Hour of the Wolf

The lords and commanders of the Northern army camped on a hill overlooking the clear waters of the Blue Fork. Further upstream, the Trident dissolved into brooks and rills, the clear blue turned into sickly green, and the ground became soft and marshy. Men unloaded wagons, food and horses from riverboats as their leaders met in the ruins of the ancient stronghold. Few traces remained of the castle - broken foundations overgrown by weeds, a stony trail that wrapped around the hill, and the giant carved sepulcher of a dead king. The crypt rested at the center of what had been the yard, and the lid was worn and weathered with time, until the bas-relief showed only a smooth bearded face, and two hands folded over a cracked warhammer lying on the man's chest.

Robb stood at the head of the sepulcher, turned away from the river. The ancient king's eyes faced West, toward Ironman's Bay. Even two thousand years ago, when the First Men fought against the Andal invasion, the rivermen had been wary of Ironborn reavers. A reasonable fear, Robb thought, as ravens from Seagard bought news of an approaching fleet of longships.

"They are coming." a scout cried, pointing south at the banners bearing the Tully trout. It was a small force of armored men and horses with a rickety wheelhouse pulled by draft horses.

"Seven Hells. Is Edmure Tully riding in a carriage?" The Smalljon spat with disdain.

His uncle had completed negotiations with Lothar Frey for the betrothal. "That is likely to be my lady mother. They are travelling to the Twins so Edmure can marry." Robb said.

"Lord Stark." Ser Mychel had shown himself to be a fine swordsman at the God's Eye, and a good choice for Robb's battle guard. "Are we attending your uncle's wedding? I have only a suit of plate, and a mail shirt. I have no fine clothes and carry no gifts worthy of House Redfort."

"Speak to Eddard. No doubt he carries an extra doublet and silk surcoat. I saw him powder his nose and trim his beard before battle." The Smalljon japed.

"Oh shut up, Umber. Not everyone enjoys looking and smelling like a hairy unwashed beast." Harrion Karstark said cheerfully. The Karhold Heir had awoken at Harroway and improved rapidly as they sailed up the Trident.

"We are not going to the Twins." Robb said firmly. "The silver eagles of Seagard need our help. Our army heads west to repel invaders from the Riverlands. They say that Euron Greyjoy leads the rest of the Iron Fleet and that one has a fearsome reputation. We will not abandon our allies to the Crow's Eye and his band of murderers, rapers and pirates."

"But you must attend your uncle's wedding at the Twins." Ser Ryman blurted out. "It would be an insult. My Lord father would be displeased at the slight."

Robb did not give two shits about the opinions of either Ser Ryman or his peevish father. The dire wolves, particularly Nymeria, snarled at the presence of the Freys. Even Grey Wind barely tolerated his squire, Perwyn, and that was the best reaction of the three wolves. "The North came to the Riverlands not to attend banquets or beddings but to fight. We met the Lannisters and the Tyrells in battle. And now we will chase off the Greyjoys."

"Lord Stark, what of the gift to your uncle for the wedding? Surely Lady Catelyn wishes your presence to celebrate Lord Edmure's marriage." A stooped Frey with a thin grey mustache said unctuously. Robb did not know his name, only that he had demanded and been denied a command at the Red Fork, given that the man was a poor fighter and a worse leader.

"I will give my uncle a beautiful sight - Ironborn fleeing for their lives as we drive them back to their shithole islands. House Tully is sworn to defend the Riverlands. That will be the gift of House Stark. Harrion Karstark, you will lead the van against this scum. I will stand with the Mallisters to defend the castle. And while we hold them, the Manderlys, Mormonts and Umbers will burn their ships in the harbour." Robb said.

"Well said, lad." The Greatjon roared. "No feast is better than bathing in the blood of your enemies. Who wants to share a meal with the fucking Freys?"

"Aye. The food at the Twins is dreadful. Mushy peas. Beets and beans. Cold mashed turnips. How I long for a nice fat pork pie, full of carrots, onions, mushrooms and pork in gravy." Wyllis Manderly smacked his meaty lips at the tasty provender in White Harbour.

"You both look like you have had enough pies to eat." The Smalljon japed and patted Wendel on his broad back. The Manderly brothers rolled their eyes and the other commanders chuckled. More than the Riverlords, the Northern houses had united under the Stark banner.

"Lord Robb, what of your brother? Will he work to defeat the squids?" Robett Glover asked. Deepwood Motte had suffered from the ironborn incursions.

"My brother Jon is elsewhere, my lords. And he has much to do in the Riverlands, south of Harrenhal." The Northern lords grumbled, clearly desirous of news on the maester. Robb refused to disclose any details, and the meeting ended with annoyed Freys, happy Mallisters and Northmen ready and eager for battle.

Robb was still thinking over the crypt when a woman with long brown hair entered the clearing, dressed in a plain gray robe. Grey Wind trailed behind, the mighty dire wolf's yellow eyes following her every step.

"Lady Catelyn has left the wheelhouse. She is with her brother and the Freys." Talisa said.

"I have no desire to speak with her. Her actions have cost me greatly." Robb said. He placed his right hand on the healer's smooth belly. "Has there been any ..."

"Your mother means well, though she should have trusted you more. And I have not bled for two moons now. Your dire wolf is quite attentive, Robb. I have seen him more than you the past sennight." Talisa chided him gently.

"I wanted Grey Wind to guard you, my lady."

The dire wolf nudged her belly, eliciting a rub on the ears from Talisa. "Robb, I overheard some of the Rivermen speaking. They wonder where Jon Snow is and say that you might have quarreled with your brother and sister."

"Do you believe that?"

Talisa shook her head. "Of course not. All three dire wolves are here, although Nymeria and Ghost lurk in the shadows. If you quarreled with Arya or Jon, their wolves would not guard you."

Robb loved her common sense. The dire wolves echoed their bond mates. Ghost was silent and wise while Nymeria was an out of control hellion. "Jon and Arya are South."

"They went to King's Landing on your orders?" A somber Talisa said. "Are you worried?"

"Hardly my orders, but yes - they went to the capital. What do you know about Torrhen Stark, the last King of the North?" Robb said.

"The King Who Knelt? Even in Essos, everyone knows the story of Aegon's Conquest. After the dragons burnt thousands on the Field of Fire, who would dare resist?" Talisa said.

"The story is more complicated than that. Torrhen Stark had a bastard half brother. Brandon Snow had more of the north in him than many trueborn Starks. When the Northern army camped at the Trident, Brandon Snow offered to cross the river and kill Aegon's dragons while they slept." Robb said.

"But surely he would not have succeeded. Balerion the Black Dread was the greatest dragon that ever flew over Westeros." Talisa said.

"Old Nan claimed that Brandon Snow had the greensight, and could dream of the future, even things that would never come to pass. He sliced three branches of the weirwood heart tree, and shaped them into arrows, one for each of Aegon's dragons." Robb said.

"And then what?"

"Torrhen Stark refused his brother. He feared Brandon might slay one dragon, but not all three. Then the Targaryens would burn the North in revenge and turn Winterfell into a funeral pyre. Instead, Torrhen sent Brandon and three maesters to negotiate terms of surrender with Aegon. The next day, Torrhen knelt and was named Warden of the North. Brandon Snow chose exile to Essos and founded the Company of the Rose with other Northerners who refused to bend the knee. Torrhen never saw his half brother again."

"An interesting story, Robb, but how does it relate to you?"

"Jon is my Brandon Snow. But I will not bend the knee to a false pretender. Jon crossed into the enemy camp and he will strike a blow for House Stark."

"Does he plan to kill the Lannisters?"

"Jon means to rescue Sansa. But he will kill anyone he needs to get her and Arya out alive. I will not break with my brother. If he falls, I will avenge him. He would do the same for me." Robb spoke with the certainty of absolute truth. The pack was eternally loyal.

Tyrion kicked off the ridiculous black and gold thigh high boots, nearly hitting Podrick Payne in the face. That morning, the testy old cobbler, who claimed to be the most skilled in all of the Crownlands, swore the expensive footwear would add four inches to his height. That it did, through a high heel that needed to be countered by toes that bent upward into a fine point, lest he fall flat on his face. The gold "poulaines" were extravagantly long, as befitting a Lannister, and extended three inches high, almost matching the heels.

"The shoes match your doublet. If it raises your height, it is worth the discomfort." Jaime offered. His brother wore crimson and black, with the roaring lion of House Lannister embroidered in gold thread. At the wedding, Jaime would don white armor and white cloak as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.

"I don't care that it pinches my feet. It's more that I look like a fool. If I wore a cap and bells, people would mistake me for Moon Boy." Tyrion complained.

"No, they wouldn't. Moon Boy is a lot taller. Better looking too." Bronn said.

"Don't you have something better to do? Like ensure my security?" Tyrion said.

"I don't see how that is possible." Bronn said. An army of servants had invaded the Tower of the Hand intent on cooking, cleaning, dusting, and delivering casks of wine, barrels of beer, pipes of cider, and giant tuns of ale, large enough to enclose a standing man.

"Nevertheless, you need to appear busy today. A man's reputation suffers when his personal sword lounges about, like Mace Tyrell in front of a smoked ham." Tyrion said. The sellsword grinned and left to grab a tankard of brown ale from a wench. Tyrion looked on with envy.

"I tried to convince Father to make your wedding a smaller affair. That it would suit both you and Sansa..." Jaime spoke with a hurry.

"But he didn't listen to a single word you said. He said this would be a lesson for his wayward son, to teach him humility." Tyrion snarked. Jaime only nodded helplessly. Conversations with Lord Tywin were always predictable. "I wonder how our Lord Father missed his childhood lessons on how to be humble. He probably ordered the maester or septa flogged."

Tyrion made the universal hand gesture of his need for a stiff drink. Podrick Payne gulped but busied himself with polishing the chain of rubies and golden lion heads. Tyrion sighed. He had told the squire last night that under no circumstances to give him wine before the wedding. Unfortunately, Pod was too loyal to disobey orders. "What does it look like out in the courtyards? Has the parade of whores arrived?"

Jaime shook his head. "It is still early but the talk among the guards is that Baelish is paying a silver stag for any prostitute willing to hiss and boo when you walk out of the Sept."

"A silver stag? Every brothel worker in Flea Bottom will rush the castle to mourn my nuptials. The city will go begging for whores. Even my cock cannot service so many."

"Only well dressed ladies of the evening will be allowed. No slatterns can pass the gates. Joffrey has given orders to the castle. Prepare yourself and Sansa Stark. The crowd will be large." Jaime said.

