A/N: Hey guys. Sorry for the long wait, and happy black Friday.

Enjoy and comment!

Chapter 23: Ranger

The city of Lys was one quite known to the Lady Shienna. Recently she and the children were stuck here on a stop out of Volantis, spending several moons trying to set themselves up to take advantage of the tourist trade, only for the arrival of some of the same sailors of their demonic enemy to drive them out to Myr at the time. Such weren't good memories, but Shienna did have some. Many years ago, whatever coin they had lying around in their luxury fund - back then, it was a veritable time of plenty compared to what came after - had purchased a voyage and inn on the island for her and Baelgor when they had just wed. The smile was genuine, and caused her to blush a little.

She and Baelgor had the most wonderful time that trip. Althor had likely been conceived then, if not on their wedding night. The debauchery…

"Lady Shienna."

Blinking, the face of young Larra Snow peering up at her with those innocent violets so eager to pick her brain drew her to near blush. Not wise to have such lustful musings at the time one talked to a girl practically the age of her son. "Kessa, Lady Larra?" Her common tongue… wasn't the best, not as good as the girl's Valyrian. Best to practice.

"I was just wondering if we could talk about your skills at magic?" She looked around. "I mean, we've settled into our chambers."

That was true, they did. How Ser Aron had found a place with three chambers for such a reasonable price still baffled Shienna - especially given where they were - but after the life she'd lived in the last few years she learned not to question things such as these. Aron was downstairs tying up their pack animals, while her children were getting to know their new companions. The beautiful young Lady Alayne was showing Baelgora how to do up a braid in the Northern style, to which her daughter was ever so intrigued. She hasn't had the time for such feminine wiles, so this is good for her. Althor on the other hand took lessons from Eddard, swinging a sword and picking up where he'd left off once his kepa died.

She hadn't seen them this happy in years.

As such, it wasn't much of a hassle to repay them for bringing such joy to her children - if it be helping Larra with what were claimed to be a budding maege talent, then so be it. Part of her was intrigued into finding another one of the skill anyway. Her children… it was obvious, but another not of the Aekylosh blood… "Alright, sit." Larra's eyes widened at her inquiry gaining a positive response, but beamed not long after. Sitting cross-legged and simply waiting. "What would you like to know."

"What is it like? Being able to create fire?"

Shienna shook her head, patting Larra's cheeks with a smile. "I told you, sweetling, you cannot create fire out of nothing. You can ignite it, but that requires a level of effort and skill that cannot be seen in a novice…"

"I…" she bit her lip. "Never mind."

"No, it's fine, tell me."

The girl shifted, but finally nodded. "Once, Alayne and I were in danger and I… I burned one of the attackers."

Her eyes grew wide. "You what?"

"I… I closed my eyes and screamed with fear and rage… and the next thing you know the man was on the ground, clutching his face. It was burned, but not like touching a hot pan. It was like a fire burn."

"Flash-burn." Clutching her head, Shienna was completely shocked. This girl… she could be as good as Baelgor and I… or even better. "Such level of actual talent could leave you as a prodigy, Larra."

Now it was the girl's turn to be shocked. "Truly?"

"But you must not grow arrogant." Larra nodded. "See, there is something all maeges… great Vermithor, all of the Valyrian dragonblood contain. It's called an inner flame. That flame is the most solid in the dragonriders, connected once they bond with their dragons or so I've been told." That made the girl smile wide. "Maeges have the strongest inner flame, but unlike those of the dragonlords it's far more willful. Far harder to control."

"How?"

A good question. "My husband spent his entire life trying to figure that out…" She closed her eyes, trying to fight back the tears. Remembering how he would be hunched over in his library, focused even as she placed a blanket about his shoulders and kissed his neck. "From what he… gathered, he… surmised that while a dragon is near guileless in creating flame by itself, when a human being conjures it such requires the greatest of spiritual energy. Our will acts not just what is, but what ought to be, and so the inner flame will take cues from our sense of morality."

"Our wolves seem to understand that." Larra pointed to Moonlight, simply laying on the ground on her side, refusing to rise for anything. "She'll rip someone's throat out if I'm threatened, but it's harder to make her do anything truly vile."

"Goodness of spirit, I suppose." There was much about magic she still didn't understand, and she'd been a maege for near two decades. "I've yet to become a true master at it, so if you wish to delve into the mystic arts of Old Valyria, you need to be absolutely sure."

"I'm sure."

"Take a moment…"

"I'm sure." The determination and grit in her eyes was… staggering.

It was just what Shienna wanted to see. "Good."

Before Larra could ask any more, Aron appeared in the doorway. "Lady Shienna, the animals are packed away in the barns, but I shall need you to run to the market."

"Why? I should assume you are strong enough." A half-jape.

