Joffrey scowled and shifted impatiently in his chair. He did not like to be kept waiting. And this woman—this Queen of the West was late.

He sat with his company, his mother at his right, his betrothed, Margaery Tyrell at his left, and his grandfather, Tywin Lannister, just past that. They were seated under a canopy on a balcony high in the Red Keep. He casually noted that the last time a group gathered here, it was his name day and Sansa Stark had sat at his side on the raised platform. Now she sat at the farthermost chair to his left next to her husband, Tyrion Lannister, uncle to the king. Joffrey gave a derisive snort at the two together. Their marriage provided him endless entertainment and mockery.

He pulled at the collar of his tunic refusing to accept that perhaps his mother had been right this morning when she suggested the thinner fabric of the green tunic instead of the scarlet one he currently wore with his gold sash. The days were growing shorter, but King's Landing was as hot as ever and even the breeze from Blackwater Bay could not give relief.

"Grandfather, remind me when this woman said she was to arrive at the Keep."

"Midday, Your Grace."

"And are the Eryatheians capable of following time, or does it run differently in the lands to the west?"

Margaery leaned toward him and placed her hand on his. "It is only just past midday, my love."

Joffrey jerked his hand away. "Yes and just past midday is not midday, is it? She's late. Does a king's time count for nothing?"

Tywin Lannister examined a fingernail, bored with his grandson's insolence. "While the queen's belatedness is not ideal, it would be in the realm's best interest if our frustrations were not mentioned. We may have won the North, but there are others that would seek to supplant you, Your Grace. An alliance with Eryatheia can only be in our best interest."

Joffrey was only partially listening. His grandfather's lectures on manners and civility were immensely boring. He was only brought back from letting his mind wander when Ser Meryn Traunt called out.

"Your Grace, could that be the queen's company?"

A small company of people could be seen just inside of the Mud Gate. They all wore heavy woolen black cloaks that hid their faces and carried no banners, but surely this must be the Eryatheians. Joffrey looked, but did not see a palanquin, wheelhouse, or anything that could hold the guest queen. He huffed loudly and sat back in his seat. They were all the way at the bottom of Aegon's High Hill. It would take them more than half an hour to reach the Red Keep if they were carrying supplies and personal belongings for themselves as well as their queen.

He was perfectly committed in being quite discontent for the time that it took the queen to reach him. He set his scowl again and went over what he knew of House Vysrane. His grandfather had made him sit in a meeting where they discussed Eryatheia's imports, exports, ruling family, and a great many other boring details. The Vysrane family took the phrase "Fire and Light" as their house words. Their sigil is a Phoenix and their banner is a red phoenix flying in a black sky though the queen's personal banner is a white phoenix in a red sky. It never occurred to him to ask why. The Vysrane family has held the throne in Eryatheia for over 2,000 years since Helius Vysrane. They called him Helius the Undaunted. The West calls the Eryatheian queen Aero the Blessed. But in the streets, the people call her The Phoenix Queen. As he wiped away the sweat beading on his forehead, Joffrey silently pondered what name history would bestow upon him. Something gallant, no doubt.

With any important visitor, rumors spread through the city like a venereal disease. Traders swore that she could breathe fire like a dragon and travelled with a personal spellcaster. But those were just rumors, Joffrey decided. He heard that she was beautiful. Like all of the others, she was beautiful. He found it interesting that when men spoke of women, they were either beautiful, or they were not. It didn't surprise him that when he heard tell of other royal or highborn families, their daughters were beautiful. After all, if you're going to have a decoration, it might as well be worth looking at.

His gaze wandered to his betrothed on his left. Margaery was beautiful. She was educated the way that highborn ladies should be. She adhered to the courtesies expected of her and dressed in a way befitting a lady of her class and wealth. He let his attention travel farther down the row. Sansa was also a lady. But Sansa was scared of everything. Rightfully so, Joffrey mused. A traitor's daughter should be fearful. He settled back into his chair wondering what kind of woman this queen would be when he noticed the guards turning their attention toward the skies.

It happened all at once. As more guards began to look up, there were screams of terror. One man bolted from his position and ran, armor clanging all the while, from his post. The Kingsguard, standing underneath the canopy with their king, drew their swords and rushed to meet the foe that they could not yet see.

Jaime Lannister squinted as he looked up. Above him in the sky was the largest horse he had ever seen. But it was flying! He could understand why the men were terrified. Its coat shined black as ink and with a wingspan the length of eight tall men, the beast looked like a small dragon from a distance. Particularly since most of these men had no idea what a dragon even looked like.