"Lady Sansa has not spoken to me for days. She spends all her time looking out the window at the river or sewing a dire wolf. And as for the crowd - all my life, I have suffered their scorn. Today, I merely need to do it without wine. At least not until dinner. My first marriage bought me a few weeks of happiness. Tonight, the only hope is Arbor Gold. I intend to get so dead drunk that even the mouths of a dozen whores could not wake me." Tyrion said.

At Chataya's, the Sand Snakes donned the loose, layered robes of satin and silk designed for the hot dry Dornish sun. The clothes revealed a great deal of skin - a glimpse of a side breast, a slit showing an olive colored thigh, and a low cut neckline that displayed both substantial cleavage and even more of their strong smooth backs. They wore copper and gold - Obara a belt of copper suns, Nymeria a cream and copper silk cape and Tyene two ornate snake bracelets with copper and gold scales. The exception was the fourth daughter - Sarella Sand, who struggled to fit into a gown of flowing white samite, cinched with a beaded belt. To be fair, that dress belonged to Alayaya, who was two years younger and slimmer in the hips.

"I can cut a deeper slit to let you move more easily." Yaya said, kneeling down to fix the gown.

"The slit is almost at my waist. It has been three years since I wore anything but breeches and tunic." Sarella said. A sheathed knife, tied to a thigh belt, peeked out from the left leg.

"I can go with you." The young whore said hopefully.

"No, Yaya. It is going to be dangerous when things begin. Sweetling, I would be happier if you were safe." Sarella replied. The young whore nodded and left.

Obara snorted. "How do we know if anything will happen? Snow claims he can perform miracles. Is he a sorcerer? And if he could arm Father, why can't he bring a second spear?" The big broad women bristled, looking less like a lady than a beefy warrior itching for a fight.

Before Sarella could respond, Tyene interjected. "Obara, you are only angry because you have no weapon. Now, if you used daggers, that would be different." Even dressed for a wedding, both Nym and Tyene carried half a dozen blades under their flowing clothes.

"I still don't see how it is possible. A short sword can be hidden. Even a whip. But a long spear?" Obara exclaimed.

Oberyn Martell entered the room in a long yellow caftan, embroidered with two lines of blazing starburst suns. Under the robe, he wore a few bits of armor - copper vambraces, leather greaves, and a thin linen gambeson. None of the pieces offered much protection but the Red Viper planned to rely on speed and surprise. "Your sister is right. A wedding chapel is not a butchery. Only the guards will have weapons. Did this maester truly say he could bring me a spear in the sept?"

"Yes Father. A spear. Eight feet long. A blade the length of two feet and four inches at its widest. Jon Snow has given his word." Sarella said.

Oberyn laughed. "I like him more and more. But how will he do it?"

"I do not know." She shrugged.

The Prince of Dorne turned to his daughters. "You all look beautiful. Lovely and deadly. But there is something more you need to know. Something about my sister, Elia." The Sand Snakes waited for their sire to continue. "The gates of King's Landing were sealed against the Lannister army. Aerys planned to hunker down in the Red Keep, forcing them to siege the city. Pycelle convinced Aerys to open the gates, in the hope that Tywin would take the Iron Throne. He knew that would mean the death of Elia's children."

"Then Pycelle dies today." Nym said coolly.

The sun had passed through the highest point and was slowly descending in the sky. Outside the pale red stone walls, a festive spirit filled the streets and alleys that fed into the King's Way. Singers bellowed out wedding songs, "The Queen Took Off Her Sandal, the King Took Off His Crown" and "Flowers of Spring", trying and failing to be heard over the loud outcry of rude pushcart peddlers. Smallfolk lined the paths about the castle, hoping to glimpse highborn maidens, gallant knights, and beautiful whores. Men and women chattered about the Imp and his astonishing feats of sexual perversity. Wives wondered how such a small man could have such a large appetite. Soldiers bragged about their own conquests and compared their cocks to the demon monkey of Casterly Rock. Many swore they had seen the Imp bring a honeycomb and jackass to a brothel. How he employed such strange objects for his pleasure, no one could guess, just as they paid no attention to the little birds darting around.

Four boys gathered in the shadow of a bronze gate near a sealed postern. They were dressed somewhere between a squire and a servant and confidently pushed carts laden with food and drink. The four waited for their master who would find them here, an hour after the sundial showed no shadow.

A holy man wearing a cloth of silver vestment about his shoulders and long white robes approached. Sunlight reflected off the seven sides of the stately crystal coronet on the head, and hints of blue and green flickered above the gold rim. Like most of the high clergy, the robes billowed as if hiding a large belly. In this case, the protrusion was a satchel strapped to the front that contained a crossbow, wildfire and rope.

"Your holiness." The four boys puckishly bowed.

Jon Snow removed the itchy coronet crown and wiped beads of sweat off his cropped hair. "Only the High Septon is called his Holiness and his coronal is much finer. Each of those crystals are over a foot high. My title is simply Septon."

"Begging pardon, Septon, but the High Sparrow wishes to sell all the gold, crystal and silver in the Sept. So he wouldn't wear any crown higher than yours." Clydas laughed.

"And he wouldn't have this." Chett reached below his cart to get out a long staff, shaped like a shepherd's crook. The crozier was wider than most, for good reason, and the Wintertown boys had etched marks of the Faith of the Seven on the bent head.

Jon admired the stout crook in his hand. "A fine piece of work. You have done well." The top appeared to be ivory jointed with copper strips but was really cheap painted wood. The shaft though was sturdy ash.

"We sharpened the end and added iron to the bottom." Chett pointed with pride to the butt-spike. The spike improved the balance and could even stab a trapped foe.

Jon held the crozier in his left hand and strapped the holy water sprinkler to his right. The silver ball was above the belt, allowing the stored liquid to ooze into the hollow handle. "We don't have much time. In less than two hours, the wedding will begin and end. One of you should be near the royal sept. The rest in the courtyards below. What of Varys' birds?"

"My lord, we recruited the little birds this morning. We handed out copper stars, more coins to attract the whores, and promised even silver stags to find us in the castle. They were shocked at their good luck." Denys said.

"And were they suspicious? Will any run to find Varys?"

"They were, my Lord. But they were also very hungry. We could offer far more than the Spider. Hot bread and cheese. Eggs. Fried sausages. Candied plums. Copper stars. We promised more if they obeyed." Shayn said.

"Good. It helps that the Spider is busy watching the Tyrells and Martells at the castle. Which septon comes to the Red Keep?" Jon said.

"The High Sparrow nearly refused but the Most Devout sent Septon Luceon. He is a son of Walder Frey. A greedy fat man." Clydas said.

"What does he look like?" Jon asked.

"Like any Frey. A mix between a rat, a weasel and a vulture. But most septons are very fat. Luceon is no exception. He is also older than you." Clydas said.

"Luckily, this ridiculous crown covers my hair and the top of my head. I will need to puff my cheeks out like a squirrel. Now the most critical part. Do you have the cloaks?"

The four nodded. Hidden in each cart were dozens of cloaks and veils. Jon inspected them - the wool garments were winter grey on ice white. Stark colors. These were the colors that Sansa would wear in the royal sept.

The hardest part was the waiting. Jon had hugged her and wished her good luck hours ago, leaving her with Balerion. The old black cat was not good company - not like a dire wolf. In another life, she could spend days playing with Nymeria in the godswood.

Arya waited in the dark, in the small round chamber where six tunnels met, each with their own door and iron gate. She chose not to light the ornate iron brazier, in the shape of a dragon's head. On the floor, Arya placed a pile of pebbles to mark the trail that only she would know. She could wander in the dark. But the stones would guide Sansa and the others. Arya could destroy any trace as they passed. There would be no clues left for little birds.

Balerion hissed, and jumped on the rungs set on the walls. Arya followed, counting the number of steps. The ascent was long and hard and she groped for each rung, although the dim outline of the black tom led the way. Her arms hurt, but with every step, her footing became more sure. Quiet as a shadow. Quick as a snake. Calm as still water. Finally, when the count reached two hundred thirty, she crawled through the short tunnel to the left, pulled an iron hook, and entered the bedchamber of the Hand.

Servants roamed the Tower of the Hand, preparing for the banquet. Dressed in the red and gold brigandine, Arya looked like a Lannister page. She would have told a maid that she needed a veil from Lady Sansa's chamber but the black tom sniffed and scurried down a long hall. Arya heard soft sobbing. A skinny dark haired girl wept, her hands covering a thin face.

"Jeyne Poole." Arya put a finger to her mouth, signalling for quiet.

"Please, please, Ser. Don't hurt me." The girl shrank back in fear, her eyes on the floor.

"Jeyne, stop that."

"Arya?" she whispered. "Is that really you? How can that be?"

"We need to leave - NOW. Get whatever things you have."

The girl's eyes turned fearful. "Arya, I can't. They hurt me - many times. You don't know what they did to me - how they.."

Arya put up her hand. "Stop. I know you have suffered terrible things. But are you going to let them abuse you? Or are you going to strike back?"

"But I am not brave. I am not a Stark, like you." a tearful Jeyne said.

"My father said that we can only be brave when we are afraid. Do you want to save Sansa?"

Jeyne nodded. "With all my heart."

"Good. We are getting out of here. But first, we need to get my sister. Promise me - that you will do what I say and follow my orders. We need to fight for Sansa."

"But.. what do I have to do?"

"You need a gown. And then a cloak. We are going to attend the wedding. But you are not Jeyne Poole. You are Lady Elisa from the Crownlands, and I am Arry, your page. Don't look sad or fearful. Stand straight and tall. You are the daughter of a powerful house."

"I need a moment to wash my hair and face. I can wear Sansa's purple dress, and blue cloak to cover my hair." She hurried to a basin of water.

Arya knew Jeyne would be wearing another cloak soon. But that could wait until they exited the tower. From her satchel, she took out a vial and began to splash the green liquid over hangings, rugs, and in the dark spaces near the windows. The black tom hissed his approval.

They made it up the serpentine steps, her red and gold doublet a sign to gold cloaks and castle guards of her faux allegiance to House Lannister. Jeyne stood straight and followed in Arya's footsteps. Her movement was wooden but the girl did not cower. Arya found the cart in the shadow of the royal Sept. For a moment, she did not recognize the pretty dark skinned lady near Chett. But then the big black eyes crinkled and the Sphinx smiled.

"Arry. How nice to see you again. And who is this?" Alleras said.

"Lady Elisa. Has everything gone to plan?" Arya said.

Chett nodded. He took out a cloak and veil of gray and white. All that was missing was the running dire wolf of House Stark.

