1) I was hoping to get this up early but a massive storm downed my power. I think I can be forgiven for an act of god delay the new chapter.

2) Still, I was able to get it up before my b-day (Aug 3rd) so I consider that an accomplishment.

3) While not as good as the last chapter, I'm still quite proud of this one. Please report any significant 'Holy Shit' moments in the comments below for research purposes.

4) I really want to thank all you guys for the positive feedback it really keeps me going during these tough times.

Timeline

283 AC/4E 187: Robb Stark is born; (two months later) "Jon Snow" is born.

286 AC/4E 190: Sansa Stark is born; RS-3, "JS"-3.

289 AC/4E 193: Arya Stark is born; Theon Greyjoy (10) arrives at Winterfell; RS-6, "JS"-6, SS-3.

290 AC/4E 194: Bran Stark is born; TG-11, RS-7, "JS"-7, SS-4, AS-1.

295 AC/4E 199: Rickon Stark is born; TG-16, RS-12, "JS"-12, SS-9, AS-6, BS-5.

296 AC/4E 200: Direwolves are found; TG-17, RS-13, "JS"-13, SS-10, AS-7, BS-6, RS-1.

297 AC/4E 201: Robb Stark turns 14; (two months later) "Jon Snow" turns 14; (one month later) "Jon Snow" runs away from Winterfell/appears in Skyrim; TG-18, SS-11, AS-8, BS-7, RS-2.

299 AC/4E 203: Jon Whitewolf sends a letter to Winterfell; TG-19, RS-16, JW-16, SS-13, AS-10, BS-9, RS-4.

300 AC/4E 204: Lord Eddard Stark asks Jon to return to Winterfell; TG-20, RS-17, JW-17, SS-14, AS-11, BS-10, RS-5.

302 AC/4E 206: Jon Whitewolf receives Arya's letter: TG-22, RS-18, JW-18, SS-16, AS-13, BS-12, RS-7.

(Two-and-a-half months later) Jon Whitewolf arrives at Winterfell: TG-22, RS-18, JW-18, SS-16, AS-13, BS-12, RS-7.

(Four days later) Robb Stark turns 19: TG-22, RS-19, JW-18, SS-16, AS-13, BS-12, RS-7.

(Two weeks later) Jon Whitewolf (18) leaves for KL with Enzo, Ned Stark, Sansa Stark, Arya Stark, and the royal party.

(Two weeks later) Jon Whitewolf (18), the Starks, and the royal party are attacked while at the Triton.

(Two weeks later) Jon Whitewolf (18), the Starks, and the royal party arrive at King's Landing.

(Three days later) the Tourney of the Hand begins.

(Five days later) Serena arrives at the Red Keep.

(Ten days later) King Robert Dies

Enzo V

"I am sure you are confused by what is going on but I assure you it all has a reasonable explanation."

Enzo glanced down to the still-paralyzed form of Lord Stark that was glaring up at him from a gap in the canvas tarp he was covered with. 'Damn, Jonny blasted him good, most paralyzation spells wear off in a few minutes. That will be fun for him to explain.'

"Eeerrrhmmmm!" Clearly, the other man was unimpressed by his words.

"The magic will wear off soon enough," he continued, steering the wheelbarrow containing his assigned cargo through the streets of King's Landing. "You will be in a safe area by then though, unable to get anyone killed with your idiocy."

The glare intensified. Trotting by his side, Nymeria gave what Enzo could swear was an amused huff.

Enzo just glared back. "I appreciate honor, Lord Stark, but I understand its limits. It is not honorable to spend years lying to someone who depends on you for everything. It is not honorable to refuse to own up to your actions and allow your wife to take out her anger on a child. It is not honorable to allow your oldest daughter to be suckled on the sweet lies of fairytales so late into life and it is not honorable to put your own morals above the safety of others."

"MMmmmrrghf!"

"But, alas, it is not my place to shame you. Jonny would not want that; despite everything, he still loves and admires you," the Ebony Warrior sighed. "He is a good kid, you know? Smart, dutiful, believes in always trying to help others... I suppose, if nothing else, I should thank you for that; you did shape him in those early years. You should be proud."

That, at least, got him a thought, pensive look.

"Of course, he probably got some bad traits from you as well. He broods too much to be healthy, takes life far too seriously, still has an uncomfortable amount of self-doubt... Say, who do you think Jonny got his dramatic side from?"