He took it as such. "Considering your previous profession, I wager you are far better at haggling than I." Shienna rolled her eyes, but knew he was right. Rising and bidding farewell to her children with a kiss on the cheek. Aron… his goodbye was far different. "If any of you step one foot outside of the inn, I shall break out the switch."

Seemed they were troublemakers, the three were. Shienna could only chuckle at it - especially the looks between them that seemed to indicate their desire to test the boundaries of his demand. They have wolves, but there's much dragon in them, even the fire-kissed Alayne.

Stepping downstairs, her skirts swishing against the wooden steps, a very exaggerated girlish giggle drew her notice. Shienna watched a burly man lift a scantily clad woman behind a curtain, while next to them a different couple - these two women, one far younger than the other - were pressed against the wall in a passionate kiss. "I don't feel comfortable having the children lodge in the personal inn of a…"

"House of ill repute?" Aron commented, a smirk about his face with the euphemism used by those of highborn society when wishing to be polite.

But Shienna was Valyrian, and they weren't such prudes. "A whorehouse… or 'fuck for coin' house if you'd prefer." Aron laughed, to which Shienna smiled herself. "Used to a woman's curses, I see."

"My woman, back in Westeros… she has quite the foul mouth sometimes, especially during fighting."

"She fights?"

"Aye, but with a mace, rather than a sword. Truly needs a proper application of strength." He smirked again. "Makes the lovemaking… quite intense."

Shienna snorted. "I doubt you would complain of that, Ser Aron." Jealous, though, Shienna was. A woman and a natural born warrior with whatever combat art she'd been taught. Even in the years after Baelgor's death, her own innate skill was still stubbornly resisting the attempt to turn it into a proper combat style. She memorized the stances, practiced the spells, and was in prime physical condition - and yet her inner flame resisted.

Perhaps that simply wasn't who she was, a bloodthirsty killer as her anger drove her to be, to avenge Baelgor and wipe out their tormentor. Or… mayhaps it was simply the stress of simple survival that harmed her inner flame. A simple fire dancer didn't draw attention - a Valyrian fire warrior did.

"In any case, then, why is it that a whorehouse is preferable for our children to be housed in?"

Aron nodded. "Simple, really. Any other lodging house with any form of cleanliness and comfort would be far too expensive for us - the whorehouse makes most of its money on drink and… intimate comfort. The lodging is simply a perk to bring in coin from sailors seeking a long stopover. They'll charge less even though the value is higher."

"That's one reason."

"And the other… plenty of security." He was right. At least a half-dozen guards with clubs and short swords stood around the place, and those were simply the ones that could be seen. "I've spoken with them fighter to fighter - their leader is a former man-at-arms of Westeros himself. He'll make sure the children do not wander off into trouble."

"Hope you slid a silver stag in his pocket to be safe."

"One silver stag and a flash of my sword just in case he wishes to make more peddling child flesh to one freak or another."

Shienna grinned at Aron. "A man after mine own heart… too bad you already have a lover, Ser Aron."

He modestly shook his head. "Believe me, my Lady. With your pedigree, you should have your pick of suitors."

And yet I only ever desired one. She closed her eyes, willing the still raw memories from her mind. If I look back, I am lost. The children were her future… and Larra. Another protege, perhaps one even more a prodigy than herself or Baelgor even.

Their ticket to Westeros… and perhaps something even more, but Shienna wouldn't allow herself the luxury of a dream. Not anymore. Not when dreams had led to her family's near downfall.

When the sentry called over the arrival of a dispatch rider bearing the war banner of her uncle, Rhaenys initially hoped to see Torrhen again. Her lover had been relegated to the Karstark banners, all entreaties by her rejected by both uncle Benjen and uncle Ned - for the sake of discipline, she would need to rough it alongside the others. Rhaenys understood, but also missed Torrhen fiercely. He was… a good man whom she had grown quite fond.

Baelon and Ser Jaime know nothing. Rhaenys could take care of herself - she had good instincts.

Grabbing her glaive from the tent, she left it only to be greeted not by Benjen or Sandor - the latter of whom had been unluckily assigned to firewood duty - but by one person she quite did not wish to see. "Greetings, Princess."

"Rast." Given his rank as a member of the Night's Watch, Rast bore no allegiance to the Iron Throne or House Targaryen and therefore needed not kneel… or even bow. Theirs existed on the boundary of the Realms of Men, and couldn't be ruled by any King. However, one did bow to their betters and Rast - whom she had found out was the son of a washerwoman and was convicted by Lord Dondarrion of rape - clearly did not. Only looking at her with that leer of his.

Rhaenys absolutely loathed it.

"What do you want?" she finally asked, crossing her arms about her chest. Under no circumstances was she to give him any sort of glimpse of her bust.

Rast licked his lips. "Dispatch rider from Lord Stark, I shall escort you to the Halfhand."

"Did the Halfhand ask you to do that?" she asked, brow rising.

He flustered but shrugged. "Figured he would want me to."