"Better make it two." Alleras said. She wrapped the gray and white cloak about the shoulders of her white dress and the demi veil hid her dark brown hair. A perceptive observer saw the teak skin and the dark eyes but a quick glance revealed only a lady dressed in Stark colors.

"Lady Elisa, allow me." Chett gently placed the cloak on Jeyne's shoulders. The white veil covered the hair. From a distance, a viewer could not tell her apart from Alleras or Sansa Stark or the other ladies who also sported white and gray cloaks.

"How many?" Arya said.

"Half a dozen above the steps. The others have been much busier in the courtyard below." Chett handed her a large long package, wrapped with hempen rope about plain wool. "I will go find more of the little birds and hand out more cloaks and veils. We have been giving out three silver stags with every cloak, two for the whore, one for the little bird"

"I will take care of Lady Elisa.' Alleras drawled.

Arya nodded, both hands gingerly holding the package. She strode confidently to the sept.

At Winterfell, the sept was a small chamber for Lady mother to pray. Here each statue was huge with a censer at the base, burning sweet incense. There were seven statues but only six faces. The Stranger was turned away from the others, hidden in darkness. Besides the God of Death, the chamber was bathed in light, sunlight from the windows, the flames of a brazier hanging down in the center, and candles lit around the statues. The light scintillated against many seven sided crystals that decorated the room. Guards hung back while the nobles sat in silence, waiting for the septon to arrive between the altars of the Father and the Mother.

Arya spared no glance for the Imp fidgeting next to his white cloaked brother or her sister, alone among a bunch of unsmiling septas. She found the Martells easily enough, with their revealing yellow and orange silk gowns. Many eyes rested on the tall, slender man and his half dressed paramour. Instead, she sought out the three Sand Snakes, and gave the package to the golden haired girl in lace and samite. Arya whispered "For Elia" and hurried away.

Brienne stood awkwardly, ignored by nobles, septas, and guards alike. The heavily scarred man watched Sansa, and to his right, a large warrior with a hook nose and bushy brown hair japed with several Lannister men. That one wore a fine surcoat with a black kettle on a red field over white plate armor and carried a white helm on a leather belt with golden buckles.

Arya tapped Brienne on the side. Her mouth gaped in shock but Arya pointed to the corner, where the carved head of Baelor the Blessed watched over an ornate wooden door. Arya pushed her way through. The royal confessional was nearly as large as the Winterfell sept. A screen inlaid with prayers to the Father separated a chair and a comfortable bench covered in black satin, long enough for a grown man to lie down. A thin patina of dust covered the candles.

"Arya, what are you doing here?" a gobsmacked Brienne asked.

"Rescuing Sansa. Sit down." Arya quickly closed the door, and lit one candle. The septon's chair was illuminated but the bench remained in shadow. "Strip."

"Lady Stark! But…. " Brienne's confusion was clear.

"We don't have much time. Take off your armor. I will be back soon." Arya said. She closed the door quietly when she left.

The Lannister guards had taken their positions near the lions. The scarred man had eyes only for Sansa. Arya coughed respectfully, and then the knight with the black kettle turned.

"Ser - I have a message for you from…"

"Eh. Speak up, boy? From who." Kettleblack asked.

"A lady, Ser. A blushing maid with yellow hair and fair skin. She wishes to give you her favor, and possibly more." Arya said.

The brown haired man gave a lopsided grin. "Lead on, boy. I will be happy to meet your lady."

Arya opened the door to the confession. She heard a gasp but Brienne's face could not be seen in the darkness. The Maid of Tarth had stripped down to only her gambeson, and moved two beefy hands to cover herself. Osmund leaned in eagerly, only to reel when he saw the crooked teeth, short blond hair, and broad freckled face. As he backed away, Arya plunged Needle cleanly through the knight's right eye. She buried six inches of the blade into the head, twisted the rapier, and then braced both hands against the falling body. Kettleblack's legs collapsed and he fell to the side, blood pooling on the ground. There was no blood on the white cloak.

"Arya! You killed him…" Brienne squeaked, her modesty forgotten at the sight of the dead man.

"He is wearing a white cloak. Was he a kingsguard?"

"Ser Osmund bragged that the queen wanted him to guard her body. If there was any opening, he would be anointed as a kingsguard."

"So that's why he has a white cloak but no white armor. Help me take off his things." Arya said.

Brienne moved to unbuckle the backplate of the cuirass. Arya handed her the great helm, and stripped off the surcoat. Most of the blood was on the face and neck.

"When you walk out, you are Ser Osmund Kettleblack. Wear his surcoat, armor, cloak. Keep your head covered with the helmet. Be ready to rush for the door." Arya said

"With the surcoat and cloak, I only need a few pieces of Kettleblack's armor. How will I know when to run?" Brienne said.

"Simple. Just watch the wedding." Arya stripped the dead man of everything they needed.

Jon knelt before the altar of the Father, his head bowed and hidden. He gave thanks to the statues of the Seven. Infiltrating the Red Keep had been easy. No one challenged a septon wearing cloth of silver vestments. He found Luceon Frey, and informed him of a private message from the High Sparrow. In a small sacristy, Jon knocked Frey out with a vicious clout of the staff. He dragged the body behind some hangings and locked the room.

He kept his eyes low, but glanced about the room. Arya had returned from the confessional, a giant knight trailing her. In the front pews, the royal family sat in crimson and gold. The left was full of Tyrells, and the right the Martells, as far from Tywin as protocol allowed. Several warriors hovered around the Old Lion, including the monster that Jon had last seen fleeing at the Trident. Jaime walked down the steps, leaving a nervous Tyrion. Then Joffrey jabbered into Sansa's ear as he walked her up the aisle. Jon slashed the pouch of wildfire - and green began to drip on the ground. Jon faced the crowd, the staff at his left.

Sansa kept any sign of grief or fear from her pale drawn face. Her silver dress was hidden under the grey and white cloak. Her escort wore a crown of gold antlers, encrusted with rubies and black diamonds. It was either too large for his head, or his neck tilted to the left. A smirking Joffrey left Sansa at the bottom of the steps, and returned to his seat.

Tyrion offered his hands to Sansa as she walked up to the altar. She refused, looking at the ground. The dwarf grimaced slightly and reached for a giant wedding cloak of crimson velvet worked with lions and bordered with gold, satin and rubies. Jon slammed the iron butt of the staff on the ground, and the eyes in the room turned to him. Sansa's mouth gaped in shock.

"We are gathered here today before the Father and Mother. The Seven Pointed Star teaches that the Father grants justice and the Mother offers mercy. But there has been little justice or mercy in King's Landing. None for Ned Stark. None for Elia Martell. None for Aegon or Rhaenys Targaryen. All four were murdered by the Iron Throne."

Stunned murmurs were interrupted by King Joffrey's screech. "Ned Stark was a traitor."

"A false confession to a false king. You are the son of Cersei and Jaime Lannister. You have no right to any crown." Jon retorted. He leaned the staff against the table and grabbed the holy water sprinkler with his right hand and lifted a burning candle in the left. .

Knights and guards drew their swords and rushed for the altar. Gold cloaks, white cloaks, and red cloaks surged forward. "How dare you utter such lies! I will have your head." an outraged Tywin Lannister thundered.

"You have tried before. The Starks send their regards." Jon said.

Jon swung the holy water sprinkler back and forth, and sheets of bright green liquid rained down from the unsealed holes onto the oncoming soldiers. No one knew why until Jon held the candle high and blew the flame into the sprays of wildfire. Jets of dark emerald flames gushed out and guards screamed as armor and skin caught fire. Burning men ran into the horrified crowd as the sept descended into chaos and noise. Jon threw the candle behind him, igniting a trail of liquid to the statues. He dropped the now empty holy water sprinkler and retrieved a clay jar from his pouch, and tossed it high into the burning brazier, hanging at the center of the room. The jar landed and immediately exploded, bathing the sept in an eerie green light, as shards of clay, glass, and hot metal rained down.

"Run." he said to Sansa. Jon ripped off the robes and tossed them in the direction of the Lannisters. Green liquid spewed from the pouch and more fires ignited in the pews. As they rushed down the center of the aisle, Jon threw the crozier at the feet of Oberyn Martell. Jon and Sansa joined the exodus with Arya, Brienne and Owen not far behind. Bystanders gawked at the smoldering green flames in the royal sept. Jon and his sisters disappeared into the crowd.

Tyrion peered warily from under the altar table. The flames still burned hazily, and the sept was bathed in green, but the chamber slowly regained a semblance of order. He checked once again his doublet, trousers, belt and boots and thanked the gods his clothes were not drenched.

"Tyrion!" Jaime hurled the table to the side. The white armor was streaked with soot, and the white cloak half burned but his brother had escaped unscathed.

"Perhaps the gods wish me to stay a bachelor." Tyrion quipped to an unamused crowd. Bronn and Pod had helped Jaime in the search.

"That was Snow. How in the Seven Hells did he get wildfire?" Bronn said.

An excellent question. Could the pyromancers be playing both sides? Hallyne and his acolytes were more pompous than duplicitous. Still, everyone was susceptible to gold. A horrible thought struck Tyrion. What if Snow, as a skilled maester, discovered the recipe for wildfire?

"I am glad you are unharmed." Jaime said. "A dozen guards died, and more suffered injuries."

"What about our family? Or the other nobles?" Tyrion asked.

Jaime responded by leading the way to a large group of Tyrells, Martells and Lannisters surrounded by guards and toadies. No one was missing. Lord Tywin's pale green eyes glittered with anger and rage. Tyrion had never seen his father so close to losing control.

"Are all Lannister weddings so full of excitement? Compared to this, Margaery's wedding will be a dull affair." the Queen of Thorns said.

"It was quite a show. I might be wrong but a wedding ends in a bedding, not a runaway bride. Luckily, I have a keepsake." the Red Viper smirked as he held the septon's staff.

"We will drag Sansa Stark back to the altar. And her bastard brother will beg for the Stranger's Kiss before his head lands on a spike." Cersei said.

"They cannot escape, your grace. Gold cloaks guard the steps. We will find them." Trant said.

"Why did we have no idea Jon Snow was in King's Landing?" Tywin asked.

"My Lord, I investigated other potential threats. I saw no trace of Jon Snow." Varys said.

"How could he have gotten wildfire?" Tywin said.

"Does he have wildfire?" the Red Viper asked rhetorically. "He only threw one jar, and had some more liquid stored in that mace."

"The Prince of Dorne is correct. With more wildfire, Snow could have burned down the sept. Perhaps the alchemists only sold him a few vials." Pycelle said.

