laughed right with him, reaching where Moonlight was waiting for her, tail wagging. "Lord Robert can get stuffed…" Suddenly, she was knocked into by Lady, the direwolf barking and whimpering.

"Lady!" Jon yanked her back and hauled up Dany. "What's wrong…" Somehow he knew. Direwolves didn't speak to them as dragon's did, but their bond still could communicate, of a sort.

Eyes widening, Daenerys thought the same. "Sansa!"

There was a look in her father's eyes that Sansa remembered. While she didn't too much, Robb often begged to hear stories of Eddard Stark, Rock of Harrenhal. Of his great victories in the war of her uncle Rhaegar. Of the legends that all those around Winterfell spoke of with cheers and drunken bellowing… and yet whenever they asked there was that look.

A look that their mother would gloss over, but that their uncle Tyrion came clean about. Told them about terror - about the sheer fear that war brought. Sansa didn't understand it at the time.

With a hood over her head, hauled by thick arms into somewhere unknown. What could be done to her? All sorts of terrible things that Sansa truly didn't understand a lot of flashed in her mind. Leaving her heart slowing. Leaving her eyes flickering at a mile a minute even if all they saw was the blackness of the inside of the hood.

What would they do to her?

Jon… Dany… help me…

"We got her, mi'Lady." It was one of her captors. "She tried to wriggle her way out of it."

"Why is she tied up?!" came another voice, this one female. It bore an exotic accent not quite Dornish and not quite Braavosi, something Sansa couldn't pinpoint, but otherwise fluent common tongue. "I told you to bring her back, not force her back!" She sounded quite annoyed.

"Sorry, mi'Lady. She was resisting. Had no choice."

"I give you one order, to find Rose and gently guide her back from the cunt that lured her away before she begets his bastard."

"Hey, you wanted her, mi'Lady, and she's here. Don't go yelling at us."

An audible sigh rang out. "Gods, must I clean up all your foolish messes." The voice suddenly dropped to a sweeter tone. "Rose, my dear." Two delicate sets of fingers began tugging on her hood. "My apologies about all this, but these two can get very…" Light flooded Sansa's eyes just as the voice cut off. "Who is this?"

Blinking, as her vision adjusted to the light level Sansa spotted a dark-skinned girl. Older than her, about the age of Jon's uncle Viserys or just a little younger. Her teeth were white and wore a dress of silk and earrings of emeralds. Clearly wealthy, and her face was contorted in surprise.

The two thugs behind her looked at each other, confused themselves. "That's Red."

Suddenly there was a fury in the woman's eyes, though her dark skin paled as much as was possible given its tone. "That's not Rose, you idiots!"

"Whadda you mean? She's got red hair."

Teeth gritting, the woman's fists balled. "Firstly, she looks nothing like her! Where are the fucking freckles? The little gap in her teeth?" Neither feature was in Sansa. Her skin was smooth and teeth flawless. "And secondly, Rose is six and ten! This girl's still a fucking child, you fucking cunt moron, motherfuckers!" Bursting with fury, she slapped the first man. Her height was barely over Jon's current height, but the men were scared of her. Practically shaking like whelped dogs.

"Mi'Lady… we're sorry…"

Sansa's fear - supplied long by what she had been sensing - finally died. Replaced with an anger of her own, fueled by what she had seen and heard. "Release me at once or all of you will die!" All eyes zeroed on her. "I will have all of you killed!" It worked sometimes for her mother, not that she used it often.

A guard at the door rushed forward with a hand on the hilt of his sword, but the dark-skinned woman held her hand up. "Get out, all of you!"

"But mi'Lady."

"Now! Get out!" They began to flee. "I won't tolerate your incompetence! Begone from my manse or I will toss you into the canals!" That was directed at the two idiot guards that had taken Sansa in the first place. Doors shut behind them, her face softened. "Please allow me…"

As she approached, Sansa stepped back. "Don't touch me!"

She held up her hands. "Alright." Her dress was spun intricately, the various green fibers of different hues in swirls and flowers, neckline plunging to show exotic dark skin while her midriff was essentially visible through sheer fabric. Quite daring for a regular noblewoman. While she sounded as erudite Lady much like her mother, Sansa could tell she was different. "Would you like some water? At least please sit down," she gestured to a plush couch.