"Hold!" he demanded of his archers as they knocked their arrows. One archer ignored his order and let loose an arrow at the beast's heart. The great horse tilted to the side and the arrow skimmed over its shoulder with no harm. "I said hold, dammit!" he shouted.

"From the left!" shouted a voice and only then did he notice that there was someone sitting astride the great black beast. The stranger was clad in black as dark as his mount and with the sheer size of the winged-horse, it was no wonder that he had overlooked the rider. Whether the men heard the stranger or not, they dived out of the way when the horse and its rider turned to glide down to the balcony. It came in at an angle from the South. The horse's great wingspan lessened as it continued its descent, folding completely by the time it came to a stop mere feet away from where Jaime stood.

The horse gave a snort and swished its massive tail as it settled into a comfortable standing position. No sooner had the horse stopped then the stranger tossed a leg over the beast's back and landed gracefully in front of the company. Though the stranger wore trousers, Jaime could now see that there was no mistaking her for a man at this range.

The helm she wore was the same ink black as her steed and her clothing. It featured a wing on either side made up of long shards of onyx and obsidian layered to give the illusion of depth as it extended from her temple and curved to meet the other wing at the back of her helm. Jaime noticed that aside from the helm, she lacked armor, choosing instead to wear a suit that looked to be layers of thin leather. Black over black over black, all cut out in intricate designs giving it the look of a supple lace that seemed as a second skin as it clung to her. Red and gold embellishments could be seen woven in between the leathers like embers burning in a blackened hearth. Her shoulders bore identical fastenings of red feathers sewn into black cut leather that held a long black cape. The belt that held her sword seemed to be made out of the same red feathers and cut leather as the fastenings of her cape.

She was tall, Jaime noted. Even without the chunky wedge heel of her black leather boots, she stood almost as tall as him.

The stranger took a moment to survey her surroundings. Everyone was either too shocked or too afraid to address her as she stood before her winged-horse when the horse itself stood thrice as tall as any man. She brought her hands up to pull the helm from her head and Jaime, who had not yet sheathed his sword moved forward a step, wary. As she removed her helm, a cascade of long raven black hair fell loose down her shoulders and back in gentle waves. Her skin was tanned—typical of the Eryatheian people, but hers also seemed to have something else that made her skin glow like honey in the sun. And even from this distance Jaime couldn't miss her eyes with flecks of gold that sat like burning embers in pools of blue so bright she matched the sky. On her brow sat a thin gold circlet encrusted with fire opals.

A crowd had gathered upon hearing the shrieks of the men. They gaped at the sight of the foreign queen.

"You may put that away, ser," she said speaking to Jaime and gesturing at the sword he was still holding. "I mean no harm."

"Your Grace," Jaime nodded, sheathing his sword. Even so, he kept his hand on the pommel. This new queen comes from the sky on a great beast and yet she has no protection other than her own sword. Something didn't seem right to him.

She is beautiful, Joffrey noted with wide eyes. He was, of course, thinking about the winged horse. The queen was decent enough, he supposed, but much less interesting than a flying horse. Her face was too long and her cheekbones too prominent to be truly beautiful. In his opinion, women should be soft with rounded cheeks and delicate sensibilities. They did not carry swords.

Joffrey stood from his chair and descended from the raised platform toward the foreign queen and her great beast of a horse. He should have stayed in his seat and let his guest come to greet him, but his curiosity overcame his pride. He wanted that winged horse and she was going to give it to him.

She did not bow when she addressed him. She merely took off her glove and extended her hand to him. "King Joffrey," she nodded, looking him in the eyes. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Joffrey was taken aback by the turn of events even if he tried desperately not to show it. He put on a smile as his grandfather had told him to do and greeted his guest.

"Queen Aero of Eryatheia." He dipped his head slightly not breaking eye contact as he extended his hand. His mother's words echoed in his mind 'Anyone who isn't us is an enemy.' And you don't take your eyes off of your enemy.

"Just Aero, please. I prefer to be called Aero." She shook Joffrey's hand instead of letting him kiss her knuckles as was traditional in Westeros. He was unaccustomed to being greeting in such a manner and when she released his hand, he took a moment to size her up.

Cersei stood from her chair and folded her hands in front of her. "Welcome to King's Landing, Queen Aero. I hope that you will—"

"Your horse. How is it that it has wings?" Joffrey questioned, interrupting his mother and her nonsense formalities.

"She is one of the Connemarra, a different breed from common horses. I suspect much like the difference in your common wolves and the direwolves of House Stark." She smiled and gestured to the winged horse as an invitation for Joffrey to get a closer look.