"That is not the only possible explanation." Tyrion said. "He may have more but simply chose not to use it. Why would he only have a few vials?"

"I want the bastard's head." Joffrey yelled. "I want him tortured and torn from limb to limb before he dies." A large vein bulged on his nephew's forehead.

"Enough. First we need to find him." Tywin Lannister led the way to the doors of the sept.

The yard overflowed with hundreds and hundreds of men and women in motion, some watched the sept, others pushed against the goldcloaks, and even more swirled about chaotically like currents in an eddy. Tyrion saw a lady covered in Stark gray and white, and then another, and then another. At least a dozen women wore colors akin to Sansa Stark's maiden cloak. One of them was his former whore Shae, wearing a purple dress underneath.

"What the?" Jaime asked. All the highborn nobles looked about the mass of people, straining to find Sansa Stark. The trouble was that they saw too many of them, and most were moving in the crowd. The white and gray cloaks stood out in a sea of color.

"Oh, well played, Jon Snow. Well played." Varys giggled.

His lord father turned, his face cold and furious. "Did you tell him?"

"Tell who?" Tyrion responded.

"Snow. You allowed Sansa Stark to wear a cloak of gray and white. Somehow, Snow managed to sneak those cloaks here in the Red Keep." Tywin said.

"No." Tyrion's denial was equally forceful. "You allowed whores to come to my wedding to humiliate me. One of them is wearing a Stark cloak. Are the other ones wearing gray and white also whores? Because if so, the fault belongs to the man who brought them to the castle."

Tywin glared at a squirming Baelish. "My lord, I had no idea of this. I only asked for a few ladies who had known Tyrion well."

Tyrion sought the pleasure of paid women, but he had not fucked a dozen women since his arrival at King's Landing. Where had the whores come from?

The loud shrill yell came from the crowd. "Look, Lady Sansa." A woman in a white gown wearing a white and gray cloak and veil dashed for the White Sword Tower.

"A Thousand Golden Dragons for Sansa Stark's capture." The cry echoed through the castle. The crowd parted ways as hundreds of warriors gave chase.

"Stop, Jaime." Tyrion hissed, pulling on the remnants of his brother's cloak.

"Tyrion, as commander of the Kingsguard, my duty is to capture the girl." Jaime said.

"This doesn't make sense. Think, Jaime. Who would pay a thousand dragons for Sansa Stark?"

"Father would. Or The Iron Throne. Or even you." Jaime's eyes widened in realization.

White Sword Tower lay a few hundred paces from the royal Sept. A mass of guards had rushed over, certain that the girl could be trapped easily in the conical structure. After all, the tower was at the corner of the Red Keep, and housed only seven apartments, six of them sparse sleeping cells. A horde of armored men led by Meryn Trant reached the tower.

Tyrion did not see the crossbow, only the flaming bolt that shot out from the shadows. A wooden cask, bound in iron, rested at the bottom of the winding steps. The bolt hit the barrel and the barrel exploded into a raging green inferno. Dozens of men were hurled into the air like some hungry giant had plucked them into the sky, and bits of pieces of scorched armor with blackened body parts rained down. A flaming green demon rose, its head nearly the height of the four story tower, with tendrils that reached out to kiss the once eager men. They died so quickly that there was no time to scream. Instead, the crowd shrieked in fear and ran in a mad dash for the steps, overwhelming the few remaining gold cloaks not gawking at the dead.

Even hundreds of feet away, the heat was horrid. The demon appeared to bow, and Tyrion thought for a brief moment that the carnage was over. Then he heard a short sharp hiss, like air being sucked through a tube, and a deafening roar went up. A cloud of dark emerald rose up behind the demon, and the windows of the tower shattered into broken glass and charred stone. The upper walls tottered and fell, like a stumbling greybeard wreathed in a cloak of jade. The crash shook the entire keep, and a cloud of super heated dust and smoke blew over the sept. Patches of wildfire littered the ground, and the stench of burnt flesh overwhelmed his nostrils, despite many of the dead being covered by rubble. All that remained was a broken stub of molten slag where white stone had once stood. White Sword Tower was gone.

"Well, that settles it. Jon Snow does have wildfire. And quite a bit of it." The Red Viper chuckled.

The Winter Town crew had done well. Below the steps Jon counted at least three dozen wearing a white and gray cloak. That did not include the smiling Sand Snake. Alleras looked properly Dornish with orange and red over her hidden white gown. The Sphinx had raced to White Sword Tower and discarded her cloak there, after ducking into the shadows. They were all gathered now, even the stunned Brienne, ready to go.

"Good work, Alleras. But now we have to hurry." Jon said. He took the hand of the girl standing to his right, her face. "Brienne, take her out of the castle. She knows where to go."

"There are two horses stabled outside, my lady, at the corner before the Hook. The alley leads to River Row, and from there, ride along the castle walls to the docks." Clydas said.

"But won't the gates be watched?" Brienne asked.

"Of course they will. And if you were Brienne, you might be stopped. But you are Ser Osmund Kettleblack with a white cloak, escorting a highborn lady back to her mansion." Jon said.

"We will escort you out the gates, Lady Brienne." Clydas said.

"Clydas, Denys, and Shayn - seek out the little birds and bring them to the ships. They should know you from this morning." Jon said.

"Milord, what if they don't come? We have silver stags and candied plums. But what if they run back to Varys?" Denys said.

"Do the best you can. These are hungry children. If we can free them from the Spider's Web, we should. Better to save some than none."

Sansa Stark watched in stunned silence as Brienne walked off with Jeyne Poole, shadowed by the WinterTown boys. She raised her white and gray veil, only to be stopped by Jon.

"Sansa, don't show your face outside. Arya knows the escape route. Chett, go with them."

"What about us?" Owen asked.

"Snow, Dorne wants blood. The Mountain or Tywin Lannister." Alleras said.

"Lord Tywin will be surrounded by many men. But the Mountain - if you can get him alone... I will take Owen and distract the Lannisters. Use that time to set a trap for the Mountain."

"The best bait would be Sansa Stark. Where are they going?" Alleras asked pointedly.

"The Tower of the Hand." Jon said.

"Then I will join them. Don't worry - Your sisters will be gone before the Mountain comes."

"Very well." Jon handed Alleras five jars of wildfire. "Half of what I have left."

"A kiss, Snow, before parting." Alleras lifted her head and their lips locked for a long moment.

"I would kiss you too, Snow, but you are not leaving me." Owen quipped.

"Enough of that, Owen. Goodbye sisters. Good luck, Alleras." Jon said, as they parted.

Tyrion wondered why the Seven Kingdoms were cursed with idiots for kings. Robert Baratheon was a piss poor ruler but had never shown fear. After the tower's destruction, Joffrey demanded that his personal safety be the top priority. Worrying about survival in the face of a wildfire explosion was sensible. Revealing that fear by cowering was not. Particularly when Joffrey ignored Margaery and ordered around the Lannisters.

"Where are my guards? Why are they not here, protecting me?" Joffrey yelled.

"Everyone near the tower is dead. Trant, Moore and Blount were next to the cask when it exploded. The only white cloaks alive are Jaime, Ser Loras, or in Dorne." Tyrion said.

"What about the Hound? He can guard me, and not the wolf bitch."

Jaime answered first. "Sandor Clegane ran out of the doors."

"My dog abandoned his post! I will have his head." Joffrey ranted.

"Your grace, Clegane does not like fires. Not since he was burnt as a boy." Jaime eyed the Mountain with disgust. "Perhaps you should retire to Maegor's Holdfast."

"Will I be safe there from wildfire?" Joffrey asked.

"Your grace, Maegor's is the strongest place in the Red Keep. There is no way Jon Snow can reach you there." Varys said.

"Unless he has already placed wildfire in the holdfast and is waiting to spring a trap." Oberyn said. "After all, members of the royal family have died there before."

"It is not possible to sneak into Maegor's Holdfast, Prince Oberyn." Varys said.

"Did you think it was possible for Sansa Stark to be rescued at her wedding?" Oberyn retorted.

"The king will return to Maegor's." Tywin dismissed Joffrey. "Pycelle, locate the pyromancer Hallyne. Find out how Snow might have procured the wildfire."

"As you wish, my Lord." The grand maester left for the rookery.

They descended to the lower castle - the guards testing the steps before nobles crossed. Near the sept, there had been a dozen women wearing gray and white. Below the steps, there were hundreds. Even worse, discarded veils and cloaks were strewn on the courtyards. The destruction of the tower had cost them precious time.

"Arrest anyone wearing Stark colors." Tywin Lannister ordered.

"My Lord. The whores know nothing about the plot to rescue Sansa Stark. They were given garments by boys with push carts." Ser Jacelyn Bywater said.

"Then why are they wearing those infernal clothes?" Tywin asked.

"They were told it was to please Lord Baelish and King Joffrey, and paid two silver stags. The children were also paid as well." Bywater said.

"Children? What children?" Tyrion asked.

"Children who told the whores the Throne wished them to wear gray and white. They brought the women to the carts. Street urchins, my Lord Hand. They have all disappeared."

"I want every inch of the Red Keep searched. The whores will shed their cloaks. Anyone wearing Stark colors will be tied to a post and flogged." Tywin said.

Just then, a vial fell from the sky, and smashed twenty feet away, bursting in a noxious flame. Another jar shattered against the red walls, staining the stones green, before the wildfire ignited. Panicked guards scattered and smallfolk screamed in terror.

"Snow is still in the castle." Jaime said. "He must be throwing wildfire from a tower window."

But which one? From the courtyard, a dozen towers could be seen. Drum towers, corner forts, barracks, the small council chambers, the Holdfast, the Tower of the Hand. Each had dozens of windows.

"We will have to search them one by one, starting with the closest building. Ser Loras, come with me." Jaime unsheathed his sword.

"If you want to get yourself killed, Kingslayer, go right ahead. But leave my grandson out of it." The Queen of Thorns said firmly.

"But we have to find Snow. He is our best hope of recovering Sansa Stark." Jaime said.

"He will pour wildfire on your head and throw you a torch. Or shoot you with a crossbow. Probably both. Don't be a fool." Olenna Tyrell refused to back down.

"The old lady is right." Bronn said to Tyrion. "I would not chase Snow for a thousand dragons or a dozen whores. We're lucky he didn't kill all of us in the sept."

Lord Tywin ended the discussion. "Clegane. Find Jon Snow. Kill him."

"What about the girl?" The Mountain asked.

"Bring her back alive. Kill any one who tries to stop you."