Sansa took the moment to look around. Give the place a second look now that she wasn't in actual dange. Columns of polished marble reached to a high ceiling, while the floors were travertine. A pool rested in the center while between the columns were alcoves each decorated with a finely sculpted statue. Unlike those in the crypts of Winterfell, these looked quite lifelike, their features almost perfect depictions of human emotion… and erotic in nature. Nude men and women, wrapped together in… Sansa didn't even know what, herself barely having even flowered.

But she knew a fair bit. Her mother not one to coddle her with innocent idealism, even if she was sheltered. "This is a brothel."

The older girl shook her head. "I wouldn't call it that."

"Braavos was founded by freed slaves, no?" At the woman's nod, she continued. "There's a brothel in my hometown, my mother refuses to let my brother go, even though his friend thinks it could make him a man, whatever that means. The girls there…" Sansa shook her head. "You're no worse than slavers, what you do."

At that, each word found the girl progressively more annoyed… and get angry. "Little girl," she said evenly. "I did not intend for you to be put through what my idiot guards did, but by the gods I will not have you slander me. I am no whore, or flesh peddler. You are in the manse of Bellegere Otherys, Black Pearl of Braavos, and everyone here is of their own free will."

Sansa blinked, surprised. Bellegere Otherys… In the books and histories her Aunt Lya got for her namedays, that name was a familiar one. The companion of… "Aegon the Unworthy."

Bellegere tilted her head. "You mean King Aegon, Fourth of his Name?"

"You're his descendent, aren't you?"

Pursing her lips, the Black Pearl nodded. "Aye, I am."

Perhaps… she could be trusted as blood kin of her cousins. "I am Sansa of House Stark."

"Sansa of House Stark? The daughter of Lord Eddard of Winterfell in a Braavosi playhouse?" A light chuckle. "I know she is the daughter of Catelyn Tully and thus a redhead, and quite a budding beauty." Her bow rose. "I may be descended from the bastard daughter of a King's mistress, but I keep track of my kin and they are all in Westeros."

Shaking her head, Sansa reached into the folds of her skirt and produced a pouch - it was tied to her dress as Arthur had demanded, making sure it would never be lost. "Here, is this proof enough of my identity?" Taking out a small seal from the pouch, it was that of a direwolf. The sigil of House Stark, the one her father had given her to write letters to Dany.

Taking it in her hand, Bellegere eyed it. "This… you look like Lady Sansa, no doubt," she said with confidence. "But how do I know this isn't one elaborate hoax?"

Shrugging, Sansa closed her eyes… and then opened them. They had gone an dark grey, like a howling winter's blizzard. "You can choose whether to believe me or not," she channeled her mother, the great Cersei Stark. "But think of what you would lose if you chose not to and were wrong."

Bellegere's perfectly manicured brow rose, her purple eyes staring at her. "Enlighten me."

The words that Cersei would have said simply spilled out of Sansa, voice unnaturally firm for her age - without a hint of crazed anger but the colder kind. Fierce as the land she grew up in. "If you do not let me go at once, I'll personally make sure that everything your ancestor built is burned by dragonfire and yourself feed to the direwolves... slowly, but I believe in being strict but fair, can you give me a reason not to?"

Stepping ever closer to her, slender curves hugging her dress as the elevated sandals gave her at least half a head over Sansa, Bellegere's scowl remained for what seemed like minutes before she smirked. "You still may be lying, but if not it's clear that you are related to Queen Lyanna Stark. You have the… spunk that she's known for."

"She's my aunt, though this is all from my mother."

"Cersei Lannister - she is notorious as well." A loud bark and growl drew their attention. "The fuck?" Bellegere murmured.

Sansa's heart soared. "Lady!"

Bursting in, one of the guards had his sword drawn. "Lady Bellegere, there are intruders… they have large wolves. Shall I…"

"No…" Hands placed over her lap, she laughed. "I believe this is in regard to our visitor here. Tell them she is here and that she is unharmed." Glancing at Sansa, she raised her brow. "Given that direwolves are the prerogative of the Royal Extended Family, I think I should believe you. Would you like some dinner, as an apology?"

Her stomach rumbled, belying exactly what she thought of that suggestion.

Biting her lip, Rhaella carefully brought up the amber earring towards her daughter's ear. Unlike with the ever bubbly and excitable Daenerys, her beautiful emerald dragon was lovely and demure. Standing still even when there was the irritated scowl on her face that Rhaella knew intimately.

