Adrian

They didn't fly all the way back to the Eryie.

Adrian knew that Baelish had wanted to fly all the way back, as he was in a hurry to return to their current castle and find out how the other tasks he'd sent his Small Council on had gone. Or because he was desperate to show to his 'dear sweet Cat' all he had done. That was another strong possibility. But the fact of the matter was that it was far too risky to bring Lady Catelyn (not Stark… Baelish had been VERY firm on that after hearing one of the Valesmen call her that; Adrian wondered just where the man's head had landed) there just held in his arms. And there was the fact that Adrian had been tasked with transporting Kraven and the woman was not just too heavy for him to properly carry for a long trip but also in a sour and foul mode, one that would have resulted in him losing limbs if he had been forced to carry her for too long.

So, they had flown for a few hours away from Winterfell, Kraven silent and sullen and refusing to say a word. Adrian hadn't been offended; honestly it had been better that she remained quiet as it had given Adrian time to consider all that had happened. He had known that Baelish wanted Catelyn Tully (again, his liege had been VERY clear that she was a Tully, not a Stark; never a Stark) and that they were going there to retrieve her and cause some chaos. But leaving as they had… it was a mistake. A grave mistake.

One that Adrian… was pleased with.

'The Starks have warriors of power and strength not of this world. They might be the only ones that can defeat Baelish… and free me from this nightmare.'

It was such a delicate beam he had been forced to make his way across. Petyr Baelish could destroy him with a wave of his hand, so Adrian had to keep himself in the man's good graces. But… Baelish was absolutely insane. He didn't know if it was the armor his phantom now lived in, the traumatic death he had suffered, or simply a case of him having always been crazy but now not needing to hide that part of him. Whatever it was Baelish had completely lost it and Adrian knew that it was never wise to ally one's self with a madman.

His actions waffled between the carefully cultivated… and the horribly impulsive.

The man claimed he had plans. Brilliant, amazing plans. And at times if one looked at just a single scheme then he did look brilliant. Getting control of the Eryie not through battle but through charming its leader. Marching into Winterfell and claiming its lady. Activating Norman so he might gather the Small Council.

And the Small Council too, at first glance, looked like brilliant picks. Adrian wasn't vain enough to praise his own selection. But Norman, a powerful Essosi merchant? Kraven, a powerful hunter? The strange alien creature that seemingly couldn't be killed? Good choices.

Until one looked harder.

Baelish had claimed the Eyrie but other than perhaps slaughtering all the Lords and Ladies of the Vale and hoping through fear to dominate its knights he had no real way of using its power. The Knights of the Vale were some of the greatest horseman in all of Westeros… but their virtue and their honor would never allow them to work for one such at Petyr Baelish; not unless he was willing to give up much that was, Adrian had come to see, his very personality. He was a man with a stable full of horses but no key to unlock the door.

He had taken Catelyn Tully… but not killed Ned Stark, nor destroyed Winterfell; at best he had decimated its garrison and shaken the hold that the Starks had on the North by making them appear weak but even that might not come to pass for him. And the Starks would not sit idly by and wait for their doom to come. They would rally and they would strike back. Worse, other than being able to point to him taking Catelyn Tully… he had done nothing to make the North turn on the Starks. Had not sought out allies, had not tried to cultivate new connections. Nothing. He didn't care once he had seen his precious Catelyn.

As for Norman and the Small Council… well, there was another case of things looking smart at a glance but when one both dug deeper and pulled back to look at the big picture saw the dangers and the foils.

Norman. The man was powerful and egotistical and slimy. For now he was willing to work under Baelish but Adrian knew he was plotting to overthrow him. Perhaps that was why Baelish wanted him, as it would mean that he always had to remain on guard. But Adrian very much feared what might happen if Norman gained control of Baelish's armor. His madness would not work well with it, that was plain and simple.

Kraven. The woman was a great hunter, yes. And probably the sanest person after Adrian himself. But… that didn't mean she was rational. The Battle of Winterfell had proven that. Rather than slaughter as many guards as she could she had become obsessed with a single green woman; Adrian didn't know what the story was behind that grudge and frankly he didn't care. And her moodiness made her draining to be around; even without saying a word she just made one tired.