Oberyn Martell waited until the Lannisters and their Tyrell lackeys left the royal sept. Joffrey had already departed with Cersei and Tommen. Oberyn's hands gripped the sturdy ash of the crozier. With a simple twist, the hook snapped off, leaving a six foot shaft. The top was tapered three inches and smoothed into a smaller sanded circle. He took the package from Tyene. They unwrapped the rope, revealing a well crafted steel blade, two feet long. Nymeria and Tyene admired the sharp edges and point. The Red Viper's eyes went lower and he whistled.

"Jon Snow may have only sixteen name days but he deserves a steel link." Oberyn said, examining the head. "The socket is chamfered to round the bottom edges. This is well made."

Oberyn swiftly mounted the spear blade. He deftly turned the head on the pole, until the parts joined into one whole. He bound the blade and the shaft with rope, and then took out a tiny veil and dripped black venom onto the blade.

'Father, I found this rat." Obara Martell dragged back Pycelle by his scrawny wattled neck. Her left hand was clamped over the mouth and the snowy beard. She hurled him to the floor.

The Grand Maester begged for mercy. "Please, don't hurt me. I have done nothing wrong."

"You helped kill my sister and her children." Oberyn said.

"It wasn't me. It was Lorch and Ser Gregor." Pycelle babbled. "All I did, I did for the realm.."

"You did it for the Lannisters. What did Tywin have on you? Did he pay you gold, women?" Oberyn took hold of the bejeweled maester's chain, a heavy thick rope of two dozen links, from cheap tin to white platinum. He twisted the chain, until Pycelle's face purpled. The maester lost control of his body in death, staining the red velvet and ermine robe with shit and piss.

The Red Viper tossed away the dead man, and took up the spear. Ellaria touched his left arm. "Oberyn, my love. Are you certain you want to fight the Mountain?"

"Fight him? I am going to kill him. Manticore venom is deadly, and the moment it reaches his heart, the Mountain is a dead man." Oberyn replied.

"But he might not die, Father." Tyene said. "You have thickened the venom with sorcery. And the Mountain is enormous. It may take him hours to die."

"His armor is incredibly thick. Under the plate armor, he wears chain and leather. They say he is stronger than any man alive in Westeros." Nym added.

The Red Viper leaned the staff against a statue of some aspect of the Seven and took Ellaria's face tenderly with both hands. "It may be that I die fighting the Mountain. And if that shall pass, I will miss you and my lovely Sand Snakes. But let me live deep while I live. Let me know the embrace of your arms, the mad clash of battle, the sweet joy of revenge. I am content with my life. And if I die, I will dance in Hell or wait for you in Heaven." Oberyn said.

Wedding preparations at the Tower of the Hand had stopped, with frightened servants fleeing for their lives. Wild rumors spread that the White Wolf planned to burn down the entire Red Keep. Few men were brave enough to face wildfire, and none of those were sellswords.

Arya ransacked the dresser, while her sister disrobed, taking off first the cloak and veil, the grey doeskin slippers, and finally the ivory samite wedding gown, leaving her only in silk smallclothes behind the goldenwood screen. Arya threw over a revealing bright orange robe, with a deep plunging cleavage line that slashed down to the belly. A cinched feathered belt and a copper collar completed the ensemble. Arya ripped out the needles holding together the tightly coiffed and braided hair and put in their place, a cheap strip of copper.

"Ouch!" Sansa, her locks now an unruly mass of auburn curls, looked at the garish colorful clothes with dismay. "I look like a ... "

"A whore. Best disguise for where we are going. Hurry up." Arya said.

"Begging your pardon - but why does the Imp have whore's clothes?" Chett's face was turned toward the chamber door, his red face averted from Lady Sansa.

"For a whore, no doubt. Men have needs." Alleras said.

Sansa stepped out from behind the screen. With uncombed hair, a tight fitting dress, and cheap trinkets, she could be mistaken for a brothel worker from the Street of Silk.

"You could use some rouge or perfume." Alleras said.

"No need - not for where.." Arya bit her lip, and said no more.

Alleras chuckled. "The secret passages. I am not an idiot."

"How did you know? Jon didn't tell you." Arya demanded.

"It is no great mystery. When the Red Keep was finished, Maegor the Cruel invited the builders and craftsmen to a lavish feast. At the end of the three days, he killed them all. It is obvious he had something to hide." Alleras said.

"But if the maesters know, why are they still a secret?" Arya asked.

"A rumor about spies in the walls is one thing. Mapping out the passages is another. The Targaryen kings used the tunnels. Why didn't Robert do anything? Well, he cared more about drinking and whoring than ruling." Alleras said.

Arya made her decision. "I will show you the secret passage. It is a small door in the hearth. You take the tunnel to the left for a short distance and then climb down a lot of steps."

Alleras bowed. "Thank you for your trust. Good luck, Arya and Sansa."

Arya opened the hearth. "Follow me, Sansa. Chett will be behind you." She went down the narrow staircase. At the bottom, on the mosaic of the dragon, two yellow eyes greeted them. Balerion turned and led the way West.

Brienne found the stable near a sign of a rack of dark antlers on green. They had gone through the gates unchallenged, a testament to both the white cloak and the overwhelmed guards. Brienne took off the great helm after they exited the castle. The Winter Town boys left soon after. Before they disappeared into the crowds of small folk, Brienne saw them rounding up younger urchins. Silver flashed in the hands of the Northern boys.

A tow-haired stable boy brought out two saddled horses - a sturdy bay mare and a chestnut palfrey. Before she could retrieve a copper star from her pouch, the boy gasped and ran away. She turned to see a familiar scarred face. The Hound drew his sword.

"Give me back Sansa Stark."

Brienne would not fail her oath to Lady Catelyn and House Stark. She would save Sansa or die trying. "No, Ser. I will not let you drag the lady back to that mockery of a wedding."

The Hound grunted and Brienne readied her blade for battle. A frightened voice stopped them as the girl raised her veil, revealing dark hair and a skinny face. "I am not Sansa Stark."

Brienne whirled back in shock. "What?"

Sandor Clegane lowered his sword. "Don't you even know who you are guarding?"

"I thought that was Lady Sansa." Brienne stammered.

The Hound's laugh was a raspy snarl. "The Starks tricked you. They expected you to be captured and killed."

The girl shook her head. "Not true. I would give my life for Sansa. But Arya pointed out that if they found me, all I would be is a whore with a grey and white cloak. They would let us go."

"Arya Stark is here too? The Starks have balls of steel. What is your name, girl?"

"Jeyne Poole."

Clegane squinted. "Poole - you are the steward's girl that Baelish had raped over and over."

"How dare you say such a thing to a lady!" Brienne cried. The Hound rolled his eyes.

"He speaks the truth. I do not have to pretend to be a whore" Jeyne shivered. "What do you plan to do with me, Ser?"

"I will not let you take her back to the Lannisters." Brienne said.

"Why would I? There is no reward for Jeyne Poole. Where are you going, girl?"

Brienne interposed herself between Clegane and the hesitant girl. "Why should we tell you? So you can betray us to the Iron Throne?"

The Hound spat on the ground. "Even a dog gets tired of being kicked. I liked the little bird. If I know she is safe, I will let you go."

Brienne looked at him with shock. "You wear a white cloak. You are a kingsguard. Why would you abandon your service to King Joffrey?"

"Joffrey is a cunt. The Lannisters are all cunts. Now maybe the Starks are too. And maybe they are not. Are the Starks cunts?"

"The Starks are an honorable house." Brienne said, ignoring the Hound's crude remarks.

"Oh, cut the horseshit. What do you think, girl?" Clegane said.

"Lord Stark was an honest and honorable man. His sons take after him, and Sansa has always been my good friend." Jeyne replied.

Sandor Clegane considered her words for a moment. "Well, I would rather take my chances with the Starks than listen to Joffrey rant. My horse is tied up near the city walls on the Rush. I will get it and bring you back to the little bird."

"Lady Poole, I do not know if we can trust Clegane. He is an oathbreaker." Brienne said.

"Oh, stop being a nancy. I am the one breaking the oath, not you. If I go back to the Red Keep without Sansa Stark, I will be punished. If I run away from King's Landing, the Lannisters will send men to hunt me down. And if I fight Jon Snow, he will burn me alive. Seems to me better to escort you idiots wherever you are going." The Hound said.

Brienne sighed. The mission to rescue Sansa had not gone the way of songs.

The Stark girls were gone. Luring the Mountain was simple - wildfire. Alleras touched a lit torch to wall hangings. Flames spread from the sweet rushes on the floor to the canopied bed . Smoke covered the dressers, the screen, a chest of books, and the hearth. The fire would seal off the secret passage so that no one could follow. She walked down the floors of the tower, splashing the vials of wildfire wherever she went. In the solar, she shattered the golden-tinted round window, so that the glass fell on the bailey below. On the upper floors of the tower, green tongues of flame could be seen.

There was risk of course in burning down the Tower of the Hand. For one, the fires might spread out of control. Gregor Clegane might come with a band of soldiers. Alleras trusted that she could escape one man but a dozen would be more difficult to elude. And finally, she did not know how soon her father would arrive. She continued to set small fires and wait for the Mountain.

"How did you discover these passages?" Owen said in wonder.

"My sister Arya discovered them, when Ned Stark was Hand of the King." Jon replied.

After tossing the last jars, Jon and Owen made their way to the castle's upper levels through the tunnels. They exited near the RiverWalk. Few guards remained above the steps, as they had rushed to the yards below. They walked to the Maidenvault.

"Do the other Reach men stay here with you?" Jon asked.

"Mostly it is Lady Margaery and her cousins. She has many, many cousins." Owen said.

Jon pointed to the group returning from the sept. "Look, the Tyrells are coming." When Owen turned, Jon hit him on the back of the head with the crossbow butt. He set Owen down on the ground, and checked the pulse. Owen would wake, perhaps in an hour. More than enough time.

The Tyrells wore green - velvets trimmed with sable and ermine for the men, and silks and chiffons for the ladies. The entire party was decked out in the wealth of Highgarden - mantles with golden thread, jeweled flowers set in armor and brooches, and helms chased with gold.

"Now that Sansa Stark has escaped, we can marry her to Willias." Mace Tyrell boomed.

"Hush, father. You cannot say such things in the Red Keep." The girl spoke in a low voice. The old lady, walking hand in hand with the girl, only glared at Mace.

"We do not know whether our offer would be accepted. After her ordeal, she may simply wish to return home." Garlan said.

"Not accept Willas?" Mace turned incredulously. "Willas is the heir to Highgarden and Lady Sansa would become sister in law to the queen."