"So that's a no." Rhaenys shook her head. "I'll be fine without an escort."

Her words were clear, but still did Rast not move out of the way. Watching her with such an eager eye. "Your Grace, there are many wildlings and bears and shadowcats and ice spiders out there. How can I be a proper gentleman if I don't escort you?"

"Leave me be."

"I insist…" He stopped, jumping back as Nysar lunged from inside. Jaws snapping and then growling. Teeth bared in a stalking position, making Rast fall to his ass and crawl backwards. Shaking out of terror. "Your Grace, please!"

Rhaenys smirked darkly. "Girl, heel!" Nysar sat back on her haunches, but her glowing eyes were centered on Rast quite intently. The threat implied rather than explicit. "My apologies… she can be a little overprotective. Try not to get too close to me without permission." Smiling at the shaking Rast - sensing a dark spot begin to form at the join of his trousers - she granted him the mercy by leaving. Only bursting into giggles after she was a far ways away. "Good job, girl." Rhaenys ruffled Nysar's hair, the direwolf's tongue lagging out of her mouth at each pet. "Next time he tries something… kill him." The wolf bobbed her head, as if in understanding.

Direwolves did understand, Rhaenys knew. They were as smart as dragons.

"Uncle," she called out, seeing Benjen walking back towards the camp. "Did you see the rider?"

He nodded. "Aye… and it's not Ser Torrhen if you were going to ask." Rhaenys wasn't going to ask at that moment, but otherwise her uncle read her mind - not that she'd ever admit that. "Ned has marched with his main force, a day behind the main ranging under Lord Commander Mormont. Thanks to our scouting we've identified a large valley upon which the wildlings have set up their camp."

"Hmmm…" Rhaenys rubbed her hands. "Smart of Mance Rayder to seize the entrance to the valley - if I were him, I would have scouts on each side to watch the rest of the valley in case of ambushes… and to prevent our scouts."

"You have good instincts, niece… which is why Qhorin Halfhand wants two groups to screen the two peaks on either side of the valley."

Her eyes widened. "Shall I…?"

A nod. "You, myself, and Sandor are accompanying the Halfhand himself and some other black brothers… including Rast." He eyed her carefully. "Shall that be a problem?"

Rhaenys shook her head. "Not at all, as long as Nysar here accompanies us." She ruffled her fur again, making the wolf preen at the attention - only for a bark from Sprinter to drag Nysar out to play in the snow.

Benjen laughed. "I'm taking Sprinter with me, so that shouldn't be an issue. Halfhand could likely spare more men for the other scout screen." Rhaenys grinned in return. My first taste of battle. She could only look forward to the very moment that would begin her legend.

"Let it happen then. Shall we march now?"

"Slow down, niece. We will move in a few hours time. Rest up and eat your fill."

Sitting down at one of the campfires, Rhaenys removed her rations from her pack and began to heat the jerky over the fire - needing the flames to soften the hard as wood dried beef into something edible. The taste was not the main draw of the substance, for truthfully it tasted as hard leather would, but it filled the stomach so Rhaenys made due. "Rhaenys Targaryen, the Ice Dragon of Dorne. The Viperwolf of House Targaryen. The Second Lyanna."

"Oh gods, not this." She frowned as Sandor sat beside her, his own jerky in his hand as he began to heat it too. "I've heard your brother go on about how he's the fuckin' 'Conqueror Reborn.' Don't have me see you fall into such a trap."

"Baelon is as close to the second coming of Aegon the Conqueror as anyone alive," Rhaenys replied, defending her brother. "And since I am the one to match him in strength and skill, it is only fair that I find a proper appellation for myself and the future history books."

"You're getting ahead of yourself, Saucy Snake. As I tell him all the time, yer' putting the fuckin' cart before the horse."

Her brow rose. "Are you saying I cannot conduct myself in a proper manner in battle?"

Sandor looked at her, eyes narrowed. "No, girly, I'm fuckin' saying that you won't like fuckin' war by the end of this… or if you do then I will not be keen in being yer' guard and pray to the damned gods for your brother to return."

That… surprised her. "You… you don't enjoy this?"

"I'm good at it." Sandor snorted. "But my brother likes it, and he's a cunt. If I'm gonna be a cunt, I don't wish to be a cunt in the same way as my fuckin' brother… and nor should you. Ser Torrhen thinks your cunt is wonderful." Both he and Rhaenys shuddered for different reasons. "For his sake and the men and women to come after, don't fuckin' ruin it by being a mad bitch eager to seek out death."

"I won't, dog, I didn't like beheading those men and women at Winterfell."

"Too easy, like fishing in a barrel. Out there, with your heart pumping, either you'll be a coward who runs, a sadist who kills and enjoys it, or something in the middle. See to it you be the latter."

Rhaenys had nothing to say to that, only biting off a chunk of tasteless jerky and chewing it.