"I would like one for my stables," he said, walking around the great horse. His head didn't even reach the height of the underside of the horse's belly. It would be difficult to climb onto and he didn't know how a saddle would work with the horse's wings, but visions of himself flying over the heads of the peasants and making them fearfully hide in their homes gleefully ran through his thoughts.

Aero frowned, not bothering to hide her expressions. "The Connemarra is as sacred as the phoenix in Eryatheia. They belong to the land and are owned by no one. Ovid does not belong to me. She is my friend." She raised her arm above her head to scratch the underside of the horse's neck affectionately. The winged horse dipped its large black head to nuzzle at her shoulder. "Ask anything else within my power and it is yours, but this is a gift I cannot give you."

Joffrey narrowed his eyes at the foreign queen and considered having his guards take the horse to spite her. He was still plotting how to acquire this winged-horse when he heard his grandfather clear his throat. Lord Tywin stood and without a word commanded the attention of the company. "Queen Aero," he began when he gained everyone's eyes.

"Just Aero, please," she reminded him politely.

"Aero," he conceded with a nod. "Would you like to retire to your chambers after such a long journey? We have accommodations for your company, and your …horse will be well taken care of in the king's stables."

The Eryatheian queen shifted her helm from one hip to the other. She had undergone intense learning sessions with her councilors on the major houses of Westeros and the royal family. As she studied the individuals either standing or sitting on the platform in front of her, it was easy to identify them by name.

"If it wouldn't be an imposition, Lord Tywin, I would actually like to retrieve my belongings from my ship before I settle in. My men will not need accommodations. They are sea-faring men that usually only venture ashore for supplies or the company of women. They have their own quarters in the ship." She paused in amusement as she considered the size of a typical stable stall. The great black horse would never fit. "Ovid will be more comfortable in the fields outside of the city, but I am most grateful for your hospitality."

"Yes. That will be fine," Tywin narrowed his eyes, suspicious of why the Eryatheians would allow their queen to sleep in the Red Keep without a guard to protect her. "Your servants will be helping you with your possessions, then?" Tywin was wary. If she didn't have guards, perhaps she had a great host of servants.

"I have ten men to help me load a couple of wagons we will rent from the harbor."

"You only brought ten men with you?" Cersei asked, shocked at the idea a queen would travel with less than a host of four hundred men.

Aero turned her attention to the golden-haired queen and felt a smirk at the corner of her mouth. "Eleven, actually. My captain of the ship is the paranoid, ornery sort and he will refuse to leave the ship unattended in a strange port."

Joffrey moved to stand beside Aero and looked around only just noticing that something was amiss. "Where is your Queensguard?"

Aero shrugged at the boy king. "I've never particularly cared for the idea of asking people to guard my life at the expense of their own. If someone wants to kill me, I'd rather them not take innocent lives with them."

Tywin found the queen's lack of men more suspicious than if she would have brought an entire garrison. "We were prepared for a much larger number in your group, Queen Aero. Perhaps you would give us the pleasure of hosting you in our smaller dining hall instead of the great hall for dinner. After you have rested, of course."

Aero nodded her consent. "You honor me. Your generosity and welcome is very moving."

Cersei swatted away a bug, bored now. She gathered her skirts to step down from the platform and addressed Margaery almost as an afterthought. "Lady Tyrell, would you show Aero to her chambers when she returns with her belongings?" Cersei excelled at conveying any emotion that she wanted with a single glance. The look that Cersei threw over her shoulder at Aero was a challenge. Hear me roar, she thought as she passed into the shadows. The lions will eat her alive.

Margaery smiled at the young queen. She was hoping for a chance to speak with her away from Lannister ears. Margaery was a chameleon in the way that she adapted to her environment. She extended her hand in greeting the way that she had seen Aero do to Joffrey. "Your Grace, it would be my honor to show you to your chambers. I am Margaery of House Tyrell. Might I walk with you to retrieve your things? My brother can escort us, if you wish."

Aero took Margaery's hand and held it for a moment, reveling in the softness. They were lady's hands—hands that had never held a sword or been scratched or burned. Aero was suddenly very aware of her own hands, rough from work and weapons training.

The lack of a Queensguard in her company was unsettling to Jaime. Surely the woman is not so senseless as to come to a kingdom at war without at least two hundred trained swords at her command. He pulled Loras to the side out of the earshot of others. "Something isn't right. Scope out the ship. Find out what you can," Jaime commanded. Loras nodded to the eldest Lannister and turned his attention to the ladies.

Like his sister, Loras smiled brightly. Whether the smile was fake or not, Aero couldn't tell. "I would, of course, be most pleased to escort you to your ship." Also like his sister, Loras Tyrell was a master at mimicking civilities and when Aero held out her hand to shake, he dipped into a bow and brought her hand to his lips instead. When he rose, a dangerous smirk curved on his lips. "Loras Tyrell, Your Grace."