Given it often stared at her in the mirror.

"Why must you look like that, Cella?"

"Why must I be clucked over like a child?" she reflected back on her. "Can't I handle this on my own? I know how to put on earrings."

Carefully, Rhaella eased the hook to the ear. Making sure the gentle rocking of the ship didn't cause a prick. "You wore earrings not one day in Winterfell."

She rolled her eyes - an innate willful streak existed inside her. Not wild or charming as Dany, but stubborn nonetheless. "I prefer it there. Everything's… so free and unrestrictive. Like when I ride Goldenwing."

"Now you understand why I love riding dragonback. Takes me away from the chains of court formality, though I cannot completely escape it." Just like her father, this one. Myrcella had that dragon's willfulness, but the reasons for it… many came from Jaime.

Myrcella still crossed her arms. "Am I done now, or will you put half a gold mine on me next?"

"That could be arranged if you consult your grandfather." As if summoned, in walked Jaime - dashing in his Kingsguard armor. "But I fear his conditions to you would be far worse than anything your muna can give." Rhaella smirked slightly, eyes gazing lovingly at her man. Love very clearly reflected.

Golden-blonde hair pulled back in a bun, Myrcella checked her ears and then moved to embrace Jaime. "Please tell muna to stop fussing over me. I'm no child, I'm a dragonrider."

"You are, my dear dragon." He kissed her forehead before looking at Rhaella, brow raised. "And are you babying her a bit too much, your Grace?"

"Only what is needed, Ser Jaime."

Looking back down at his daughter, Jaime shrugged. "Listen to your muna, then."

"Ugh, kepa…"

"No talking back… though if you are agreeable I'll escort you to the dragonpit personally, promise."

Her resolve cracked. "Truly?"

"I am a knight sworn to House Targaryen. You are a Princess of House Targaryen."

Myrcella smiled. "Is that why you have to listen to muna?"

His green eyes twinkled. "There are many reasons, now run off. Princess Alyssa is eager to compare outfits with you." That made Myrcella laugh, gracefully rushing out of the cabin.

Only for Rhaella to replace her in Jaime's embrace. "You are a wonderful kepa," she smiled, kissing him greedily.

"I try to be, even if I am not Cella's official father."

"Doesn't matter, you still are."

He nodded. "If I could marry you, I would, my love."

Rhaella kissed the crook of his neck, nuzzling it. Enjoying the little stubble of Jaime's blonde beard only beginning to grow as it scratched at her soft skin. "I choose to believe we are married in spirit. I am his, and he is mine, this day till the end of my days." Both smiling, they kissed deeply, which quickly grew heated.

Somehow even at her age, this man could drive her to an explosion of fire. "Do we have time?" he murmured gruffly against her lips, hands already hiking up her dress - no longer the bulky wools of the North but thinner and finer cloth of the latest southern style.

"Way you work, definitely." Suddenly she was turned, roughly bent over the dresser. "Yes, my lion…" Rhaella moaned.

Luckily for the Queen Dowager, she was quite adept at cleaning herself up. No one noticed the fact that Jaime had so deliciously ravished her only moments before the ship docked at the King's Landing port. Not even Elia, and her gooddaughter was very observant about these things.

And yet… "Where's Egg?" Rhaella asked, not noticing him anywhere with the rest of her family.

Standing next to her in one of her own modest Dornish dresses in the Targaryen colors - modest for a Dornishwoman, the side glances from both Rhaegar and Lya proving it did exactly what Elia intended - Elia smiled and pointed to the forecastle of the ship. Sure enough there he was, tossing mooring ropes to Asha Greyjoy while he himself began tying them. "He's been helping out the crew for the last few days. Asha's been teaching him."

Rhaella raised her brow. "Didn't know he had an interest in this… or perhaps it's Asha he has an interest in?"

"Asha?" Elia laughed. "She's his sister's best friend, likely looking out for him."

"That is something Rhaenys would do. Can't watch over Baelon or Dany, so at least she can make arrangements for Egg." Best not provoke her. With how… familiar the two looked, there was something. Asha will need to stay here when Egg goes to Dorne. Absence made the heart grow fonder, so if Egg still wished to be with her then so be it. "Oberyn will be coming soon, won't he?"