Hot sun bearing down as if the greatest enemy to be faced upon the battlefield, Aegon sometimes held moments of doubt that Dorne existed in the same Kingdom as the North. No two lands could be so completely different in both clime and culture… and yet while his full-blooded elder sister so felt the call to the land of their second muna, Egg happened to find enjoyment even under the baking sun.

Straining his arms, Aegon shoved forward with his training blade, sending one of the guards back. "Excellent, my Prince," he praised, scimitar held warily as Egg circled him. Sweat covering his bare chest in a fine sheen. Glittering under the unhampered daylight.

One advantage of the heat compared to the nippy cold of Winterfell was going bare chested in his training. Within the Water Gardens, there was never a shortage of beautiful young maidens - or unsatisfied matrons - to google the youths practicing their martial skills. And watching Egg were a half-dozen girls all crowded around Lady Sylva. Giggling and looking him over with shy, but covetous eyes.

Aside from Sylva, whom knew exactly what was beneath his trousers as all knew what his bare chest looked like.

Smirking slightly as he breathed deeply, Egg resolved to give them a show. Twirling his blade in place, a skill Ser Arthur had taught both him and Baelon to keep one's wrists flexible and well-oiled, he lunged. A quick series of steps until his wrist locked, grip tight. Slicing downward and meeting the guard's parry. Aegon knew the moment he lurched that this was a winning strike and was rewarded as the guard stumbled back. Tripping up on the stone ground and collapsing back onto his ass. "Yield, your Grace," he said breathlessly.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Aegon stretched back. Making sure his growing muscles bulged and reveling in the sighs and hitched breath of the young maidens. "You spar well, ser," he said to the guard, hauling him up."

"I am no knight, your Grace," the guard commented with much humility and modesty - bordering on embarrassment.

"Well I am, and if you show me your skills beyond simple swordsplay then I should find it proper to knight you." The guard's eyes widened. "Do you mind fetching me a drink, then?"

"Of course, your Grace. And thank you!" The man was all smiles as he dashed off.

Setting the training blade back where it came from, Aegon had just affixed the belt holding the sheathed Fyrefist to his waist and picked up a towel when the sound of a throat clearing drew his attention. Turning, he was greeted by Sylva… with the other six maidens forming a semicircle with her in the center. "Good day, your Grace." She was grinning, while the others simply simpered.

Egg returned the grin. "Good day, Lady Sylva. My Ladies. Enjoyed the show?"

"Oh, I did very much," Sylva replied confidently. "Did you, my friends?"

A torrent of replies in the most fawning of awe spewed out as if fast flowing rapids. "Spectacular."

"Wonderful."

"Amazing."

A willowy girl with wispy blonde hair murmured something to another with the exact same looks - her twin most likely - before drawing the courage to address Aegon. "I would've much liked to see your Valyrian sword, your Grace."

Aegon's brow rose. "And who may you be, my lovely lady?"

She blushed, as did her sister even though Egg didn't address her. "Jennelyn Fowler, your Grace," she replied. "And this is my sister Jeyne."

"Skyreach, correct?" They both nodded with twinkles in their light green eyes, and Aegon thus was thankful he paid attention to his childhood lessons in the subject of the great houses of the Realm. "Such beautiful names for such beautiful creatures." Their blushes deepened, their friends looked at them with awe and envy, while Sylva smirked - serving Arianne had left her free of even a Dornish innocence. "And how can I deny a beautiful woman anything." With lightning speed, he drew his blade and leveled it powerfully. Letting the sun glint on the dragon-forged steel only inches from the flinching girls.

Once the shock wore off, all clapped their hands, giddy and so very impressed. "You're the greatest swordsman in the world," Jeyne Fowler breathed.

Aegon shrugged. "I would consider Ser Arthur Dayne or my brother Baelon greater than I… my sister Rhaenys if you count spear among the comparison."

"No… I cannot see them triumph over your skill."

Was it flirting, or were they serious? Aegon couldn't tell, but resolved to act in a manner regardless of their sincerity. "If one considers me so highly, then I must only repay the favor by serving as their sword and shield for as long as I dwell in Sunspear or the Water Gardens." Jeyne Fowler seemed to melt, as did her sister Jennelyn. Even Sylva did so in a manner. Egg knew he could have them in that moment - even right here on the spot. To add to the effect, he reached back and removed the tie holding his silver hair in its topknot, letting it fall about his shoulders.

All the girls pretty muched dampened their smallclothes and Aegon utterly loved it.

"What is this? A garden feast?" Prince Oberyn strode out of one of the buildings to the sparring yard, the smile on his face turning into a quizzical frown as he regarded his nephew so amongst the fairer sex.

While some of the girls seemed to cower as if caught with their hand in the pastry jar, Aegon smiled with confidence. "Why uncle, glad you could join us. I was simply explaining the finer points of swordsplay with Lady Sylva, Lady Jeyne, Lady Jennelyn, and their friends."