Lord Stark only grunted as the wheelbarrow went down a small set of stairs leading to one of the docks where the Bell Singer gleamed proudly in the sun, bobbing gently in the waves.

"Ahhh, Enzo, good to see you," Adelaisa Vendicci greeted, her sun-weathered face smiling as she strolled down the gangplank. Adelaisa's eyes fell on Nymeria, who cocked her large head to the side and panted softly, and went wide. "More animals?"

"This is Nymeria," Enzo explained, catching the she-wolf behind the ears. "She is one of Ghost's litter-mates and bonded to Jon's sister, Arya."

"Oh, I've heard him mention an Arya," the ship captain nodded. Then she sighed, "What is one more passenger? So long as you all can keep her under control, Nymeria is welcome aboard. Now, what is this? Did Jon buy more books to haul back to Skyrim?"

The East Empire Company Captain lifted the tarp, took one look inside the wheelbarrow, dropped the tarp, and turned to him with a completely straight-face. "This is a man."

"Yes, he is not dead though," Enzo nodded. "Jon just paralyzed him."

"Alright," Adelaisa said slowly, rubbing her forehead, "that is some good news but... why?"

"He is Jon's uncle. People are trying to kill us all and we needed to sneak him out of the castle before he made things worse."

"WHAT?"

"Yes, Jon, once again, got himself into trouble," Enzo explained, an amused smile tugging at his lips. Then he turned grave once more. "Things have turned dangerous in this city; I know we weren't planning on leaving for a few days but we need to set sail today. Jon will be here soon with his sisters and a few others. I have one more thing to do as well but then we need to leave before someone gets hurt."

Adelaisa turned serious, her eyes narrowing. "I'll tell my men to prepare to set sail, be back here as soon as possible. Be safe."

"You as well, keeping on the lookout for anyone in gold armor."

And with that, the Ebony Warrior turned and set off towards the wretched hive known as Flea Bottom.

Enzo Vlast was used to getting stared at; between his impressive stature, his companionship with a famed Last Dragonborn, the sleek black ebony sword at his hip, and his dark skin -something that, judging by the dumbfounded looks and whispers he'd been dealing with ever since arriving in this land, was rather rare in Westeros- he was used to eyes following him wherever he went.

That being said, the people of Flea Bottom would immediately avert their eyes and scamper out of his whenever Enzo approached. Even the most heavily armed, vicious-looking men would give him a wide berth, knowing he was a fight they didn't want to pick. The one exception was the dirty groups of children who gathered in alleyways and at the front steps of businesses; they gawked openly, whispering towards one another and pointing. In his previous trips to this part of the city, Enzo had been handing out coins to these tiny little beggars quite freely -Yes, despite his chiding of Jon, Enzo's own heart wasn't made of stone when it came to hungry children- and the word of him likely spread through the heards of street rats. Under different circumstances, Enzo would have once again stopped to give out some charity but today time was tight and he could not delay.

It was interesting though; overall, despite everything that happened in the city for the past week, there was a subtle, but definite, sense of cheer among the people of Flea Bottom. People were smiling a little more, standing up a little straighter and walking with a touch more... enthusiasm.

Turning a corner, Enzo saw the reason why -a large wagon pained with large golden rose emblems on the sides was parked in a large square. Four guards kept the crowd that swarmed at bay, organizing them into an orderly line to receive cratefuls of foodstuffs.

'You do good wherever you go, Jon. Never forget that.' Enzo thought with a smile.

Through the narrow, foul-smelling streets he went, fast as he could without actually running -that drew far too much attention. Even with everything going on, things seemed to be going well and Enzo even allowed himself to believe things would be okay.

Of course, this hope was cruelly crushed when Enzo arrived at the home of one of the King Sload's children, twelve-year-old Eden, and his mother, Sierra, and saw the door had been kicked open. He stepped in and was immediately hit by the stench of blood. The Ebony Warrior tore apart the hovel, desperately trying to find the mother and child, and, seeing as it was only two rooms, it didn't take Enzo long to find them.

'I'm going to slaughter the men who did this,' Enzo decided grimly as he gently retrieved the two corpses from under the mother's bed. Both had been stabbed multiple times -by swords, judging by his wounds- and bled out from the wounds. He laid them out on the bed and covered their cooling bodies with a blanket; it was all he could do to honor them.