"My brother?" Elia squinted to the dock, trying to see if he was there. "I'm shocked he hasn't arrived yet, but yes. Rhae to Ned, Egg to Oberyn, and Jon with Arthur." A wistful look crossed the Queen's face. "My babes, growing up and going their own way."

"It gets easier, especially when the grandbabes come."

"Oh, I'm much too old for that," chuckled Elia, to which Rhaella joined in.

Much fanfare was made upon docking, but soon the royal family began walking towards the Red Keep, guards flanking them. "You didn't need to come, uncle," Rhaella insisted, her arm draped around her hobbling elder.

"Oh, my dear," Aemon spoke, the only Targaryen elder than her. "It was my pleasure - and the sooner I act as someone approaching a century I will certainly feel it, rather than someone thirty years younger."

"Few people live to that age either, my Prince," Melisandre commented, hands folded on the other side of the elderly maester. "I find some humility and modesty are key to longevity."

"Wiser words I have not yet heard, Lady Melisandre." He leaned on his cane but was still spry, livelier now that he had his family all around him. "So young Baelon, Daenerys, and Rhaenys are off exploring the world?"

Rhaella nodded. "Baelon and Daenerys definitely, while for Rhae, just the North."

"So Daenerys managed to join Baelon?" It was Melisandre that spoke. "Was that planned?"

"No," Rhaella admitted. "Though you know the importance of discretion."

"People don't seek out me unless they wish for my advice." Melisandre had long since accepted it - friends, intimates… all were irrelevant for the longest time. "Prince Oberyn is coming for Aegon, I assume."

"Aye."

"And the latest, Lord Tarly."

Eyes narrowing, Rhaella remembered him - and not fondly. "What does he want? To challenge Tywin for whom can shit the least?"

Melisandre couldn't help but laugh lightly. It was amusing. "The small council figures he wishes for a fostering for his daughter and second son."

"Not his heir?"

"From what I've heard, he hates his eldest. Portly and bookish."

Rhaella snorted. "For Tarly, par course." Looking up as Davos and Tywin spoke with her son, Rhaegar's scowl indicated the same discussion was going on. "Well, all visitors can't be like Oberyn." The spice of life, she supposed.

Steam wafted out in tendrils from the amphora as the servant took off the lid and began pouring the heated water into the stone tub built into the floor. Sighing in relief, Bellegere Otherys stretched her nude body underneath the surface, letting the water relax her while the salts and soaps leech away the dirt, grime, and stresses from her.

Given her profession, oftentimes such baths were not alone - this one was though, only for herself. She was wealthy enough and connected enough to afford such personal time where others in her line of work couldn't take such liberties.

An ironic fact for the current Black Pearl of Braavos, more of a royal dynasty than any Sealord could ever reate upon the city. Sex defined her life, many men and women able to afford her intimacy… yet none who earned it for themselves. A fundamentally lonely life, but not without excitement. For Bellegere, encountering the Crown Prince of Westeros, his aunt, and his cousin wasn't something she expected, but such was what made life worth living.

Finally rising from her bath, a servant - and occasional lover of hers - reached for a towel and began to rub her dry. "Are you sure of this, mi'Lady?"

"It may end badly for me, I agree, but then again it may not." A silk dressing gown was now draped over her shoulders as she made her way to her closet. "None of my ancestors have dealt with their kin from across the Narrow Sea since then-Prince Aegon left Braavos for the last time. Perhaps an oversight by our line."

"I highly doubt those belonging to the Faith of the Seven would be kind to a family off a bastard line." Some places were keen on which sex one was above all, others about skin tone, and those in Westeros… "All they care about is whether one's parents are married. Even other religions don't bother them as much as that."

"Quite inane, but such is the way the world works…" Bellegare pursed her lips, looking over her outfits. "I think I'll wear the black dress tonight."

Her maid clicked her tongue. "More modest than what you usually wear."

"Each of them are twelve namedays, much too young for me. As for Arthur Dayne, he's quite taken by someone that could cleave my head in two. So no seductions tonight."

"And the dress being the Targaryen colors? No reds?"

Bellegere smirked. "You know that red doesn't look good on me."

"So the ruby jewels won't be adorning your ears and wrists?" Bellegere only smirked again, handing the dress for her to hold while reaching for the ruby earrings.

Servants placing their platters upon the table, Bellegere had them dismissed immediately. Normally they would likely evesdrop, but the three large wolves sitting on their haunches with those intimidating eyes… all were likely to simply be as far away as possible. That suited her well, as it did her guests. "Oysters, my Lady?" asked Daenerys.