Euron. By the Seven Euron. Baelish may have felt like he had won something by being able to bring that madman into his grasp but Adrian only felt terror at having him around. More and more he was remaining in his strange bloody ruin form. His sanity slipped by the hour; at least before there was the sense that his 'madness' was a mummur's farce to trick his foes. But not anymore. He had begun to demand they call him simply 'Carnage'. There was something very wrong with Euron Greyjoy… had been something wrong with him since birth, to be honest, but his transformation had only made things far worse.

And then there was Adrian himself. Baelish may not have realized it but his 'Hand of the King' only served him under duress. He wanted nothing more than to flee from them but he dared not risk it.

"Are they treating you well?" he said softly to Yoren.

"They are," the traveling crow stated, head bowed as he sat on the ground in his cell.

He was, after all, not the one that would suffer if he ran.

Kraven had gone ahead of him and he knew that Baelish would be arriving soon (he had mentioned he wanted to take his time, to show his 'sweet Cat' much of the Vale as she had never been there… which was simply wrong as even Adrian knew that Catelyn had taken the Imp to the Eyrie and started the whole damn war), but for Adrian getting to the highest tower that made up the Eyrie was a simple thing with his wings and thus he didn't need to rely upon the trails and the buckets and the lifts to reach it. So while Kraven dealt with that loveliness Adrian had been able to visit with Yoren and the Night's Watch recruits… or rather, he supposed, not recruits anymore but simply prisoners once again.

"I'm sorry I couldn't get you something better," he said as he leaned forward on his stool and looked through the bars of the cell Yoren was currently in. "I tried but-"

"Better this than the Sky Cells," Yoren stated. "Here I can sleep easily."

Adrian nodded; he had been rather firm with Baelish that the prisoners couldn't be put in the Sky Cells. He had argued that they were a weakness in the Eryie, what with the Iron Man flying around. A single entrance point with only a door? And the Iron Man could easily pluck their prisoners from them like a child grabbing onto a strawberry. Baelish had thankfully agreed with that and allowed Yoren and the recruits to be held at the Gate of the Moon while he saw to sealing up all of the Sky Cells.

"Don't suppose the guards have said anything, have they?" Adrian asked. They were alone, the men in charge of watching over the prisoners never suspecting that it would be unwise to leave Adrian alone with Yoren. After all, he was given special privileges by Lysa Arryn (by Baelish's command) and was to be trusted. He had proven that over the last few months, running errands for her (him) and being given great respect by the Lady of the Vale (the mad bastard who truly ran things). They never suspected the now Second in Command of the Vale was working against the Lady and her paramour.

Yoren stared at Adrian before chuckling, shaking his head.

"What?"

"You are sounding like the prisoner here," he replied and after a moment Adrian let out a huffing laugh.

"We are all prisoners. I realized that when I was a lad. I just keep getting sent to different cells."

"Aye, I can see that," Yoren commented before moving closer to the bars of the cell. "They treat me good, the guards. They are scared of angering you, because they know you have the lady's ear." They both knew it was Baelish that was currently giving Adrian favors but never spoke that aloud. "They are scared if they upset you they'll lose this job… it's a good one, with Winter coming. They all have to take turns standing outside but with us in-house most of them get to stay warm in here, so they keep the fires good. And since we are getting decent food they are getting decent food as well. Honestly, if I weren't bored of the walls I'd say this was the best I'd ever had it."

"I could see about getting you some dice, perhaps," Adrian said. "A book, if you know your letters."

Yoren though waved him off. "I'm fine. The guards and I talk. They know I am an 'honored guest' and not a cutthroat. Honestly, if it weren't because of my vows they'd probably see if I could just be inducted into their ranks."

Adrian nodded at that; he understood both them wanting that and Yoren being unable to do it.

"But," the Nights Watch member said slowly, "they talk to me. About things they hear. Of things others hear."

"That so?" Adrian said, trying to be casual.

"Aye. A lot of folks have been going up to the Eryie… a lot of folks. Messengers of lords and the like. A few of the third sons and honored cousins. And the thing is… they aren't coming back down."

Adrian frowned at that. "I haven't seen anyone."

"No… I imagine you haven't. The latest was Harry the Heir… or rather not the Heir, not anymore. I doubt King Petyr is going to make him his anything." Yoren's face twisted. "Or… maybe he is."