A tragically similar sight greeted Enzo at the home of ten-year-old Sallem and his mother, Morie, just a few streets away -nothing but the stiffening corpses of a tragic little family. Furious, the giant Redguard raced through the streets, no longer carrying about drawing attention to himself and shoving innocent passersby out of the way. Enzo pulled the magical leather strap binding the paralyzation enchantment from his sword off; now was not the time for secrecy.

He had only one chance left.

With his long legs, Enzo was able to make it to Squid Street and to the home of the barmaid Dalla and her young son, Dustun, far faster than any normal man. The shriek of a woman he heard as he approached would usually be considered a bad sign but now it sounded as sweet as a songbird's morning calls -Dalla, at least, was still alive.

The two Lannister men standing guard outside the hovel saw him coming -it would be hard to miss a black-clad giant of a man with a sword rushing towards you at full sprint- but had no time to react. Enzo decapitated one if a swift, smooth motion, his head rolling away to eventually become the meal of some street dog. The other he kicked the leg out from under, stabbing down through the man's throat and stepping over him as he gasped for his final breaths.

There were three guards hovel -one who was pining Dalla against a wall with an arm across the throat, one who was trying to force Dustun's face down into a water barrel, and one who was overseeing everything. This was the one who turned and addressed Enzo.

"What is going? Who are you?"

There was blood splattered across the man's breastplate. Enzo narrowed his eyes and wordlessly swung his sword, slicing the man's throat before caving his nose with the pommel of his sword. He fell to the ground and Enzo stomped the man's throat, coldly relishing the loud CRUNCH!

Then he turned to the two guards, both frozen in shock.

The Ebony Warrior stared them down and growled out a single, "Leave."

Of course, because most people were stupid, panicky creatures, neither took his advice. One released Dalla, who collapsed while gripping her bruised neck, and charged at Enzo.

'What a sloppy form.'

That one died from a crushed skull, blood seeping out and soaking into the dirt floor.

Enzo turned to the final remain guard, cocking an eyebrow at his cowering form and waiting to see what he'd do.

Scrambling backward, the guard pulled a sobbing Dustun against him and pulled his sword. "Stay back!"

"Predictable, but that just sealed your fate."

With just a bit of lightning, the man's head exploded into a wet mess of shrapnel, splattering all over the walls, and his corpse hit the floor with a solid thud!

"Oh gods, Dustun!"

Dalla lunged forward, wrapping her son up in a tight hug and crying into his hair. She rocked the boy in her arms, "It's okay, it's okay. We're- We're..."

She turned her dark eyes to Enzo, "...safe?"

Enzo gave a grim nod, "Gather anything you need then come with me if you want to live."

"But-

"This city is no longer safe for you and your son, two of his half-siblings have already been killed. We must go now," he pressed.

Dalla went pale underneath the dark parlor of her skin; she swallowed hard and nodded, "Give me just one moment."

With that, the woman was a whirlwind, stuffing clothes and the scarce few valuables she had into a burlap sack while Dustun still sat sniffling on the floor. Enzo knelt down in front of him, tilting the boy's head up to look him in the eye.

"Where does it hurt?"

Dustun choked back a hiccupy sob, pointing at his left cheek where a large bruise was already coming in.

Enzo whispered a simple healing spell and cupped the boy's face in his palm. "Shhhhh. The pain will be gone soon. It will not return."

"But- But what if the bad men come back?" he asked, fresh tears blossoming in the corner of his eyes.

"Then I will deal with them too," Enzo replied. "So long as I am around, no one will ever hurt you or your mother ever again. Do as I say and you will both be safe. Understand?"

Dustun gave a shaky nod before running to his mother, burying his face in her skirt. Dalla ran a hand through his messy hair and turned to Enzo. "Alright, I packed up everything important. What is going on, Mister Enzo? What was that you just did? Why, why did the city guards just try and k-"

Her voice choked off and she pulled her son close.

"The queen sees your son as a threat to her own, one she has decided to eliminate," he explained grimly. "By my associates and I will not let that happen; we are getting you out of the city and taking you someplace safe. The change might be... shocking at first but I promise that you both will be well-taken care of."

"I don't care where we're going," Dalla declared, anger flashing in her eyes. "Just so long as we're away room this wretched city!"

'Good, that makes all of this easier.' A small smile crossed Enzo's face, "Good, just-"

The clanging of many sets of armor-clad men approaching reached his ears. "Wait here for one moment longer."