Bellegere nodded. "Aye, I love oysters. Always fresh from the lagoons - they farm them, you know?"

"Farming on the sea." Prince Baelon shook his head. "I've seen everything then." He, Daenerys, and Arthur were helping themselves, oysters with plenty of salt and horseradish.

Lady Sansa though… "You don't like oysters, Lady Sansa?" Bellegere asked.

"I… I've never had oysters before."

Daenerys seemed shocked. "You've never eaten them at White Harbor? Lord Manderly always has them by the bucket-full."

"Explains a lot of things," Jon quipped sardonically, drawing giggles from his aunt and cousin - even Ser Arthur chuckled at that.

"I know." Sansa shrugged. "They just never appealed to me."

Leaning over, Daenerys scooped one up and set it on Sansa's plate - it had already been shucked, showing off the slippery meat inside. "Here, put a little helping of horseradish on it…" Dany was less liberal with it than with her own, the Stark palate not as tolerable of such pungent richness as the Targaryen. "And wolf it down."

"Wolf it down, Dany? Really?"

A merry smile. "Pun intended."

Smirking, Sansa did so… and immediately moaned. "Absolutely delicious."

"They very much are," Bellegere remarked. "And very good for… other things that are delicious."

"What do you mean by that?"

Catching Ser Arthur's glare, Bellegere sighed. "Never mind." Dinner was soon served, the main course being roast meats in the Braavosi style as well as plenty of side dishes. She was only so glad for such company, and conversation flowed between them all so as to make the misunderstanding of the day forgotten in hindsight. Enough for her to look over her kin. To judge the future King of Westeros… and his future Queens - the connection between them was undeniable.

Daenerys was as fierce as the memory of Visenya Targaryen. She cared desperately and fiercely, much as the stories of the Targaryen ancestors of the court of old King Viserys II that the original Bellegere remembered. Known to be a dragonrider, from what Bellegere could tell a marriage between her and his Grace would be without complaint.

Yet she wasn't the sort who could judge martial prowess.

Sansa Stark on the other hand… Bellegere delicately speared a cube of meat and onion, lifting it to her mouth. "I have heard much of Cersei Stark, Lady Sansa." She chewed her food and swallowed before speaking again. "Much can be gleaned off her even here in Braavos."

"Mama is larger than life, that is for sure," Sansa replied, drinking from her mug of cider. "She and papa are perfect for each other."

"How so?" Bellegere was curious.

Sansa saw no harm in it. "They… complement each other. Papa is strong and steady, care for his bannermen inspiring loyalty in return. Mama is fierce and clever, able to know what people want to do and why… at least that's what my n'cle Tyrion puts it as."

Nodding, Bellegere leaned back. "And each of their strengths is deficient in the other?" Sansa blinked, seeming to shift uncomfortably which was all Bellegere needed to hear. "But it's clear that Cersei is not your birth mother, and I am certain you know this."

A sigh. "Lady Bellegere, I only vaguely remember my mother, Lady Catelyn. She… few in Winterfell have anything nice to say about her so I don't speak of her often." There was a sadness in her voice.

"And Cersei has a good reputation in the North." Wasn't a question.

She answered it all the same. "Aye. N'cle Tyrion finds it shocking, but she did." Sansa smiled. "She is a great woman, one I hope to emulate."

"Ah, explains how you carried yourself with me earlier. A lioness in wolf's clothing." The daughter of Ned Stark puffed up in pride. "But, there is something worrisome to me. I say this as kin to your kin, so take this advice for what it's worth."

Sansa was… curious. "Tell me."

Smiling, Bellegere pointed to Jon and Daenerys, both of whom were laughing together in some sort of conversation. They looked… quite happy. "They are warriors, Prince Baelon more so than Princess Daenerys but I can tell a proficient swordsman."

"I am learning how to be an archer."

"Hmm, smart. Fitting for a Stark, but for you… you act like Cersei Lannister, but I can tell. You lack her arrogance. Her natural haughtiness, thus you cannot pull it off without seeming like a cunt. And trying it while so young… not wise, lest you wish to be rolled over."

Sansa looked away, unsure of what to say. Finally, "Then what do you propose? What is your advice?"

"You are clever, and have a way with words. Perhaps you should use that… Your words, used by a pretty face and a clever mind, they can burn as hot as dragonfire and move mountains."