"What do you mean?" Adrian asked.

"Just whispers. Dark ones. A guard said the lass, Myra, who leads the donkeys up… she mentioned that she saw some people who had gone up. They… didn't look right. Not right at all. Said something was done to their faces. But she didn't get a good look and didn't want another one." Yoren frowned. "But they also said that she loves to talk and dream so she might not have actually seen what she saw."

"Right," Adrian commented. Myra Stone had been allowed to continue on without much change simply because no one else could do what she did, nor did they want too. "Still, something to keep an eye on. Harry the Heir was the highest of the lordlings to go up?"

"Aye, he was. Lord Royce is apparently dragging his feet… rumor is that he suddenly decided to talk with the Mountain Clans, see if a peace could be settled before winter. Lady Arryn can't bitch about that because the Mountain Clans have been such a trouble to the Vale that they will always come first when it comes to problems. And Royce knows it too."

"Clever."

Yoren nodded at that before continuing. "At least… that's what's come from the Vale. There have been others though. About half a week ago someone came with three prisoners… a young girl dressed oddly, a plump lordling…"

"…and?"

"The Hound."

Adrian felt a chill run along his spine.

"The Hound?" he whispered.

"Sandor Clegane himself," Yoren confirmed. "No mistaking that scarred face. All of them were wrapped up in ropes and gagged. The guards weren't pleased about the girl, as she looked like a slip of a thing, and suggested she wait here and not risk the climb. The one that was bringin' her, Beck I think his name was, said that she'd handle the climb while. Thought it was funny too." He shook his head. "I don't know what that was about."

At once Adrian knew that things were going to be bloody. 'The Hound is the one that killed Baelish… and I doubt Littlefinger will have forgiven him, even if he thinks that this was all for the best, considering the power he now holds. No… he is going to be out for blood and won't stop until he gets it. And who knows about the other two… I'll have to check on the girl.' She was the one he was most worried about. Baelish had been very clear that he currently had no interest in physical desires; he had told that to the delusional bitch Lysa multiple times as she'd tried to find some way to please him.

Adrian still shuddered at walking in on her begging Baelish to let her attempt to worship his 'phantom phallus'.

'No… the girl isn't there for his pleasure. And the Hound… he couldn't have a daughter, could he?' He couldn't see Clegane having a child… sure, he most likely paid whores to sleep with him but they were smart about drinking their Moon Tea to ensure nothing happened. And it wasn't like there would be much for a bastard of the Hound, especially a female. A male? Now that Clegane was the Lord of Clegane's Keep perhaps Ser Kevan would make a male bastard Clegane's legitimate heir. But a girl? No. 'And he isn't soft enough to care for a child. A child would have been a risk; his brother would have used her as a way to torture him all the more.'

Which meant the girl was there for other reasons. Perhaps the new arrival having made the mistake of believing Baelish wanted her. She certainly couldn't be the King's child… he would have mentioned it, Adrian was sure of that. So she was just some girl… who was now going to be trapped in a castle with the likes of Norman and Carnage.

'I'll have to claim her as my own,' he realized suddenly. 'Baelish will allow that… he shows me honor over the others, so he'll give me her if he has no designs for her. That will give her some protection… not much but better than being allowed to wander about the Eryie where Norman or Carnage can get to her. Or Lysa.'

That was the other thing that was troubling. Lysa Arryn had proven that she was lacking a few stone blocks in her wall. She seemed to believe that the entire world was out to get her and that all were threats. Baelish had already had to gently inform her that no, she couldn't just kill all the servants just because the woman worried they would 'steal him away'. The donkey girl, Myra, was no longer allowed to go to the top of the Eryie because she was a 'vile bastard who would try and steal her Petyr or her Sweetrobin.' He was already fearing what he might find when he got up there and Adrian prayed that the girl was fat and ugly with a furry chin and moles all over her face. Someone so disgusting that Lysa wouldn't be able to see her as a threat.

'Who am I trying to fool? Lysa will find her a threat no matter what.' He shook his head. "Fuck, that is going to make things-"

Before he could say any more there was a commotion outside and at once he and Yoren were on their feet. They could hear the men calling out, shouting…. And someone screaming.