With that, the Ebony Warrior left mother and child in the relative safety of their hovel and stepped outside. He eyed up the dozen or so approaching men and opened his mouth to say three simple words.

"FUS RO DAH!"

Margaery Tyrell I

Margaery Tyrell was a smart girl, her grandmother had ensured that. In fact, she was smart enough to know when to play dumb and that included now. So she giggled, gave bashful little smiles, and batted her eyelashes at Renly while the man did his best to flirt with her.

'Was he this bad with Loras?' she wondered, bemused.

Judging by the way her brother rolled his eyes as he watched on, Margaery could only assume that was the case.

Still, she probably wouldn't mind being married to the man -he was comely enough, wealthy, and not a brute. Grandmother always pressed the importance of a husband who knew the value of words over physical action. All of which meant that Renly wouldn't be totally useless to her.

'Well, except for one rather important area.'

There were plenty of men who enjoyed the company of both sexes -Prince Oberyn certainly made no qualms about his habits- but Margaery was quite certain neither Loras nor Renly fell into that category and that would become a problem when it came to heirs. It would reflect extremely badly on Margaery had a marriage that bore no child; such things were always blamed on the women, after all.

The issue of heirs was still an important one but now that Garlan and his wife, Leonette Fossoway, had one son with a second child on the way, it was less pressing than it had been. Willas still being unwed had raised a couple of eyebrows but it could be excused by fathers being hesitant to marry their daughters off to a cripple. Amusingly, Margaery was sure that Willas actually preferred being unwed as it allowed him to focus on his duties and hobbies. Overall, Loras not marrying or having children would likely not raise any issue, there was rarely pressure to do such things on third sons; in fact, sometimes it was even preferred.

Not to mention that, quite frankly, Margaery had no interest in sharing her husband with anyone; call it a quirk of being the youngest of her siblings and the only daughter in her family but she rather liked keeping her personal possessions to herself.

'I could do worse though,' she noted, sipping at her tea.

Father -well, really Grandmother- had put off making a match for her due to their wish that she'd one day be queen but that, obviously, had been thrown off due to recent events. King Robert was dead -tragically, of course- so Magaery would never have the joy of being by his side for an extended period of time. The next plan was to have her marry the crown prince but that line of thinking had ended immediately after Grandmother spent a single day observing Prince Joffrey. She hadn't explained why, oddly enough, but the Queen of Thorns had spoken and that was the end of it.

"Oh, Lord Renly, you are such a cad," Margaery teased, giving his arm a playful slap and forcing herself not to snort at the man's uncreative and poorly delivered joke about stallions. "Why I-"

THUD! THUD! THUD!

Margaery jumped at the sudden loud knocking on the door, an action mirrored by her brother and Renly. The Lord of Storm's End glanced towards Loras, "Are you expecting someone?"

"Not me. What about you, Marg?"

She shook her head, "No, do you want me to wake Mother and Father from their nap? Should I check with Grandmother in the solar?"

Being one of the Seven Great Houses of Westeros, the Tyrells had been giving lavish chambers of sprawling, interconnected rooms that provided ample privacy and made it easy to forget members of your family were technically only a few steps away.

THUD! THUD! THUD!

The pounding continued, followed up with a demand of "OPEN UP!"

A chill crept up Magaery's spine, every hair on her body standing on end, and without even meaning to, her fingers curled around the handle of a nearby cheese knife then tucked it into her sleeve.

Margaery Tyrell was a smart girl, after all.

"I'll see what is going on," Renly offered, rising to his feet and heading for the locked door. Margaery lunged forward, trying to stop him, but the door was unlocked and being opened before she could even finish her protests.

"WAIT!Don't-"

Renly pulled the door opening and, before he could even say anything, was immediately greeted by the metal hilt of a guard's sword to the temple. He fell to the side, sprawled across the stone floor, and Margaery rushed to his aid; she pressed a hand to the gushing head wound, trying to stop the blood flow.

'Head wounds always bleed a lot,' she reassured herself. 'He is still breathing, this is just a bump.'

It wasn't until much later that Margaery realized the screaming she'd been hearing was her own; that was the only way she'd be able to hear it over the thudding of her heart.

"Margaery!"

The Rose of Highgarden looked up just in time to be seized by the hair by a guard. Margaery struggled against his attempts to pulled her up, hissing and spewing every foul word she'd ever heard.