Picking up her goblet once more, Sansa watched as Bellegere turned back to her cousins, reengaging them in conversation. Her words rang in her head. Words… a pretty face and a clever mind. That didn't describe her mama in all fairness, Cersei a woman of action as much as one of cleverness… albeit seeking others to conduct her action.

There was one Bellegere's words described perfectly. Aunt Elia.

Brush slowly tugging at her hair, Rhaenys heard Margaery softly hum. "Are you calm, your Grace?"

She slowly nodded. "Aye, suppose I am." Rhaenys shrugged. "Bath got all the blood off my face and hands." As Margaery set down the Brush, Rhae motioned to her hair. "Braid please, like my muna." It was necessary.

"I see no reason for why you should do this." Booted feet dangling from where she sat, Lady Obara Mormont flung her braid behind her shoulder. Dresses didn't suit her, so a fur-lined tunic and thick trousers bore the bear sigil of her husband's house. "It's ridiculous for you to take up this burden upon yourself."

It was quite ironic to Rhaenys that her much older cousin was speaking of her not getting her hands dirty, given her own body count was up in the dozens dealing with the various raids all over Bear Island alongside Jorah. "I would think you'd support me getting my first kill."

Obara shook her head. "In battle, cousin. Not with this."

"He… or in this case she, who passes the sentence must swing the sword."

"Your uncle is passing the sentence, not you. If it was your father, sure, but…"

"We are kin," she spoke with a sense of finality, a hint of the dragon she was combining with that of the viper she shared with Obara. Enough to push back. "I was the one who put a stop to them, so it's my duty as a Princess of the Realm to aid him." A shrug. "Uncle Ned is fine with it."

Margaery clicked her tongue as she continued to brush Rhae's hair. "Honorable as he is, if you doing the deed passes muster with him, then it would be fine under northern custom." Rhaenys agreed - her lady in waiting was starting to grow in her.

As for her cousin… mollified that she was, the words shared still didn't convince Obara completely. "Are you doing this to earn the respect of the North?"

Rhae's brow arched. "And I would think you'd have no complaint for that." Obara's mouth opened, only to close again. Hailing from deeper in Dorne than even Rhaenys, it had taken much time for those of her new home to come around to her. Oberyn's training had helped, and so too would it for Rhaenys. "To answer your question, partly yes. But as I previously said, it's my duty."

A sigh. "Alright, Rhaenys. I'm just looking out for you."

Rising, looking aside from her coloring and the red dragon on her dress a pure northern lady, Rhaenys embraced her cousin. The well-regarded lady of Bear Island, pregnant with her second child - not that it showed as of yet. Only she and Jorah knew… until Rhae was made privy to the secret. "I know, your father would be proud."

Margaery chuckled. "The Tully house words have nothing on House Martell."

"We didn't stand against the dragons until we married into them by betraying our family… which is why I can't stand my uncle." Obara rolled her eyes. "My father would die to protect my aunt the Queen, and I know from him that they haven't spoken since the Great Council ten years ago."

"Muna says it was that much. They sometimes converse through Arianne, but never directly." Rhaenys balled her fists. "What a little shit."

"He's still your uncle." All three looked up to see Benjen waiting for them. "All is ready for you."

A nod. "Aye, let's go then." Rhaenys pressed a kiss to her uncle's cheek and followed.

Walking through the halls, her eyes were pointed straight ahead but gathered close to the flickering torches. No sounds but her own breathing as the day's events played out in her head. It had been a pleasure ride through the woods. Welcoming the arrival of the Karstarks. Torrhen had accompanied her as her sworn sword in all but name. A nice hunt with her uncle, cousin Robb, and the brood of the wizened Lord Torrhen Karstark.

The screams coming from a farmhouse had caught all of their attention. Riding hard over, a dozen wildlings erupted from the trees to ambush them. Rhaenys hadn't seen a wildling before but ragged furs, hairy beards, haphazard, dirty hair… it was obvious.

Her glaive was out, as were the swords of her companions. Aunt Dacey's mace struck first blood while second was the providence of a wildling with an axe. Rhaenys parried and hacked… but no kill belonged to her. Some to Torrhen, protecting her. She promised herself in the moment to reward him for that later.

All thoughts of that died in the moment when she saw the butchered family of the farmer, each of the women with their dresses hiked up.