Oberyn's brow rose. "Yes, I can see that they hold great interest in your… sword." Aegon's grin widened, while each girl - even Sylva - blushed. "However, that will have to wait until another time. Ladies, I would be honored by your presence, but if you do not mind I will need to speak to my nephew."

"Of course, my Prince," Sylva answered for all of them. "Prince Aegon, on behalf of my friends I will say it has been a pleasure."

"A pleasure that we will enjoy seeing repeated," Jennelyn added, giving Aegon the most rapturous, lustful smile she could. "My Prince," she added, curtseying.

Aegon nodded. "Ladies, I shall be eager to repeat as well." With that said, the ladies departed, many shooting lingering gazes at him. Aegon truly felt on top of the world for the first time in his life… until his uncle smacked him about the head. "Oww… what was that for, uncle?"

Oberyn shook his head, but regarded Aegon with what seemed a mixture of pride and annoyance. "A lesson in seduction, nephew. Once a girl passes from this love-struck state of youth, they will only throw themselves at you if they desire power and influence."

"Since I will never not be a Prince, why shouldn't I simply factor that in?"

"Because, the safer lovers are the ones that seek no gain from you other than affection and passion… and truly they are far more fun to seduce." Only now did his uncle smirk, ruffling his hair. "Quite cannot be upset at you for experiencing what I have experienced. It heartens me, and further confirms my sister is but a feminine version of me faithful to two lovers…"

"Please, enough of my parents."

Oberyn laughed. "Alright, alright. Just… try not to be so obvious. Even in Dorne, where matters are far more lax, you are the son of the King and therefore constantly watched. Save your seductions till when you can be more private." Egg nodded, silently promising. "Good, now, you must clean up. Your uncle's wife is returning from Essos and he is holding a feast that you must attend."

Aegon groaned. "Muna says much about Aunt Mellario, things I cannot repeat."

"Most of that were my own observations, but you must be respectful to her."

"It would be more simple if I didn't think uncle Doran was trying to either allude to me asserting my rights as the firstborn or explicitly asking me to inform munas and kepa of his wishes to betroth Rhaenys and Baelon."

That seemed to surprise his uncle. "He said that, explicitly?" Aegon nodded, causing Oberyn to sigh. "Well… he is older than your muna and I, and grew up at a more unstable time within the Realm. The aftermath of Lyonel's aborted secession and the chaos of your great-grandfather's demise at Summerhall." Aegon knew of that, and kept silent. "Regardless, he is your uncle and deserving of respect, but everything Doran teaches you, I'll temper or put on its head. Resent your brother? Be loyal to him. Be ambitious? Seek ways to help him. Reach allies? Bring more help to him."

Aegon smiled. "Thank you, uncle."

"Good." Oberyn clapped him on the shoulder. "Now go wash up."

Bounding out with a spring in his step. Aegon had grabbed a tunic discarded earlier and was in the process of donning it in the midst of a hallway when someone called out to him. "Your Grace!" Trailing behind was a young boy with olive skin and eyes the color of palm oil. A mug of something in his hand. "You called for my brother to fetch you a drink, but he was called away on another duty. Asked me to complete it."

Taking the mug, inside was sugarcane juice and Egg greedily gulped it down. "Thank you… and you are Dillon's brother. A good man, he is, wonderful at sparring." Studying the handsome youth, about only a year older than himself, Aegon seemed puzzled. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

The lad nodded, slightly shy. "Aye, your Grace. I am a part-time sailor aboard the Martell fleet when I'm not working about the palace."

Now Aegon placed it. "You were on my uncle's ship."

"Aye, Maron Sand. My main duty is as a manservant… or apprentice manservant that is." A shrug, Maron biting his lush lower lip. "Haven't yet been able to find anyone to take me in to their personal household."

"Well, you were quite supportive of your brother. How about I seek you transferred to manage my household while I am here."

His eyes widened. "You would do that?" At Egg's nod, he smiled and bowed. "Thank you, your Grace… may I be dismissed for now?"

"Of course. Go about your duties."

"Thank you." A rather… sultry grin crossed Maron's face. "If I may be so bold to say, your Grace, I do not blame those highborn girls for their covetous gazes. I couldn't look away myself." Before Aegon could reply, Maron was off, leaving the Prince quite flustered.

And not a little bit warm on the inside, which flustered him more.

Raised in the Red Keep among the Targaryen court, a Prince of the Realm with a front row seat to the most diverse collection of characters in the known world, Jon had… not quite ever endured something akin to where Arthur and Shienna had patronized for their lodgings. Certainly the inns of Bravos and Pentos had been quite rowdy, and sounds of carnal pleasure of the Dothraki in Old Andalos quite unabashed as he tried to sleep in his tent, this was on a whole new level. The adjoining tavern to the central brothel of Lys was essentially used as a meeting chamber or source of pre-enjoyment refreshment.