"Bitch," the guard growled, jerking her head back as Margaery tried to hit him wherever she could.

Clang.

The light sound of metal clattering against stone automatically Margaery's attention for the briefest moment. Then her eyes went wide with recognition, 'The knife...'

Margaery Tyrell was a smart girl but what happened next was instinctual, the primal drive to survive and fight back.

She grabbed the knife and stabbed wildly. Cheese knives were sharp but the blade still scrapped pathetically against the armor until...

"Ahh!"

Margaery's hair was released and she fell back but any relief she felt was cruelly cut down when the enraged guard swung his sword at her. Her face burned, she felt herself fall to the floor, and then there was darkness.

Thud.

"...gaery, wake up!"

Thud.

"...ther! Moth..."

Thud.

"...ar, wh... is... on?"

Thud.

"...attacked... they sliced..."

Thud.

There was something in Margaery's eyes; everything was blurry and out of focus. She blinked, thinking that would clear away the fog but instead it looked like Margaery was trying to view the room through dark rain. Loras was couching down in front of her, cupping her facing and staring down at her with terrified golden-brown eyes and a blood-splattered face. Another blink and Loras was standing over the prone bodies of the now-dead guards with a sword in hand -oh, so there'd been four of them... interesting- and he was talking with their father. Margaery couldn't make out what they were saying but giggled at the way they were waving their arms around.

Loras then turned and grabbed ahold of a bookcase, shoving it in front of the door; a decorative vase fell from one of the shelves and shattered on the floor, making Margaery laugh at the suddenness of the loud sound.

Margaery blinked again, wincing at a stinging that shot through her eye, then she saw Mother coming towards her, hands clasped over her mouth. Her face was right there -pale and wet with tears- and Margaery felt her mother's cotton-soft fingertips tracing her face as a fresh wave of tears came.

"Don' cr,' Moth," the Rose of Highgarden slurred, reaching up to weakly grasp at her own face. When her hand fell, Margaery looked down to see it covered with something dark and wet; frowning, she rubbed her fingers together, opening and closing her fist.

'It's tacky,' she noted. 'How strange.'

"Stand her up, get her on her feet."

Margaery smiled when the small, wizened form of her grandmother came into view, flanked by her two bodyguards -Right and Left. Even though the dark rain and the thud, thud, thudding of her heart made everything foggy, the Queen of Thorn's rang strong and clear.

Another blinked and then Margaery was being lifted up. The movement shocked her and she looked around wildly, taking comfort when she saw Right picking her up but also causing a violent wave of nausea to overtake her stomach; Margaery slumped forward, only held up by the strong arm around her waist, and dry wrenched.

"Shhh, close your... eyes; it will be alright, Lady Margaery," Right whispered, leading her forward.

'Huh, have I ever heard him talk before?' she wondered briefly before doing as the man suggested.

Thud.

"Ren... isn't... his... eyes."

That was Loras talking, he sounded worried.

Thud.

It was dark. They were in a small tunnel.

"I didn't... this tunnel... here."

Oh, Father was okay. That was good.

"Of course, why... I requested it. Watch... stairs."

Grandmother was so smart.

Thud.

It smelt like hay and horses; Margaery loved that smell, she'd been riding ever since she was a girl. It felt cold though. Then she heard shouts of... surprise? This time they were from a man -no, from several different men that were now approaching her family. Margaery blinked hard and then did it again and again until she eventually realized her grandmother was talking -shouting- at a group of Lord Stark's men.

Squinting at the man, Margaery did her best to focus on the man -his voice coming through muffed by understandable.

"What is going on?"

"We were attacked! My children were assaulted by the castle guards!" Father bellowed, turning red like a particularly plump tomato. "And in the sanctity of our own room, the audacity!"

The men exchanged a series of long, concerned looks.

"This must be what Jon was worried about," one mumbled as the darkness returned. There was something itchy on her neck, Margaery scratched at it absentmindedly as something flaked off.

Thud.

"...them in the carriage."

"And leave Lord Stark be..."

"We've been waiting nearly... This is what... would want."

Margaery really wanted to sleep.

Thud.

