Asha

"Nuncle, Aeron, is that you?" Asha somehow resisted the urge to laugh at the sight of Aeron Damphair. His appearance was barely recognizable, gone was the seaweed in his hair. His long scraggly beard trimed. Furs were worn in the place of the robes traditionally worn by priests of the drowned god.

All the changes made his long, bony, and perpetually sour face more visable.

"Why are you here, on the greenlands?" Asha asked her youngest uncle.

Aeron hesitated for a moment before speaking. Your uncle Victarion is gone, dead from that fool's errand Euron sent him on. There is no one left to dispute his claim to the Seastone Chair."

His voice almost trailed off, "I need your help."

Cersei

"My queen, it may be too soon to tell, but I believe that you're with child." The maester squirmed irritably as he spoke.

The Grey Sheep as Qyburn called them loved her not. The Citadel liked Qyburn even less.

"Thank you maester, that will be all for now." Cersei barely managed to contain the disgust in her voice. The only thing worse than bearing the child of that lowborn snake, was the fact that even as he spoke, her death was growing in her belly and Tommen's too.

It may have been too soon to know, but in her heart she agreed. It seemed strange to think about, Maggy the Frog had said that she would only have three children. Cersei wondered not for the first time if that witch was wrong, about something. Maybe she would have a fourth child, and maybe the rest of the prophecy would be not happen. But, it was also likely that the child would never enter the world alive.

The skinny maester went as quickly as he could without running.

Cersei dearly wished that she could get her hands on some Moon Tea, and she knew all too well how to brew it. In Littlefinger's absense the maester had been instructed to keep a keen eye on any ingredients needed. Cersei had been married to Littlefinger's littlefinger for nearly a moon's turn, and she noticed that he rarely missed anything.

In the spacious courtyard, thousands were being marshalled to formally assert his control over the Riverlands. She would make her move once they were well away.

Tyrion the little monster, had taken Stoney Sept not a fortnight past from a small army led by Lyn Corbray.

For a week she had fallen for false hope when a letter from Stoney Sept claimed to have taken the Imp alive in an ambush an hour's ride away.

When a messenger arrived with the head that should have by rights been her Valonqar's, it was in fact the head of Lyn Corbray, with a taunting message stuffed in the dead man's mouth.

Littlefinger would be going west under the pretext of holding a feast at Riverrun where he would meet with many of the Riverlords as well as many Western lords who should have been her bannermen had she not been a woman.

Few would believe the pretext, but it of course it still sounded better than marching on a queen's hand. Especially, when that queen had dragons.

Despite the emnity Cersei felt towards the Targaryen queen, part of her could not help but root for the young dragon queen. Certainly she envied the woman. If any of the Grey Sheep tried to explain that a woman could not sit the Iron Throne, she would only need to call for one of her dragons, and remind that order of old wrinkled cowards that true power came from force.

She would remind the world, of that when she overcame all to get to Ser Robert Strong, her silent giant. She only needed to get past the guards at the door and search a few floors up in the Kingspyre tower, find him. The knight would be with her son and then she would have to get past that manipulative bitch of a good-daughter.

Barristan

The air was chilled in here, and not just from the cold.

A handful of prisoners were shown into the Ballroom of Maegor's Holdfast by a line of Gold Cloaks. With the absense of the queen and her hand, the governance of King's Landing fell to him. The presence of the City Watch still made him uneasy but he did not fear them, after all he had killed one of them once with nothing but his bared hands.

He hated dealing with spies, or really any kind of cloak and dagger work.

A raven arrived from Stoney Sept, ordering the purge of the Brune household in King's Landing. The Brunes of Brownhollow had turned their cloaks during a battle, and they were one of Littlefinger's many tricks, Tyrion Lannister had claimed. Not surprisingly, those sworn to the Brunes of Brownhollow were found in a rundown house in Flea Bottom that whose ownership was only determined after many inquiries to be none other than lord Baelish.

They evidence of their guilt had been overwhelming. Among the many damning pieces of evidence, was a list written in neat handwriting that was most likely that of Petyr Baelish. The list contained a list of contacts he had in the city.

One of his knights had checked out the names and to no surprise, nearly half of those in the contact list were members of the city watch. He had spoken with the commander of the City Watch beforehand, to ensure that the twenty odd names of those on Littlefinger's list were present. They lined the walls of the room on the left side.

Others were merchants, captains, customs officials and impoverished petty lords, even hedge knights who would be willing to sell their services for unknightly deeds.

A search of the house had yielded other things such as a crude map of the passages under the Red Keep.

Worse of all, was another list found of potential targets one of whom was him.

He had faced possible death to many times to fear it on the battlefield, but the idea of someone sneaking through the tunnels killing him in his sleep was unsettling. And it had been done before, of that old knight did not doubt. Even before the Dance of Dragons, the secret passages that Maegor had made were not secret enough.

On that same list, there were some targets, who in fact had died recently. Some had died under suspicious circumstances, but most had died of natural causes. It least they appeared natural.

The Stranger had taken two of his knights, the brave men born on distant shores and often into slavery in such a manner. One was a captain of the city watch who had fallen to his death when he slipped off the city walls one icy morning. Another while another, an aged Qartheen who had just been awarded Sharp Point, had his heart fail in a brothel that happened to be an establishment of Littlefinger's.

At that moment the burden of ruling King's Landing was surely felt. Small wonder Aerys II had gone insane in this atmosphere of paranoia.

The woman had hair black as a raven, and blue eyes that showed only a flicker of fear.