Nothing explicit was allowed, yet that didn't mean the intention of such wasn't obvious.

He could tell that Dany and Sansa were as awkward as he, but his newest friend Althor was practically flushed bright red. "I thought you lived among the streets sometimes?" Dany was bold enough to ask him.

Althor winced. "I've seen a lot, aye, but muna always kept us sheltered from such things. Never quite appreciated it till now." He shrugged. "At least Baelgora's napping in the chambers… think she's safe?"

Sansa laughed. "Three direwolves? Oh, she's perfectly safe from the errant thief or thug."

"Wasn't just them I was worried about." His voice was soft, almost inaudible, but Jon heard. That demon that killed his kepa must be a great foe. Even Shienna seemed quite terrified.

Best to distract his friend - a kindly and quite adventurous boy at heart much like Robb - from such thoughts. "So you've never been in a place like this?"

"What? No… muna would kill me."

Daenerys giggled. "Oh, can only hope Eddard's older sister doesn't try to take Baelgora under her wing - she'd stop your muna's heart then." Jon snorted, completely true. "She's an expert at these places."

"Larra, come on. She doesn't visit brothels… she just knows how to draw out favorites at court."

"My mother never let me or my brother even think of going to these… but she makes sure I know the mechanics of things," Sansa added. "I once saw her and my father in the middle of coupling."

Althor's eyes widened. "You did?"

A nod. "In a closet. Do couples usually choose that place? I asked my uncle and he just laughed at me."

"The dwarf? Aye, he would." Daenerys laughed as well. "Oh, Alayne, your parents are simply randy. Eddard would know of that… remember that time…"

He shielded his eyes. "Please don't. I didn't know what I saw at eight but know now."

"What happened?" Both Althor and Sansa asked with curiosity, the former innocently and the latter with a smirk on her lips.

Groaning, Jon covered his head in his hands. "I saw what I thought was some complex wrestling move, like we three do. My munas…"

"Wait, you have two munas?"

"We're Lysene," Dany quickly answered, and Althor innocently accepted it. "Go on."

Damn you, Dany. That sweet grin on her face, though, was one he couldn't resist. "Well, one of them straddled the face of another, while my kepa had the other's legs pinned with his own."

It took the longest moment for Althor to understand, only for a blush to emerge on his face as he covered his head. "Good gods, it's a wonder you don't have like five siblings."

"I have eight, but yeah, that's why. They are quite disgusting how much my parents love each other, though honestly I wouldn't have it any other way."

Althor sighed. "My muna and kepa were like that, always close. Much as it might disgust me to think of what they did in that manner, I still wish he was alive." Jon reached out and squeezed his shoulder. Some moments passed before Althor shook his head and seemed to rally. "Think it is time for me to lose my maidenhead?"

"Lose your maidenhead, oh, you are innocent my friend," Daenerys chuckled. "You are a man, but I've heard Eddard's sister tell me many times to never wander into anything while you haven't a proper mindset." Not one to know much about the issue herself, Jon nevertheless knew Dany had a better head about this than Althor. "Tell me, I wish to know, who do you think is the prettiest choice of partner here?"

Before glancing at his friend, Jon took a look himself. There were many patrons of the place, the vast majority men of the class of tradesmen, knights, or even lesser nobles, though there were well-dressed women of a more mature age while the men were of a wide range of ages. Coming from the family he did, that didn't surprise him. What did were the employees of the place. Of course came the very scantily clad women, girls of all colors ranging from those of the palest milk of Andals to the darkest of black from the Summer Isles wearing dresses that could make his cousin Arianne blush. They giggled and flirted with the patrons while watched over by burly men employed as muscle.

However, also among the patrons were some younger boys, most about Egg's age. Jon watched the clientele - again, mostly men - fondling them much as they did the girls. He figured it was strange, but put it aside.

Althor for his part weaved his hands together, licking his lips. Quite the nervous habit, though one that would need to be overcome if he would ever integrate into proper society. A great house of Old Valyria… they deserved a large keep of their own. Thousands of bannermen and marriages to the greatest noblewomen in Westeros in Althor's case. "Eddard."

"Hmmm?" He looked to Althor. "What?"

"Now… I think that whore is the prettiest here." He pointed towards the bar counter where a dark-skinned girl with kinky hair and wearing a midriff dress. She looked quite… sad. "Exotic."

Across from Jon, Daenerys rolled her eyes. "Alayne, tell me what you see?"

Sansa peered at the girl. "Oh, that is clearly a girl trying to keep cool in the heat, not one trying to show herself off."

"What do you mean?" Althor looked confused. "She's baring her stomach, clearly a whore."

Seeing his aunt's nostrils flair and cousin sneer, Jon tucked his head in, eyes cast downward. "Whoo boy. Said the wrong thing there."