Any sort of peace Margaery might have found in the comfort of dreamland was roughly ripped away as she hit the dirty floor of the stables hardly. She pushed herself up to her hands and knees, looking around wildly; there was more fighting, more men in gold armor, as swords clanging together and the screams of dying men. She did her best to scramble away from the scuffling, eventually crawling through so sort of dark, sticky liquid that caused her to flips and face-plant. Then the smell hit her -blood.

The vomiting that followed was unpleasant, to say the least.

Never did the famous Rose of Highgarden think she'd find herself crawling across the floor of stable away from a puddle of blood and her own sick. But her she was, a fabulous dress covered in all manner of filth and trying to pull herself up by a shaky hand on the rim of an open water barrel.

Finally on her feet once more, Margaery felt her head dip downward and, in the surface of the water, caught sight of... No, it couldn't be.

Then there was a gentle grin on her upper arms and Margaery was being led to a nice carriage. Over the shoulder of her brother, she could bare make out a pile of bodies wearing Lannister colors. There were also two of the Stark men lying there too and that was sad.

"Loras?" Margaery muttered as she was sat down on a cushioned seat, slumping against the still-prone form of Renly. "Loras, where is my eye?"

Arya V

"So Father says that we have to leave tomorrow for our own good; he didn't say why, of course, but he seemed really worried and I don't think he'd lie about something like that. I don't want to stop my lessons, especially now that I'm finally getting good, but I also know that Mother would never hire me a new instructor. Father, though, would allow me to continue with you since you're already teaching me so I was hoping that maybe you would come back to Winterfell with us for a little while?"

Arya kinda mumbled that last part under her breath as quickly as possible while peaking out through her bangs hopefully at the somewhat befuddled swordsman.

Syrio just blinked at her for a moment before setting his teacup down and rubbing his chin thoughtfully, "Your mother and father... what do they have to say about your new lessons?"

Fighting back a wince, Arya nevertheless rubbed the back of her neck in embarrassment, "Well, Mother knows nothing about it and Father thinks I'm taking dancing lessons... which is sort of true, right?"

That got her a cocked eyebrow and a wry chuckle -both of which had Arya sinking down in her armchair, red-faced. "Well," Syrio drawled, "you weren't technically lying but how do you think your father will be happy when he finds out the truth?"

"No," Arya admitted, "but I don't think he'll make me stop either, especially if I tell him that Jon was the one who hired you, and he's never really had a problem with me playing around with my brothers' practice swords. I mean, Father would scold me a little and say I shouldn't do it but that was always to pacify Mother and I was never punished. Anyway, Father already said that you could come and he is not the type to go back on his word."

"Little Arya fancies herself as clever as a cat and twice as sneaky, eh?" Syrio snickered -prompting Arya to stick her tongue out automatically, just as she'd do if it were one of her brothers doing the teasing, before clamping her mouth shut when she realized just who she talking to. This only caused him to outright laugh.

"Don't make fun of me!" she growled, eyes falling. "This... you... are one of my only chances to be strong, to learn how to fight."

Syrio turned thoughtful, "Let Syrio check on somethings; it would be inconvenient to leave so soon after finally getting settled-" Ayra's face fell hard "but, it could be done with a little maneuvering of assets and money."

The smile that slipt across Arya's face was almost painful but it got a soft, warm grin from the former First Sword of Braavos who nimbly rolled to his feet, age never once showing in his graceful movements. "Just wait here; finish your tea and help yourself to anything in the kitchen. Sinya isn't working today but she made a batch of miniature cherry pies yesterday, have as many as you'd like."

And with that, Syrio disappeared through the narrow, well-decorated halls of his home and, after a moment, Ayra could hear his soft footsteps on the staircase. In the time before their lessons, Arya was allowed to explore the house at her leisure, so long as she didn't mess with anything, and she figured he was going up to his solar -a small room with big windows that let in a lot of light and filled to the brim with all sorts of neat stuff. It was honestly hard to not run around touching the shiny weapons in their glass cases or the brightly woven tapestries or the colorfully illustrated books that depicted fighting styles and wildlife she'd never seen before.

Deciding to leave the man to his business, Arya swallowed the rest of her now lukewarm tea in one gulp and made her way to the clean, neatly organized kitchen to clean the cup off. Then, with the intensity of any skilled predator, she turned her attention to the plate of tiny pies.

'Mmmm, these are almost better than the ones at home,' Arya thought, eyes closing in bliss and stuffing a second pie in her mouth -the thick, sweet cherry filling spilled out from the pastry and slid down her chin. There were certain things that tasted better on the second day and, in Ayra's opinion, pies were one of them.