"She would also be sister in law to the king." Olenna said scathingly.

One of the seven foot giants went to open the tall curved doors of the Maidenvault. Jon darted from the shadows and grabbed the girl by her cloak, wrenching her from her grandmother's arm. Margary stifled a scream when she felt the cocked tip of the crossbow part her golden brown curls and rest on her pale neck.

"Good to see you again, Garlan. Lord Tyrell, Lady Alerie, Ser Loras. And you must be the famous Queen of Thorns."

"Jon Snow. We thought you ran down the steps." Garlan said.

"I did. I came back up."

"Unhand her. Or I will carve you into pieces." Loras said, drawing his sword.

"You can not reach me before I shoot. Your sister would die first."

"Stay back, Loras." Margaery said.

Olenna stepped in front of the gawking Lord Mace. "You have already freed your sister. What do you want, Snow? We will shower you in gold for my granddaughter."

"Do you really think I care about gold?" Jon backed away, using the girl as cover. "I need to borrow the lady. Do nothing rash and she will be unharmed."

"Bastard. You won't escape with my sister. I will.." Loras stopped his rant when Garlan placed an arm to block his brother's advance.

"Snow, what do you want with Margaery? She has done nothing against House Stark. She was kind to Lady Sansa." Garlan said.

"Kind enough to attend her wedding. I need Lady Margaery for only a short time. Do not raise the alarm for a thousand beats." They departed, leaving the shocked Tyrells behind.

They passed the kennels and stables, and turned left at the small godswood with young elm and alder trees. They walked past oblivious servants, the crossbow hidden under the green cloak.

"Do you plan to kill me?" Margaery asked, her voice surprisingly calm.

"No, my lady. I would prefer you unharmed."

Her shoulders relaxed. "Do you mean to steal me and take me North as some prize of war?"

Jon snickered. "To marry Robb Stark? This isn't some story of Jonquil and her fool Florian."

"Then where are you taking me? How do you plan to escape the castle if you are going away from the steps?" Margaery asked.

"Who said we are escaping?" Jon opened the bronze and oak doors of the Great Hall.

Alleras heard loud footfalls on the floor underneath. She regretted not bringing her goldenheart bow. She could core an apple at a hundred paces with a three foot shaft. Still, no daughter of Oberyn Martell was helpless. She held a loop with her left hand and whirled the rope with her right hand. A steel dagger was tied to the end, and the rope dart reached 15 feet long.

Heavy steps rang out on the staircase. The rope twirled faster and faster. Finally, when the great helm appeared, she placed the right hand on the left shoulder, and turned the other shoulder. The rope whipped about the left side and came around the right hip. The knife rushed forward, hitting Gregor Clegane hard on the chest. The blade bounced off the steel breastplate.

The Mountain roared in anger and rushed forward. Alleras jerked the blade back and whipped the rope around the armored knees, like a bolo. She pulled, and the Mountain fell. Alleras spun the rope quickly, smashing the knife down on the helmet. Again, the knife bounced ineffectively.

The Mountain rose. "I am going to kill you girl. I am going to rape you and then smash your fucking head in."

Alleras cursed inwardly. She could stay out of the Mountain's reach but the rope dart could not penetrate the thick armor. She ducked under the blade, and ran down the stairs.

Ser Gregor Clegane followed, tromping down to the Small Hall. But Alleras was not alone. There were three other girls and a tall slender dark haired man holding a long spear.

"My name is Oberyn Martell. You killed my sister. Prepare to die."

The Mountain laughed at the puny opponent. As Clegane stepped forth, the man spun the spear quickly and then smashed the sharp edge against the visor. The blade did not penetrate the thick helm but the Mountain's head snapped back. Clegane raised the enormous shield and approached. The battle was on.

"Elia Martell. Say her name." The Red Viper repeated as he thrust, spun and dodged.

Her father circled and jabbed, forcing the big man to turn and turn again. Oberyn landed many hits but the spear could only dent the heavy plate. The Mountain responded with loud grunts and powerful swipes. Clegane was massive and surprisingly quick. Her father was more skilled at fighting. Still, if the Mountain landed a blow, it might cleave the Red Viper in half.

"Sister, the flames are coming. Rather lovely." Tyene pointed at the green tongues of wildfire that spread down the circular staircase.

"I wish I had a spear." Obara cursed. "I would love to stab the Mountain in the back."

"That's it." Alleras declared. "Daggers have no chance but I know how we can help Father. Find a staff, or a long piece of wood." Obara ripped the planks out of a long trestle bench.

Alleras took out the last vial of wildfire. She poured some over the steel dagger at the end of the long rope, and the rest on the ends of the wooden slats. The wildfire sparked and the weapons began to burn.

Alleras spun her rope and smashed the flaming knife on a giant pauldron. Obara swung and slammed the makeshift staff into the broad back. But it wasn't the force or the knife that bothered the Mountain. It was the fire.

"Stay out of reach and burn him. Cook him alive in the armor." Alleras said.

The Sand Snakes attacked the tiring Gregor Clegane from behind. The flames took their toll even as their sire spun his spear faster and faster, aiming for joints, gaps, and any weak spots. Alleras didn't even bother to swing. She looped the rope about the massive metal vambraces, rerebraces and pauldrons, allowing the wildfire to burn.

"Confess. You killed her. You raped her. Who gave the order? Who?" Oberyn Martell cried.

Suddenly, Clegane surged forward and lashed out, barely missing her father's head. The Viper smiled and rammed the spear directly against a gap between the faulds protecting the waist and the tassets covering the thigh. At last, the spear broke through and the tip cut the Mountain's belly. Oberyn attacked again and again, twisting the blade, thrusting the point, and slashing the edges. Cuts could be seen on the belly and thighs. As the beast howled in pain, Obara smashed down with her wooden club on the left elbow, jarring loose the shield.

"Confess. You killed my sister. You raped her. Who gave the order?" Oberyn yelled.

The Mountain stood up, blood and scorch marks on his armor. With a freakish burst, he rushed out, shattering the stained glass window as he plunged several floors down over the ramparts, the massive body crashing into stone and earth with a gigantic thud. Air rushed into the Small Hall, and the green flames spread further along the high vaulted ceiling.

"Father, we have to get out." Alleras cried."The wildfire is burning hotter."

"The Mountain is as good as dead. Nothing can survive manticore venom" Tyene said serenely.

"Good as dead is not dead. And the Mountain never confessed. He never named Tywin."

Oberyn and his daughters rushed down the flight of stairs and burst into the yard. The Mountain was nowhere to be seen.

The Iron Throne was a poorly constructed monstrosity. It was not just the fanged blades and barbs that jutted out the sides and the top, a crest of twisted swords hanging over the king. The steps were chipped and the entire structure tilted to the right. Even the chair was cold and hard, with sharp edges that could cut arms and legs. It was a damnably uncomfortable seat.

After barring the oak and bronze doors, Jon tied Margaery's hands to a column in front of the dais. Then he went to the door behind the throne and rolled out three casks he stored that morning. Using a pulley, he suspended the two larger barrels in the air with ropes. The third cask rested on the top step. Jon kicked it over to the side, and removed the bunghole.

"Is that wildfire?" Margaery cried.

"Yes." He descended the steps.

The girl bowed her head. "How much do those barrels hold?"

"I don't know, my lady."

"Your grace." Margaery said.

"Pardon?"

"I am betrothed to the king. If I am to die, I would prefer to be called your grace. It is my title."

Jon smiled. "I promised not to harm you. I will keep my word, your grace."

She was lost in her thoughts. "I have always wanted to be Queen. I guess that will never be."

"Why do you want to be Queen?"

"So I can help others. As Queen, I can give alms to the poor, and provide for orphans and widows. I can be a patron of the arts and the Citadel."

"You want to be the Good Queen Alysanne. That won't happen." Jon said.

"Why not?"

"The Good Queen was married to the Old King. You are betrothed to Joffrey who is more Maegor than Jaehaerys."

"Joffrey might not become another Maegor."

"Joffrey is a coward, a weakling, and has no dragons. But in temperament, he is like Maegor the Cruel. The war could have ended with a simple trade of prisoners. Joffrey showed his true self by beheading Ned Stark. People do not change when they become king." Jon said.

Cracks appeared on the oak as a ram battered the giant doors of the Great Hall. The wood warped and the metal bolts groaned as the steady pounding dented the frame. Finally, the thick iron reinforced pole tore a small hole, and hands groped for an opening.

"Finally. It took them long enough." Jon said.

The doors burst open. Tyrell guards, Lannister men, and the watch poured into the room, Behind Ser Loras and Ser Jaime, the other nobles could be seen. Tywin though was heavily guarded and in the rear. Jon waited until the knights closed the distance.

"Surrender, Snow." Ser Jaime yelled.

"Unhand my sister." Loras said.

"Stop, Loras." Margaery's voice echoed in the Great Hall. "He has wildfire. He will kill us all."

Close enough, Jon thought. With a knife, he cut through the ropes tied to the pulley. The two casks swung down and then arced into the air, crashing down on the black and yellow carpet. The barrels broke, splashing green liquid all over the chamber. Pools of green spilled out, covering much of the floor. Jon lit the torch and touched it to the Iron Throne.

Wildfire had oozed out of the small cask, seeping into the iron and steel. A loud whoosh could be heard and the fire ignited, all along the spikes and edges. The Iron Throne burned, in emerald light that flickered, like a bonfire to the old gods and the new. It was an eerie sight - dancing flames kissing the steel of a hundred, perhaps a thousand blades.

Jon raised his arm again, and his intent was obvious to all. He hurled the touch to land in the spreading pool of green.

"Stop, Snow. You will kill us all." Tyrion shouted. His was not the only scream.

Jon dashed away, slamming the door behind him. He left before the torch hit the ground.

The torch whirled and whirled. The guards nearest ran for cover, even as Ser Loras rushed to his sister. Tyrion's boots were wet, and his doublet was drenched. There was no hope.

He shut his eyes and said a prayer as he waited for the Stranger. Tyrion wondered if the septons lied and that hell would be some nameless void, without wine. He heard a faint hiss, but felt no great heat. His skin had not melted, and his hair was not on fire. Tyrion cautiously opened his eyes. The torch had landed and sputtered. He reached for the dying torch.

"Tyrion, be careful. It could still explode." Jaime shouted. His brother stood in front of the burning Throne while the Tyrells freed Lady Margaery.

"I think not." Tyrion dipped a finger into the liquid. It tasted tart, crisp and earthy.

"My Lord, do not drink wildfire." Podrick cried.