"I can help," Yoren hissed. Adrian stared at him for a moment and the man added, "I'll swear an oath to not run."

Adrian considered it for only a moment before nodding; if they were being attacked then he wanted a sword he could trust. He grabbed the keys that were nearby and quickly unlocked the cell door, Yoren moving to grab a sword that was leaning against a wall, discarded by one of the jailers who must have been sleeping. He looked over the blade before nodding and Adrian braced himself for the battle that was to come before he burst out of the jail and into the courtyard of Gates of the Moon.

At once he spotted the bald head of Lord Nestor Royce, the lord of the Gates and kin of the Greater Royces. He was bellowing and roaring for his men to form up into lines, trying to establish some sort of order. But the men were clearly in a panic… but not one that was born out of terror, if Adrian were to be reading their emotions right.

'This isn't the panic of one that is scared and trying to flee,' he thought as he searched for the source of the madness, moving towards the back of the castle's main yard. The Gates themselves were shut tight and he heard no noise coming from their other side. No… everything was happening towards the back, where the path to the Vale proper, and the Eryie, laid. 'This is the panic that comes from one knowing they must fight…'

He didn't know if that was better or worse.

"Lord Nestor!" Adrian called out, moving towards the bellowing man. "What is going on?"

"Madness!" Nestor Royce snapped before catching himself. Unlike the other lords of the Vale he had been allowed to remain at his castle, for he had quickly bent the knee to King Petyr, acknowledging him as his lord. Adrian had dealt with him many times and the man had always been respectful to him, accepting Adrian as the Hand of the King who spoke in King Petyr's voice. "Pardons but… the men are screaming about monsters. I keep trying to get to get them to stop and actually remember their training but they are determined to kill whatever it is that has their tempers up." He shook his head in annoyance. "Most likely its some Clansman who managed to make their way around the Gates through the deep mountain paths and make an attempt on the rear gate. It has happened before, thought not often-"

"Lord Nestor!" someone called out form behind Adrian and he turned to see a guard hurrying over to them, a broken sword grasped in his hand. The man looked to be one of the newer recruits, with just the beginnings of a beard upon his face. "We managed to grab one!"

"Grab one WHAT?!" Lord Nestor demanded and Adrian was thinking the same thing. "The attackers?"

"Yes, Lord Nestor. You… you need to see this."

"What in the Seven Hells…" Lord Nestor complained before stalking after the messenger, who had already begun to hurry back to the rear of the castle, where Adrian could see a mob of men pulling close the large gate that led out to the path towards the Eryie. He could just make out forms beyond, their hands reaching through the quickly closing gate, grasping for anything they could. Occasionally they would grab onto a guard and Adrian would catch a flash of a metal gauntlet before someone would pound on their wrists and forearms, forcing them to let go.

"Fucking Hells," Yoren whispered and Adrian found himself nodding. The moment the gate was shut the men roared for beams to be brought and he looked over to see one lying on the ground shattered, forcing the guards to bar the door with a new piece of lumber. But what was more terrifying was that a quick scan showed that the door had no damage along the hinges; the beam hadn't been broken do to someone using a battering ram. How they had broken it was revealed quickly as the hinged doors of the gate began to tremble.

Whatever was outside was trying to pry it open the wrong way.

"Lord Nestor, Lord Adrian," another voice called out and Adrian turned to find the Maester of the Gates of the Moon, Karnath, hurrying over to them. He was a young maester, with a shock of reddish brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard. Not someone Adrian had ever met at the Citadel, far too young for that, but someone that Adrian thought might have liked having as a friend. "Please, follow me… you need to see this."

The maester led them over to a body. The figure was richly dressed, with finely stitched pants, a dark blue shirt and red and white checkered vest, and boots that were made with the finest of black leathers with thick soles. Adrian stared at the slacken face and knew that at one time the man must have been very handsome, with deep blue eyes, sandy blond hair, and a thin nose. He had a muscular frame but not overly bulky; the kind of form that young maidens dreamed of. But Adrian knew, based on his age, that the young man before him had never had a true test of his muscles. No battles. No wars. Nothing but tourneys where the danger was always blunted and it was stupidity and laziness and laxness that got one killed, rather than anything else. Where scars were actually welcomed because they never were a risk.