But to their credit, the dragonfire and ice blizzard failed to materialize. "Daenerys instead pointed to the girl. "See how she's docile, trying to draw less attention to herself? When my niece wants to get the attention of a favorite she flirts and bats her eyes and makes sure all her beauty is seen."

"Agreed, Larra," Sansa added. "She's deliberately trying to avoid attention… and she's now carrying a tray of drinks, so she's a servant. Not a whore."

"A slave," Jon corrected. "The Lysenes are slavers." He regretted pointing that out for the look of sadness in Dany's eyes. She was fierce, but that just meant she was also very empathetic. One of the reason their relationship was so close. Sansa herself put up a more disinterested front, but down deep she was the same. So distracted was he, he didn't notice the girl rushing away from a particularly lecherous man until… "Oh shit…"

She didn't see one of the stools until it was too late. Stumbling over it, the tray of drinks crashed upon the ground, wine spilling and glass breaking even as she clutched her leg with a grimace of agony. "What the fuck happened?!" A man burst from behind the bar, looking at the scene only for rage to cross his face. "You did this, Missy, you bitch?!"

"I'm sorry," the girl squeaked, only for the man to shove her down as she tried to get up. "I didn't mean…"

"You'll get the lash for this!" He raised his fist…

Jon should've known Dany would intervene - he would've himself, but his aunt beat him to the punch. "No, stop!" The man did, taking heed of a patron - he wore the collar of a slave himself. "It wasn't her fault."

"Come again?"

"I pushed my seat back carelessly. It is my fault that she tripped." Dany fished out a silver stag bearing the face of his muna, Queen Elia. "For the trouble?"

Unsure of what to do, the slave bartender simply pocketed the coin. "Fine, Missy, clean this up and get back to your place. Be quick about it."

The girl, Missy apparently, bowed her head and grabbed a washcloth she had tied to her side. Before kneeling to clean the stain, she murmured to Daenerys. "Thank you."

A crackling fire gave them away.

Perhaps these were a group of amateurs? Perhaps instead it was simply overconfidence on the part of the wildlings, or they didn't expect to be tracked by someone quite as skilled as the Halfhand. But the smoke trail of a wildling picket was spotted nigh an hour ago and here was Rhaenys. Quietly leaping from one rock to another while undercover. Utilizing just how flexible she was to make her way towards a position from where to leap upon the unsuspecting picket.

She tapped her feet three times against the rock. Nysar, understanding her signal, crouched low and stalked ahead of Rhaenys. Her lower profile hidden among the rocks.

The mountain gave an excellent lookout post over the valley upon which the wildlings would be lured. Without a dragon, Rhaenys couldn't imagine trying to warn them from so high - the winds would block out any hornblows… but to wildlings that grew up like mountain goats in this sort of clime, she didn't put anything past them.

Nor did Halfhand.

Peering out from behind her rock, Rhaenys clutched her glaive tightly in one hand. There were five wildlings, all bundled in furs from the cold. Two looked on watch, one was tending the fire, while the three others ate and lounged around. None directed towards the mountain itself.

Rhaenys grinned, a mistake that would cost them, especially as Halfhand crawled up across from her position. Slowly he nodded, to which Rhaenys nodded back. His halfhand then rose. The signal.

A loud howl filled the air. It was Sprinter from the outcroppings above, drawing attention from all the wildlings. Distracting them from the true angle of attack. From the opposite outcropping Benjen emerged into view and loosed an arrow, which killed one of the wildlings busy eating his meal. The other five went for their weapons and that was when Rhaenys - fueled with the zeal of her first true battle - leapt into action. Heart pumping, the one tending fire was sharply elbowed to the side. Another grabbed at an axe but Halfhand ran him through. Nysar emerged from her position to leap atop another, his grunt turning into a scream as the direwolf ripped open his neck.

"Crow!" screamed another, only for a swipe of her glaive to disembowel him. But she swiveled to the side just as another swung his own axe. Just barely missing her.

"I got ya, girl!" he bellowed, raising his axe only for Sandor to burst out of nowhere. Simply picking the man up and hurling him off a cliff. His screams simply ended with a sickening crunch.

"Don't make me do that again," Sandor quipped. "I know you can't stand that I saved your fuckin' life, and I don't want to hear the end of it." Rhaenys just scowled.

A whistle caught her attention. "Niece!" At Benjen's words, the slight wildling she had elbowed was crawling for one of the axes. Nysar was swifter though, catching the wildling's foot with her teeth and sending her falling to the rock. Rhaenys caughted up, grabbing the wildling up and hurling her flat on her back upon a rock. Drawing her sword and holding it at the throat of the…

What faced her wasn't a grizzled warrior or scout, but a woman. Hair kissed by fire and pretty.

Very pretty.