"This is not wildfire. This is white grape juice." Tyrion said to the astonished crowd.

"But the throne is on fire." Jaime said. Green flames had leaped high into the jagged nest of blades on the back of the throne and twisted metal began to bend under the heat.

"Snow used wildfire for the Iron Throne. But the other two casks only have grape juice." Tyrion licked his finger. "Newly fermented. They grow these grapes on the Quiet Isle."

"Why would he do such a thing?" Tywin approached.

"Do what? Burn down the throne? The Starks hate Joffrey. Sitting on the throne will be impossible with all the melted slag."

"No. Why would he go through all of this? The three casks. Barring the door." Tywin said.

"Simple. Snow lured us here so his sister has more time to escape. Sansa Stark is long gone from the Red Keep." Tyrion said.

"But where did he go?" Mace Tyrell asked.

"There is a door behind the Iron Throne, reserved only for the king, leading to a network of tunnels. Aerys never allowed anyone to use the exit. And Baratheon never cared." Jaime said.

"A secret passage. Varys would know all the secret ways of the Red Keep. Wait, where is Varys?" Tyrion said. The Spider was missing.

The yellow and red carriage pulled by two dappled ponies trotted down the Muddy Way and stopped at the edge of Fishmonger's Square, well short of the Mud Gate. The driver jumped down, dressed in garments more suited for a longshoreman than a coachman. Chett looked around warily and then opened the doors. Arya exited first and helped Sansa out.

Shopkeepers were closing their stalls in the fish market, and carrying crates and casks to the boats in the wharves. The Square was not as crowded as the morning when the herring sellers and oystermen haggled with smallwives but the sailors were noisy at all hours. Tall tales had spread of the Imp's wedding, each more outrageous than the next. Arya liked the one where Sansa turned into a wolf with bat-like wings and flew out a tower window after biting Joffrey.

They passed the Mud Gate with Chett pushing a wheelbarrow laden with cod and crabs. The Wolf Wind and her sister ships, the Jolly Salt and the North Star were docked at the wharves. Maturin Manderly, eager and ready to sail, greeted them on top of the gangplank. Chett joined Clydas and the other boys and tended to the hungry children huddled in the holds. Arya and Sansa rested on the quarterdeck and waited.

Gregor Clegane convulsed and howled in pain. It was not the impact of the fall, or the burnt flesh on his back and shoulders. The cuts from the long spear had blackened, and the wounds were oozing pus. The Mountain fled to a guardhouse and demanded a maester. When a gold cloak hesitated, Clegane smashed his face into the wall, breaking a nose and half a dozen teeth. The guardhouse emptied as the other watchmen rushed to comply. The Mountain, tired of the injured man's moaning, lashed out with a steel boot until the cries stopped.

"Ser." A pimply brown haired squire approached.

The Mountain's hand shot out and grabbed the lad by the neck. "Where is the maester?"

"I don't know about no maester, Ser. But I saw your brother." The chunky boy squealed. "I saw him from the castle walls. He was riding with another knight. I think they had Sansa Stark."

"The Stark bitch? Are you sure?" The Mountain squeezed harder.

"Why else would the Hound leave the castle? He was guarding her the past two weeks."

The Mountain stood up, the hatred of his brother outweighing the pain. "Saddle my horse. We are going after the girl."

The Hound squinted behind them. The Tower of the Hand wore a crown of green flame. He is not alone in looking. River Row was packed full of staring fishmongers and harbor rats, jabbering and gossiping. The horses trudged slowly through throngs of smallfolk.

"How much wildfire does Snow have?"

Jeyne Poole only looked down at the ground. Brienne answered. "I don't know. I didn't even know he was in King's Landing."

"Do you know anything about the rescue?" The Hound jeered. Brienne shook her head. "Then how did you get Kettleblack's cloak and coat? "

"It is not my place to tell you. Ask Snow. We are following his orders."

"Good. Might be we get out of this city alive." The Hound tried to push his stallion forward in the sluggish traffic. Miles behind them, the Mountain had more success parting the crowd.

He smelt the perfume before he heard any footsteps. The eunuch was damnably quiet but the fragrance was nauseating - foul and sweet, a mix of rosewater and lilacs with sweat and piss. Jon readied his crossbow, hoping for a clean shot. But the dank gloomy cellar holding the dragon skulls offered many places to hide.

"I see your shadow, Jon Snow. Well played indeed. The whores were a nice touch. You used my own little birds to infiltrate the castle."

Jon spun to the sing-song voice, only to confront a row of black teeth, higher than his chest. He dropped down behind the jaw of a long dead dragon. The bones felt warm but then Jon realized the heat had come from the old black tom brushing against his arm.

"What do you want, Varys? I am in a hurry."

Varys chortled, a loud sibilant sound, that covered the scrape of boots approaching. "Merely curious. Who helped you? How did you come to the city? How many have you killed in the Red Keep? I found the dead bodies. The Grand Maester and the Queen's Kettle."

"There are all sorts of odd deaths in King's Landing. Why do you think I killed them?"

"Then who did? Was it the Martells?"

"Dead is dead. What does it matter?"

"I am the Master of Whispers, Snow. My trade is secrets."

"Like your betrayal of Princess Elia and her children. You could have taken them from King's Landing in the passages under the castle."

"Alas, the passages do not lead to Maegor's Holdfast."

"You lie. I saw you take the tunnel from the cemetery to the holdfast. Why didn't you save them? You made an oath to the king and the royal family."

"I serve the realm. Someone must. Not the king or queen, but the people. I want a land of peace and plenty. A place where the powerful do not prey on the powerless." the eunuch said.

"Pretty words. What have you done to make them come true?" Jon said. The black tom padded stealthily about the dragon skulls, stalking the eunuch.

"More than you can imagine. My plots grow and grow, from the Red Keep to the far side of the world. One day, I will serve a ruler who lives only for the people."

"I doubt that." Balerion hissed and spat, and Jon dove toward the black cat, and saw the eunuch's silk slippers and the bottom of the dark gray robes.

The bolt slammed into the plump belly. The eunuch lurched backwards and a Myrish crossbow clattered on the ground. Jon stood up and reloaded. The eunuch's blood dripped on the jaws of an immature dragon - perhaps Shrykos or Tessarion. Both had died in the Dance.

Varys moaned as he clutched his stomach. "I could have helped you. I could have told you Lord Tywin's plans."

"I do not like people who kill or mutilate children." Jon shot again directly into the mouth, the bolt pinning the eunuch's head to the cellar's damp stone wall. Balerion hissed his approval.

Arya Stark glared at the scarred burnt face, remembering Mycah, the butcher's boy killed on Joffrey's orders at the Ruby Ford. Sansa asked Brienne for an explanation but the Maid of Tarth only stammered unintelligibly. Jeyne Poole did not speak at all.

"Lord Snow did not mention any other passengers. The Stark girls, Brienne and Jeyne Poole, but no one else." Captain Manderly refused entrance where the gangplank met the Wolf Wind.

Surprisingly, the Hound made no move for his sword. "I protected Sansa Stark in King's Landing. And I made sure this one got here safe." He pointed to Jeyne.

"That was Lady Brienne's task, not yours" Chett said.

"What does that bloody matter? I didn't tell the Lannisters. I could have." The Hound snarled. "Besides, I need to leave King's Landing too."

"The Hound has forsworn his vows to the kingsguard." Brienne added.

"How do we know he is not a spy? He might betray us once he gets on the ship." Arya said.

"He could swear an oath. That he harms no one. We could let him off at Riverrun, or the inn at the Crossroads." Sansa volunteered.

"Clegane just broke his oath. Why won't he break another?" Arya yelled.

A guttural roar came from the Mud Gate. Sailors and whores ran as a freakishly large man in plate armor and bucket helm charged up on the docks on a brown destrier, followed by a much smaller figure riding a pony. The Hound's black stallion trotted away in a futile attempt to block the wharf, only to be swept aside by a slap of a massive gauntlet.

"Fuck me, it is Gregor." The Hound pushed forward, stepping onto the boat. "Pull the gangplank up. And get everyone off the deck."

"We can't. It is tied down with ropes to the dock." The captain said in horror.

"Then step back. Give us space to fight. Give me a shield. We will need them." Sandor barked.

"Why? We just need to stop Ser Gregor from boarding the ship." Brienne said.

Chett scrambled and handed Sandor a round wooden shield. It barely covered the Hound's chest, leaving the lower torso open to attack. The Hound crouched down, using the shield to protect the shoulder and head. The war horse balked at the end of the dock but the Mountain ground his spurs hard. Stung and bleeding in the flanks, the destrier galloped up the gangplank and jumped into the air. As the horse flew past, Ser Gregor slashed down and Brienne barely blocked the blow. At the same instant, the Hound plunged his blade up into the belly. The horse collapsed, bloody entrails spilling onto the quarterdeck.

The horse screamed, shuddered and died. The Mountain stood up, with the dead stallion guarding his back. The Hound rushed forward and the Mountain struck a two handed blow, shearing off a huge chunk of the round shield. Before the Mountain could strike again, Brienne was at the Hound's side and staggered, while she parried another vicious swing.

"Do something." Arya shouted to Manderly. "Do you have any long spears?"

"We're sailors, Lady Arya. Not knights. None of our blades could hope to penetrate plate armor."

The Hound threw away the ruined shield. Brienne and the Hound were two of the larger fighters that Arya had ever seen. The Mountain was an entire head taller and that head was enclosed in steel with only a narrow slit for the visor. The Clegane brothers exchanged mighty blow after blow with Brienne attempting a few thrusts before being knocked to the side by a fist. The Hound was strong. The Mountain was stronger. His armor was far heavier and Arya realized it was only a matter of time before there would be only one Clegane alive.

"Brienne!" Sansa screamed, pointing at a boy in mail creeping behind the Maid of Tarth. Brienne rolled to the ship's side and the sword only grazed her neck. The pimply squire lunged forward, eager to push his advantage.

Silent and swift as a shadow, Arya stepped behind the boy. Using both hands and holding Needle like a spear, she stabbed the boy's back, the thin blade slipping under the chain links. The squire's eyes got big and he dropped his sword. Arya jerked his knife from its sheath and carved a red smile above the mail coif, leaving the knife stuck in the throat.

"Chett, Clydas." Arya pointed to the dead war horse. "Remove this from the deck. NOW."

The Winter Town crew rushed to execute her order. Denys whistled loudly, and from the cargo hold, two dozen white-faced children with dark eyes poured out. With knives, daggers, axes, and hatchets, they hacked, chopped and hewed at the dead horse, rendering the animal into bits of hair, meat, and bone. In scant minutes, enough of the bloody bits were tossed over the side to create a path to the Mountain.