Aero smiled genuinely at his trickery. "Call me Aero." She shifted her helm to her other hip again and pulled off her left glove, tossing the pair of them casually into the well of her helm. "Your escorting skills are not needed, Ser Loras, but your company would be most welcome. Come, please, and tell me about Highgarden."

The three walked together, ignoring River Row and instead taking the narrow side streets. Ovid lazily flew overhead for a while until she saw something in the Kingswood across the bay that caught her eye. Loras allowed Margaery to prattle on about Highgarden as he studied the young queen. The people moved aside, not for him in his expensive silk clothes or for Margaery, their beautiful queen to be. You could see it in their faces; they moved aside for her. They had never seen anything like the warrior woman dressed in black with a sword at her side and a crown on her head. At least not since the days of the Targaryen women. But that was a long time ago.

With mischief in his mind, Loras took a side street that led beside Littlefinger's brothel. Littlefinger was among those that greeted Queen Aero at the Red Keep. He wanted to see how she reacted to the bastards and whores and commoners that littered King's Landing. Margaery treated them kindly and everyone loved her for it. Loras had no patience for them unless they were in his bed. The people loved him as well, though he wasn't particularly bothered that it was because he could hold a lance instead of a conversation.

Margaery looked around only just noticing where they were. "Loras?"

He turned his attention toward his sister, face expressionless. "Hmm?"

Margaery frowned at her brother. "We were headed down Eel Alley. Why did you turn to come by Lord Baelish's… establishment?" She linked arms with Aero and began to walk at a quicker pace.

"I can't imagine what you mean, sweet sister." Loras smirked and turned away, leading them forward. "Is this not a shortcut?"

Aero caught the face that Margaery made at him behind his back. It very much reminded her of the ugly faces she made at her brothers when they annoyed her.

Her advisors were very interested in Lord Petyr Baelish, so much so that they spent a great deal of time explaining to her both his character and his hobbies. Terribly cunning with a smile that knows all your secrets, they had said. She knew that in addition to the kings Small Council, he was also the proprietor of a local brothel.

Women leaned seductively in doorways and out of the upper windows. Some were beautiful, some plain, some exotic, but they all took notice when Ser Loras passed by. Aero wasn't even slightly scandalized at the detour. On the contrary, stared at the women in their too-thin silk dresses. They intrigued her. They had dreams and needs the same as her. She often reflected on the circumstances of her birth—how things could have been terribly different if she had been born into a family other than her own.

One of the women with dark auburn hair and a very well-endowed chest winked at Aero. Aero's face reddened but she did not turn away. Instead, her attention was pulled toward a young woman the red dust that seemed to cover the city from the steps of the brothel. Aero stopped when she saw that the young women had a black eye and bruise that covered half of her face. She pulled away from Margaery and walked straight for the girl who was hurriedly attempting to use her long blond hair to cover the blotched purple and black skin. The young woman was uncommonly beautiful with small delicate features that stood out even with the horrendous bruise on her face.

"Your Grace," the girl dipped into a low curtsey as Aero approached her. Aero took the girl's hands and pulled her up, brushing the hair away from the girl's face.

"What's your name, sweet girl?" Aero questioned.

"Aribet," the girl answered meekly. "But everyone calls me Bet."

"A client did this to you?"

Bet wouldn't look up to meet Aero's eyes. She kept her face downcast and nodded. "Yes, Your Grace."

Aero cupped the girl's jaw lightly in her hand and pulled her face upward. The bruise ran deep. And it was fresh. There were still pink patches that had yet to darken. Aero cursed under her breath and Bet's eyes widened, unsure of what to do. Without warning, the queen cupped the other side of the girl's jaw and leaned in to give the girl a quick kiss on her ruined cheek. She flinched. The kiss had obviously hurt the young woman, but just as she recovered from the pain, the colors in Bet's face began to move. The purples, blacks, and pinks moved like dye in water across her cheek to meet at the spot where Aero's lips had touched the skin. For a moment it looked as though the girl had a purple lip print on the side of her face, but it began to fade into her skin and when Bet reached up to rub at her cheek, she found that her bruise had gone.

"Be well, Bet." Aero leaned down to kiss the young woman on the forehead this time. She pulled away leaving the girl still with her palm pressed to her cheek. Reaching out to Margaery, Aero found Margaery's hand and linked fingers with the shocked Tyrell. She pulled Margaery with her, continuing down the road as Loras looked from Aero to Bet, and then back to Aero again. It was impossible, and yet he had seen it with his own eyes. The Phoenix Queen just healed a whore.