Such was also obvious.

"Four to die tonight?" she asked her uncle.

"Three." Her brow rose. "The fourth died of his wounds."

"Not a loss." They passed outside and saw many gathered around a hurriedly built raised platform of wood. Waiting atop it was her uncle Ned… and the four prisoners.

Meeting the eyes of her cousins and Aunt Cersei, Rhaenys approached the platform and walked atop it, seeing her uncle. "You ready?" he asked.

A nod. "Aye." Hand on her sword, she looked down upon the gathered prisoners. "Any last words?"

The one in the center was the leader. Caught trying to run away like a coward, but here he looked at her with fire in his eyes. "Southern cunt… yer' one of the dragons, right?"

"I am," Rhaenys replied. "And you're a rapist."

"Just the way of the world."

"And my blade is as well."

He snorted. "Thing yer' safe down here. Gotta climb o'er the wall to save mi'self."

"Save yourself from what?" she was… curious."

"Death… death comes. The icy blue glow of death. Ye' think the Wall protects you… it won't for long!" he shouted loudly.

Rhaenys rolled her eyes at the man's bellows. "Are you just about done? I mean…" She snorted. "So tedious. Not even just owning it."

The wildling blew out a grunt, spitting on the wooden surface. "Said what I said. Fuck anyone else… my troubles ere'over."

"That's more like it." Drawing her curved blade, Rhaenys raised it high so that all could see the castle-forged steel glinting in the torchlight. Determination upon her face. "In the Name of Rhaegar of the House Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Andals, Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, King of all Westeros and Shield of his People - and Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, I, Rhaenys of the House Targaryen, Princess of Westeros, sentence you to die." In the distance, she heard Robb whisper to Rickard and Domeric not to look away, her cousins and uncle's ward both staring at her. Theon Greyjoy, he needed no prompting.

"So many words, kneeler cunt," growled the wildling. Eyes wild as he glanced up at her with his cheek against the block. "Git it done!"

Blinking, Rhaenys' lips tightened as she chopped downward. Obliging the request.

The two others went by without as much fuss. The skinny boy pissed himself, moaning and begging for his life before Rhaenys dispatched it, while the hard-faced woman said not a word. Didn't even glare, only staring at the ground, her face white and eyes sunken in their sockets.

Whatever she had seen, it would die with her.

Similarly silent, Rhaenys just stood there as the guards scrambled up. Heads had already fallen into their baskets, while the bodies were hauled off - likely to be burned. Jory cast her a tiny smile as he grabbed the feet of the first one… the grizzled leader. She didn't respond, staring out into nowhere. Feeling… numb. Her rage at the rapists, child killers, plunderers, Rhaenys held no regrets but it had faded. Replaced by an absence of feeling. A person not knowing what to think.

"Little Dragon?" she heard, glancing up to see her uncle Ned, that same sad smile upon his face.

He needn't not say anything else. "Those…" She sheathed her blade, resolving to clean it later. "They were the first men I killed."

Ned's arm wrapped around her shoulder, Rhaenys leaning into him automatically. As if she were a daughter of his rather than a niece. "You've killed before, Rhae."

"Animals, not men."

"You were young when you first drew blood… in the Ironborn Rebellion."

Rhaenys shut her eyes, remembering that face. "Euron Greyjoy. I took out his eye." Her fists tightened. "I wish I killed him." She noticed the bloody blocks. "These men… I know they deserved it, but…"

"Shhh," Ned cooed, kissing her forehead. Making her sigh as the embrace was completed, melting into his arms. "They did, but you took no pleasure in it."

"I was satisfied."

"Aye, but that's only in justice being served. You don't like taking a life, which shows just how good a soul you are." He gently guided her chin up, Rhaenys meeting his eyes. "I'm proud of you, and I know your parents would be." She smiled at that. "Come on, let's have some dinner. It'll help."

"Alright, uncle." If he was proud of her… She wouldn't lose sleep over this.

"Death… death comes. The icy blue glow of death." The words of the wildling still echoed in her mind. "Ye' think the Wall protects you… it won't for long." Whether nonsense or simply some folk tale north of the wall, they made Rhaenys shiver deep in her bones.

A/N: So, turned out the kidnapping was just a big misunderstanding, with Sansa getting some wise words from the Black Pearl

Rhaenys learning the lesson of hard knocks.

Till Next time :D