He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. Part of him wanted to blame Tywin Lannister's son whose order to purge the households of several traitors, which resulted in her discovery and capture. It went against everything in him to condemn any woman, but the evidence of her crimes was overwhelming.

"You have been found guilty of murder, and spying for an enemy of the crown." He felt himself hesitate before continuing. "Do you have anything to say before I pass the sentence?"

She had been waiting for a chance to speak, he could tell. She offered a thin smile, but it did not seem to reach her eyes.

"My lord husband has a shadow over us all and would be very upset if anything happened to me."

"And who would your lord husband be?" The old knight allowed a tone of skepticism in his voice.

"His name is Tyrion Lannister, and I am his wife and the mother of his trueborn daughter."

The pug nosed Grandmaester Marwyn who had been named to the small council over the objections of the Citadel whose loyalty to Daenerys was a jape best, cleared his throat.

"Our lord hand is already married, and such a marriage could not have been made with the existence of a previous marriage. Lord Tyrion had asked me to look into records of his prior marriage, and found that it had been formally annuled after the ascent of the usurper Robert Baratheon, and a new high septon."

She gave a look of scorn at the maester, "Our marriage was consumated, but Tywin Lannister ignored the laws of gods and men for some kind of honor". Barristan was certain that it was a ploy to escape punishment, but the bitterness in her voice was real.

Barristan felt himself inwardly sigh. No matter what his choice was in this judgement, choas would result. If he punished her as she deserved, though he would rather not do, Tyrion Lannister would hear of it soon, and the consequences would be ones Daenerys Targaryen could ill afford at the moment. If he did not punish her, than Daenerys would be wroth at him for taking someone else's side. Neither decision would cause less trouble than it created.

Tyrion Lannister and Daenerys Targaryen had a strange relationship, and not a very healthy one either. They both claimed to be completely unlike their fathers, but Dany had ruled her conquests lately with her the ambitious vigor her father once had in her younger years. She was determined to be the greatest Targaryen monarch that ever existed. Thankfully, her ideas seemed less grandiose, or at least attainable compared to those of Aerys.

The hand of the king, ruled too with great energy. Though Tyrion Lannister was not without mercy, he dealt brutality at nearly every turn. Much like his own sire, Tyrion did not just play the game of thrones to win, he played it to be feared. Love did not save me from the noble throngs of King's Landing when Cersei came for my head, he had once told him.

They both behaved like their fathers did at their age, but they had a level of distrust much deeper than their forebears did before the rebellion. The only thing keeping them from turning on one another, was that they depended on one another for backing.

History did not repeat itself, it rhymed as Barristan had long ago decided. If Daenerys was Rhaenrya reborn, then Tyrion was her uncle and later husband Daemon, who was as close as Targaryens came to both sides of the coin that the seven above flipped for the birth of every Targaryen.

And soon they might come to blows.

Sansa

"I will send for you as soon as we reach Riverrun," he pulled her close and gave her what he called a fatherly kiss.

I'm not your daughter anymore. She didn't say, did it matter anymore? Those who wanted the favor of Littlefinger, called her lady Baelish, which still gave her a queer chill.

Petyr Baelish, lord protector of the Vale, Lord paramount of the Riverlands, and lord regent of the seven kingdoms, was dressed for war. The ornate suit of light plate armor that he wore, seemed ill suited to a man such as Littlefinger who normally fought his battles with whispers and songs.

On his head was an open faced sallet fashioned in the style of the Riverlands, crowned with a thin circlet of gold to indicate his role as lord protector of the realm.

He moved down the steps of the Kingsprye Tower, and climbed a destrier that was held for him by a squire.

Nearby was lord Garlan Tyrell, she did not fail to notice that he acted different now, from the man she had known in King's Landing long ago. His armor was also very beautiful as befitting for a son of the Reach.

"My lady," he called in a low voice.

She got closer, aware of his quiet undertone. "I know you must be angry at my family for what we did to you."

"Your family saved me from King's Landing," Sansa's reply was unthinking and automatic.

The handsome man who had just seen thirty namedays, only gave her a look of silent dismay.

"We sent you from one evil man to the arms of another."

If it were any other Tyrell, she would have been certain of some test by Littlefinger to ensure her devout loyalty.

"We cried your head, we called for your husband's head. We called for the blood of innocents to keep our own hands clean. Even now your husband need only die so that we have a claim to Casterly Rock.

Sweetling, your must never allow your hands to get dirty, she could hear Petyr's voice in her head.

There was poison in your hairnet. Poison that you wore visibly, to the wedding. We could have smuggled it into the wedding ourselves easily, but we had to put the blame on some one else.

I was the I commited the murder, the one that every man here thinks you did. I was the one who dropped the poison into Joffrey's cup.

Sansa could almost feel her heart deflating, Garlan Tyrell, was the only Tyrell that she could have trusted, and looking back, The Tyrells had used that when they chose where their family would sit during Joffrey's wedding.

"Forgive me if can, Lady Sansa, but I am the reason that Cersei wanted to kill you, and the reason that you are held by another unnatural man."

"Lord Baelish has been very kind to me, I am no prisoner here."

The stern expression on his face, made her uncomfortable and she could not explain why.

"I have seen how he looks at you Lady Stark, and you must soon choose whom you call father, Baelish or Stark."

He walked away slowly, a man whose conflict of his own heart was tearing him apart, towards his waiting steed.

In the distance, at the main gate of Harrenhal, the warhorns blew. With them, a vast host poured out of the ruined citadel, and turned to the West.

Happy New Year's

next up: Samwell, Arianne, and Jon