Both panting, Rhaenys' heart beating from the sudden and explosive battle - fuck, was it only a minute long? - she noticed Sandor brush to her side. "A fuckin' girl." He snorted in Rhae's ear. "Don't get any ideas, saucy snake." Understanding the implications, and just how pretty the captive was, Rhaenys flushed. She didn't mean to, but the girl below picked up on it anyway.

Her smile made Rhae want to shove a dagger down her throat. Nysar, instead of growling at the prisoner, merely sat on her haunches and waited. She saw little threat, so Rhaenys relaxed.

Her uncle had no such compunctions. "What are you doing here?!" Benjen demanded. "Talk!"

"They won't speak," Halfhand remarked, motioning to Rast and the other black brothers to douse the campfire. "Wildlings would sooner cut out their tongues."

Rhaenys nonetheless stared into the blue eyes of her captive. "Your name?"

To her surprise, the girl answered back. "Ygritte. Yours?"

She didn't answer. "We can take her prisoner. See what she knows."

"Not smart," grumbled the Hound. "Just more deadweight."

"Aye, listen to the scarred one." Halfhand gestured to the valley below, where many shapes moved in the distance. "We're already attackin,' and see this, Princess?" He held up an iron axe, discolored with age. "She was reachin' for it. Would've buried it in your face if ye' give her half the chance."

The prisoner snorted. "Nah… face that pretty? Should've stayed in yer' southern castle playin' dress up with all the other prissy cunts."

Rhaenys felt her ire rising at the pretty wildling lass, only for Benjen to draw his dagger. "Watch what you say to Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, wench!"

Her brow rose. "Ah, Targaryen…" Even a likely illiterate wildling girl bore knowledge of the dragonlords - Rhaenys felt a surge of pride at her heritage. "Come a long way to tangle with lowly little Ygritte, huh?"

"I don't even know who you are."

A smirk. "Your loss."

"Kill her," Halfhand stated. "I want you to do it."

Rhaenys blinked, while Benjen bristled. "Allow me, Princess…"

"Apologies, Ser, but in the Night's Watch we kill those we capture if need be… the ones we personally capture."

"I'm not in the Night's Watch," Rhaenys challenged.

Ygritte laughed. "Obvious… Crows are never that good on the eyes." She licked her lips.

Rhaenys felt she was just naturally a flirt - likely was very liked among the wildling fighters. How many has she bedded? Fuck, why did she care? "Fine, I'll do it."

"You all get to the top of the peak, find if there are other pickets. Rast and I'll wait for the Princess to finish." Sandor and Benjen eventually nodded, eying Rhaenys before climbing up the mountain after the other black brothers, leaving Halfhand and Rast.

The audience was meant to push Rhaenys to end the life of Ygritte - it didn't work that waited, simply staring at each other. Rhaenys peered at the young girl before her, likely not more than a year older than her - perhaps even her own age. Why is she here? Why does she fight and not stay and tend to the camps? Rhaenys fought and trained because she loved it, the ways of war in her blood. Ygritte must've been the same.

"We're not gettin' any older, Princess," Halfhand called from behind.

"I got it," Rhaenys replied, staring further at Ygritte. Into her sky blue eyes - there was no fear.

A tiny, breathless smile formed on her face. "Ever killed before, Princess?"

She did not hesitate. "Aye."

"Ever killed a woman?"

Rhaenys hesitated this time. "Once."

"Oh? In battle?" Ygritte looked to be enjoying this.

"No… till now with you."

A chuckle. "Need not do it. I can imagine, a life filled being a good little Princess, not knowing what it's like to be free." Her arms lowered ever so slightly. "I could show you… Mance would be kind to a dragon, I'm sure…"

Lowering her arms further, Rhaenys then put her sword at her neck, making Ygritte quiet. "Think I won't? Huh?" Her voice dripped with a promised violence. "I can and I will, as my uncle is doing to your tribesmen right now, riding right into our trap."

Her teeth bared into a leer. "Then do it, Princess." The latter came out a mocking hiss. "Just burn my body."

"Why?"

"Lest you want us all to haunt you, burn our bodies."

"And let your friends spot us, I think not."

Ygritte snorted. "Then expect me to come back at ya." Shifting into the position, she leaned over the rock on her knees, exposing her bare neck. Not the sort of pose Rhaenys was familiar with when it came to a pretty woman. "Then do it." Rhaenys raised her sword. "Fucking do it!"

Gritting her teeth, Rhaenys struck down, clanging against the rock.

Ygritte's eyes opened, staring at the longsword.

Rhaenys stared at it as well, then meeting Ygritte's eyes. Both equally stunned.

A muffled gasp.

Boots scuffing on rock.

A yelp from Nysar.

Ygritte's eyes shifting as she coiled back. Rhaenys' widened as the wildling lunged at her.

A/N: And so Rhaenys has met Ygritte, just as explosive a meeting as in canon. Meanwhile, Dany met Missandei, but it's much more subdued.

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