"Brienne." Arya yelled.

The Maid of Tarth nodded and pressed the Mountain harder, raining savage blows down the left side. The combined efforts of Brienne and the Hound forced the Mountain back, the great steel sword moving in a blur as it fended off both attackers. The Mountain took his right hand off the six foot blade, and punched the helmetless Sandor in the head. The Hound fell hard to the ground, and the triumphant Gregor roared, turning his attention to beating down Brienne.

Arya drew Gram, the rippled blade forged at Harrenhal for her name day present. She lunged forward and the steel pierced the back of the right knee, cutting through mail and boiled leather between the plates covering the thigh and the calf. The Mountain screamed, and Arya thrust her brother's gift into the left knee, severing the other hamstring. The Mountain collapsed to the ground, but when Brienne stepped forward, Gregor wrapped a huge arm around her leg, dragging the lady to the ground.

The Mountain's right hand grabbed Brienne's throat. Arya ran forward and sliced at the gauntlet. The awkward stroke only glanced off the thick steel with a skid. The Mountain somehow got up on his knees and swung the huge sword at the hidden tormentor. If Arya were a few inches taller, the blade would have chopped her head in half. Instead, the sword cut deeply into the mast, and gashed the heavy linen sails.

Arya scrambled, desperately trying to avoid Clegane's grasp. Brienne pounded on the Mountain's breastplate with two armored fists, only to be swatted away like a gnat biting an elephant. Arya heard Sansa and Jeyne screaming, and then a quarrel whistled through the air, piercing the right pauldron, the bolt's fletching sticking out from the shoulder.

"Get away from my sister." Jon Snow said, the black tom hissing by his side.

Jon ran forward and smashed the crossbow on the bucket helm. The broken pieces of wood covered the two eye slits. He dragged Arya to safety. Brienne took the groggy Hound by his arms and pulled him away. The Mountain shook off the blow from the crossbow, and tried to stand. Even on his knees, he was almost as tall as Brienne.

"I stabbed the Mountain in both knees but he is still fighting." Arya said.

Her brother picked up the Hound's longsword and faced Gregor, with Arya and Brienne flanking the crippled beast. Jon stayed at the edge of the Mountain's reach, only blocking and backstepping. He didn't bother to attack.

"Chett, how much wildfire do we still have?"

"Only one satchel left, my lord. Ten vials. You wanted to take it back North to study."

"Put them all in that large bucket." Jon continued to parry the Mountain's swings.

The Hound had regained his feet when Chett was finished. Jon tossed the sword to Sandor and the Hound warily took his place.

"Lord Snow, are you certain that the ship will be safe?" Captain Manderly asked.

"Safe enough."

Jon shattered the vials with the pommel of a dagger. The murky green liquid shimmered in the bucket. He circled the deck, until the Mountain, focused on the other threats, could not see him. Jon ran, jumped in the air, and slammed the bucket on Gregor Clegane's head. More clay and glass broke and wildfire dripped down the Mountain's armor, from the crest of the helmet, into the narrow eye slits, down the gaps of the gorget, and into the broken right pauldron.

For once, the Mountain bellowed in abject fear, like a bull led to the slaughter. Jon reached out his right arm, and a frightened boy handed him a lit torch before rapidly retreating. Everyone besides her brother fell back, Arya included.

Jon thrust the torch into the holes of the great helm, and a plume of green flame exploded upward. Sparks flew out of the eye slits, turning the helmet into a grinning green skull. In his agony, the Mountain shook off the fragments of the bucket, the worn wood now lighting up the harbor with a dark emerald green, burning on the surface. Gregor reached out in desperation but Jon stabbed the torch into the right pauldron, already broken by the bolt. The huge right arm joined the Mountain's head, wreathed in green flames. The searing heat did not bother Jon. The torch traced down the thick plate armor - the neck gorget, the top of the breast plate, the underarms, the gap between the gauntlets and the vambraces. An awful acrid stench filled the evening air - and Arya realized it was burnt flesh, burnt skin, burnt hair. The Mountain collapsed face down, writhing as the wildfire cooked the beast alive.

Jon tossed the torch into the water. He took the Mountain's six foot word in both hands. He lifted the fiery blade high, and using all his weight, slammed the sword down, chopping off the right hand. Jon hacked off the left arm at the elbow, and the right foot before carefully measuring his next attempt. He severed the neck between the helm and the gorget. That took two blows. He dumped the flaming flesh off the boat, saving only the Mountain's head.

Many eyes watched - some horrified, many afraid, and a few satisfied at the day's work.

"Are we ready?" Jon's voice carried over the water. The captains and their crews silently nodded. Jon checked that everyone was on board - the rescuers, the WinterTown Boys, and Varys' little birds. The mare, the palfrey, and Sandor's stallion were led up the gangplank.

"Let's go home."

Author's Notes

The Northern army has landed at Oldstones, and the king is Tristifer Mudd IV who won 99 battles but lost the last, ending House Mudd's rule over the Riverlands. The food that Wyllis despises is the menu from the Red Wedding, minus the jellied calves' brains and leche of stringy beef. The pork pie is a reference to the Frey pie baked by Lord Manderly in the books. Yummy.

In Chap 34 of Dance of Dragons, Brandon Stark has visions when the children feed him a bowl of weirwood paste. (LSD, anyone?) One vision is a pale, fierce dark-eyed young man, who slices three branches off the weirwood. This is Brandon Snow.

These shoes are a real thing! Crakow shoes, thought to have originated in Krakow, Poland, have extremely long toes and were popular in the 15th century. The poulaine is the pointed beak of the shoe that curves inward. And incredibly, only nobles and lords could wear toe lengths longer than two inches! The crakows weren't designed to add height, but the idea of a very long pointy tip fits the Lannisters.

The Dornish do wear a huge amount of copper which makes sense as the metal shines in the sun but is cheaper than gold. Copper is even used in their armor - Oberyn Martell has a gilded helm with a copper sun and Areo Hotah has a shirt of copper scales.

The Sand Snakes in the show and even in the books just look awful. The fight scene with Bronn and Jaime was lame. Wouldn't a whip be ineffective against any armored opponent or even a half decent shield? But conceptually, female fighters with exotic weapons are awesome.

GRRM based septons on priests. The bishop hat (miter) became the seven sided crystal coronal. I turned the bishop staff (crozier) into something carried by the Most Devout. The crosier had three parts - a sharp end, a straight middle, and a bent head.

As for the billowing robes, I researched medieval monks. Today, we imagine monks to be thin and always fasting. Historically though, monks pigged out! The fat jolly friar was an accurate stereotype. They led a sedentary lifestyle and they ate a lot of calories - suet, lard and butter. Monks were three times as likely to develop obesity related diseases.

Book Jeyne is a sad sad character. She is the one Ramsay rapes as the false "Arya Stark." I reread that and realized that Jaime told Brienne about the "Arya" plot so Brienne doesn't attempt a rescue. You can rationalize this because Brienne continues her search for Sansa. But the other interpretation is that Brienne just looks the other way. The Theon chapters with Jeyne are quite horrific.

Arya's sequence is time sensitive. She has to get everything done after the nobles have gone into the sept but before the wedding starts. Brienne has to undress, they have to strip Ser Osmund's garments off, and then Brienne has to don some armor. I don't know much about armor but squires were supposed to be able to take off a suit of plate in 10 to 15 minutes. With the black kettle surcoat, you do not have to put on all the pieces. Surcoats can cover from the neck to the midcalf. Brienne only needs a few pieces, the surcoat and the cloak.

The idea of the white and gray cloaks is inspired by the 1999 Thomas Crown Affair. The hero uses a ton of lookalikes to distract attention and blend into the crowd during the heist. The sequence is set to Sinnerman by Nina Simone.

Jon shoots a flaming bolt into one cask at the floor level. He also had put two more barrels in the cellar of White Sword Tower, one of the entrances into the secret passages. The entire Kingsguard is busy in Dorne or at the wedding, so the tower is virtually abandoned.

Chamfering is how wooden spears are made today. They use belt sanders and power drills but the point is to round the steel socket and to taper the shaft head for that precision fit.

Ellaria's character is quite different in the books. In the show, she is bloodthirsty, pushing Doran to avenge Oberyn. In the book, she tries to convince the older Sand Snakes not to pursue revenge. She takes her youngest, a seven year old, back to Hellholt, away from any war.

The Oberyn dialogue with Ellaria comes from the Conan the Barbarian dialogue with Belit in Queen of the Black Coast, one of the best Robert E. Howard stories. The two are discussing gods and life beyond death. The full quote is "Let me live deep while I live; let me know the rich juices of red meat & stinging wine on my palate, the hot embrace of white arms, the mad exultation of battle when the blue blades flame crimson, and I am content."

I like Oberyn Martell - he is one of the best secondary characters in the book and show. But manticore poison is supposed to kill as soon as the venom gets to the heart. They explain this in the book by saying Oberyn used sorcery to thicken the venom. It is so stupid - the Mountain should have died and then the Dornish wouldn't come off as so incompetent.

In the TV series, Sansa's hair is done elaborately for both the Tyrion and the Ramsay wedding. Both times, it is pulled back in a severe bun. The medieval ideal is a high round forehead and women plucked their hair and eyebrows often using copper or silver tweezers. So by ripping off the needles, Arya makes her sister look more low born.

The rope dart or rope javelin that Alleras improvised is an Asian martial arts weapon. It is a long rope - 10 to 16 feet - with a metal dart at one end. Skillful use of the rope dart allows you to stay beyond enemy reach and strike rapidly. Rope dart masters can twirl the rope around a foot, knee, elbow and even the neck. Alleras is not a master - she is using the most basic attack.

GRRM has said that Margaery Tyrell has historical similarities with Anne Boleyn (besides Natalia Dormer playing both roles.) I don't know if that is a comment on political cunning, bad luck in marriage, or a genuine desire to help the people.

The gold cloaks (city guard) really do have a barrack close to the Tower of the Hand. Clegane goes there after fighting Oberyn. The pimply squire is also killed by Arya in the books.

Castration did different things to the human body. Eunuchs were hairless and tended to be fat. They were also reputed to be foul smelling - probably because of trouble urinating. That also explains the perfume.

The eunuch's dialogue is part show, part book. Show Varys is an idealistic freedom fighter while book Varys is morally gray, and does a lot of terrible things. Show Varys is always shown as a good guy and comes off contrived, particularly in the last two seasons. I prefer book Varys.