The man… must have been handsome. Once.

He wasn't anymore.

He had been speared multiple times through the chest, though the wounds were far less bloody than you would have expected. There were gashes upon the face that looked too old to have occurred during the assault upon the back gate, as they didn't show the puffiness or bruising that one would have expected; due to how thin the skin was around the head blood had no where to go when one was stuck but directly out, resulting in the black eyes and swollen faces.

But the worst, and strangest, thing was the metal that was embedded in the man's flesh.

When Adrian had been at the Citadel, attempting to forge a chain and finally escape his family's duty, he had assisted Maester Crome, Chief Healer. While all Maesters were expected to have an understanding of healing Maester Crome was the one that instructed all future maesters in the art of tending the human body, curing diseases and healing damaged bits. He also was the Maester that the Hightowers would call for if there was a grave injury; even the Maester of the Hightower at the time, Lommel, had admitted that Crome was is superior in the arts of healing.

During one of his times working with Maester Crome they had been summoned to one of the boiling houses, where the sugar cane that came from the southern most parts of the Reach was brought to be prepared. A vat hadn't been cared for properly and had burst. Later, when all was settled, the man in charge of caring for the vats at the boiling house had been taken to the center of Oldtown and been whipped personally by Lord Hightower, his sons, and the eldest sons of every man harmed by his failure. But that had been little comfort in those moments, when Adrian had heard the screams ripping through the boiling house attendants.

"Every cook and chef fears sugar," Maester Crome had told him as they had done what they could for the injured men. "Knives will stop. Pans will bounce. Water will slide away. But sugar STICKS… and it will burn to the bone."

The horror of those injures… of the memories of the men screaming and thrashing, clawing at their flesh as they tried desperately to tear off the molten sugar that clung to their bodies and melted their muscles… all came roaring back to Adrian as he stared at the young man's face.

Patches of dull gray metal covered his face. Running along his left temple. Upon part of his chin. Darting along his cheekbone to the left side of his nose. Along the right corner of his eye. The edges of the metal clung to his flesh, the skin puckering at the spots and forming wrinkles and twisted patches. Each piece had no nails or the like locking the metal onto the skin. No… it was as if the metal itself were hugging the man, refusing to let go.

'As if it were poured on there and allowed to cool,' he thought with growing dread.

"By the Gods," Nestor whispered, "this is Harry Hardyng."

"Harry the Heir," Adrian whispered to himself before pulling away from the body. "Stay here, all of you." And with that he unfurled his wings and launched himself into the air, soaring above the castle so he might see beyond its walls.

The attackers that were clawing at the gate currently only numbered about a score at most, though there were about four or five dead bodies that he could see on the edges of the group. He also saw bodies that were lying under the feet of the attackers, trampled and broken, and he knew they must be either guards or servants that had been caught before the alarm could be raised. The mob was grabbing onto any piece of the door they could, even if it were merely smooth bolts, and were attempting to yank the door open. Some would dig their fingers into the wood, Adrian catching glints of metal that explained how they were able to get such good grips, and pull until they finally found their arms free, bits of wood coming with them. They'd fall and within seconds pop up and begin again.

Most disturbing was how silent they were.

No screams. No bellows. Nothing. Their mouths flapped open and close and yet not a sound left their lips. Utterly muted.

He shuddered before stealing himself, preparing to go into a deep dive. 'No one reported anything happening to them when they were touched so I don't think this is a sickness. Still, I will need to make sure I clear my wings properly before I fold them up.' He took one last breath, prepared to dive down and use his wings to cut the horde to ribbons-

A blast of concentrate fire burst from Adrian's left and the mob was sent crashing to the ground, limbs torn from their bodies and forms twitching. The strike continued on for nearly 20 seconds, Adrian rendered dumb as the earth was scorched and torn apart, the bits of the horde that hadn't been flung away ground deeper and deeper until the earth. When the blast came to a stop Adrian could see smashed gooey bits covering the crater, slowly oozing down to the bottom of it.

"Ah, my dear Hand," Baelish called out and Adrian turned to find him hovering in the air, Lady Catelyn staring down at the destruction with wide eyes, her skin nearly milky white at the sight of the devastation. "I know you had this handled but I hope you don't mind that I settled this. A bit quicker, I would wager." He began to descend and Adrian quickly followed, landing in a kneeling position. The guards, the maester, and Lord Nestor were all bowing as well. The only one still on his feet was Yoren. "You do not kneel?"

"I am a man of the Night's Watch, your grace," he replied. "We kneel to none because we can not protect the lands upon our knees."

Baelish's helm peeled back to reveal his phantom face and he smirked at that. "Yes… yes, that is completely understandable. Though, when I slaughter all that lay beyond the Wall and render the Night's Watch unneeded I do hope you learn quickly how to fall to your knees."

The threat was clear. So was the message of power.

"Now then…" Baelish said, motioning for Adrian to rise to his feet and taking a moment to admire the kneeling people. "My sweet Cat… may I present the first of my subjects, loyal to their king. Did you meet with Lord Nestor when you came through here with Lord Tyrion?"

"I did, Petyr," Catelyn said, her tone stiff and formal. "He greeted me kindly."

"He held a feast for you, I imagine?"

"No," she said and Adrian saw Lord Nestor tense at that. "My sister had commanded me to come at once to the Eryie and he was honor bound to inform me of the command. He was most apologetic though."

"Ah, of course!" Baelish said with a pleasant little smile. "Understandable, understandable." He reached up and stroked his beard with his free hand. "Though… you will need to make it up to us, Lord Nestor."

"I planned to provide a feast upon your return, your grace, but I will inform the cooks that they must make it twice as grand to honor Lady Catelyn."

Baelish though shook his head, chuckling slightly. "Oh no no no. Please do not do that. In fact, inform the cooks that there will be no feast, at least for us. I could not partake… I have moved beyond such mortal needs as food. I might have attended but the issue at the gate…" He looked over and noticed the body of Harry Hardyng. Baelish moved towards his form, Catelyn forced to follow along with him because he refused to let go over her; indeed, Adrian got the sense he was worried if he let her go she would run. Which was most likely the case. "Harry the Heir… of course you weren't an Heir at all, were you? Sweetrobin was Jon Arryn's heir and I have no need for an heir. I am… beyond such worries. What is dead may never die… oh how right the Greyjoys were!"

And then he laughed though no one else truly joined him; at best they merely chuckled nervously.

"Oh, I'm sorry sweet Cat," he said suddenly moving to turn her away from Harry's form. "You shouldn't have to stare at a sight like this. That was very inconsiderate of me. Your eyes should only look upon the most wonderful of things." And with that he reached over and gently touched her chin with his fingers, moving her head so she was gazing upon him.

"What… what happened to him?" she asked and Adrian wondered if she, or any of them, actually wanted to hear the answer to that question.

"Norman got sloppy," Baelish said with a sigh, clearly frustrated. "He should have never made it down the mountain… none of them should have. They weren't ready, weren't imprinted upon me."

"I don't understand."

He smiled softly at that. "Once Robert asked that scheming whore Cersei- I am sorry, I shouldn't use such language around you, my dear, but for her the words are true- what was mightier? One army or five? He rightly pointed out that one army is mightier because five bicker and feud and have five different wants or needs. The Targaryens didn't worry about have different armies they must call upon because they had dragons. And when they lost their dragons they had the fear those dragons instilled…until that fear disappeared. I am mighty… you saw that… but I am not mighty enough to be everywhere at once. I need an army… a single army. Guided by my will. This… is a failure in that goal." He squeezed her closer to him. "But do not worry… I will speak with Norman and I will make sure that he knows not to let this mistake happen again."

With that he shifted her a bit so that he had her firmly in his grasp before risking in the air.

"Adrian… we make for the Eryie."

"Your grace!" Adrian called out quickly, causing Baelish to pause. "As your Hand… I will need aid as we establish your kingdom. You had men who aided you when you were Master of Coin." He gestured at Yoren. "I believe Yoren would do well to aid me… and it would save me time to take him now."

"…yes, that is acceptable. And well thought out." And with that he blasted off into the air, Adrian moving towards Yoren.

"Why?" the Night's Watch Member whispered.

"Because soon he will run out of lordlings," Adrian hissed, "and the men in the cells will be his next target."

"…thank you," Yoren murmured and Adrian merely nodded before he grabbed onto him and took off towards the Eryie.