'These aren't made with lemon but I bet Sansa would like one,' she considered, wrapped one up carefully in a thick napkin and tucking it into her pocket. 'She is really upset about having to leave, something sweet will probably make her feel better.'

Bam! Bam! Bam!

Arya jumped at the furious knocking on Syrio's door; it damn near sounded like someone was trying to beat it down!

"Hold your horses!" she shouted, undoing the five locks -including a heavy-duty security bar- and opening the door to a plain-faced man and a carriage parked in the street, the driver giving a little wave when he caught Arya looking his direction. "Uh, hello?"

"Lady Arya Stark?"

"Who wants to know?" the littlest she-wolf asked, crossing her arms and cocking an eyebrow. 'And why are you looking for me?'

"Your brother, Jon, sent me to retrieve you, Lady Arya," the man explained with a pleasant smile on his face, gesturing towards the open carriage door. When she gave him a suspicious look, unsure as to why Jon wouldn't just come to get her by himself, he pulled a folded up piece of paper from his coat and handed it over. "He was worried you wouldn't believe me, so he gave me this."

Narrowing her eyes, Arya still took the note and gave it a quick once over.

Arya,

There is an emergency and now our entire family is in danger.

You need to come to the harbor right away.

Ruggart here will take you there.

Please, come as quickly as possible.

-Jon Snow

The note crumpled in her fist as every muscle in Arya's body went tense. A million images of horrible things happening to her family shot through Arya's mind as her breath caught in her chest. 'Father? Sansa?'

"What is going on?" she demanded. "What happened? Is my family hurt? Where is my father, my sister?"

The man -Ruggart, she guessed- shook his head and gestured once more towards the open carriage door. "I'm afraid that I cannot say for certain, everything is quite hectic... Jon didn't do much explaining, unfortunately. But, please, it is of the utmost importance that you come with me now; I couldn't live with myself if I failed to bring you in safely."

The man wasn't even finished with his little spiel before Arya was rushing past him, jumping right into the carriage with a hurried, "Alright, let's go!"

Later on, when she was recounting these events to her father and brother, Arya would attempt to assuage her shame at having fallen for such an obvious ploy with the fact she was overcome with worry for her beloved family.

It didn't really help.

"Wait, I thought we were going to the harbor?"

"Huh? We are. Why question that?"

Arya looked out the window at the line of fancy shops and large, luxurious homes that passed by and frowned, "This doesn't seem like the right way, seems like we're heading back towards the-"

"Oh, it's safer to take a non-direct route," Ruggart assured. "You never know who might be trying to follow us."

The explanation made perfect sense and the man hadn't seemed all that bothered by her concerns. Yet something was still putting the youngest she-wolf's teeth on edge, something had been bothering Arya since she first read that note.

'The note...'

She uncrumpled it, smoothing the thick paper out and re-reading the now-smudged words. 'The writing looks like Jon's but something still seems off. I wonder why...'

Then it hit her, there was something wrong with the word choice. In all of their previous letters, Jon always referred to her as 'Little Sister' or, 'My Little Sister, Arya' -it was never just her name. On top of that, Jon never addressed himself as 'Jon Snow,' only ever as 'Jon' or, in these past months, Jon Whitewolf.

It wasn't any major and only someone who knew Jon well would pick up on it but Ayra knew her favorite brother very well, better than she knew herself.

'But if he doesn't work for Jon than who the hells am I riding with?' she wondered, eyes sliding over to Ruggart as she, through sheer force of will, remained still and calm. Once sure she hadn't attracted attention, Arya gave the carriage door a glance -it wasn't locked.

Every animal instinct in her body told Arya to jump out immediately and start running; she still wasn't that far from Syrio's house, she could find her way back but... could she outrun her would-be captors? She was fast, of course, but these were two grown men and it wasn't like Arya could rely on any passersby for help -people didn't want to help, didn't want to risk getting involved.

She had to do this right, had to do this smart.

'If I could find a way to slow him down...'

Arya recrumpled and 'dropped' the note, letting it bounce down near her foot. With a small, "Oops," she bent down to pick it up as Ruggart glanced over, attention caught by her movement before returning to staring out his window. Seizing her opportunity, Arya smoothly pulled Candle from where she'd tucked it in her boot -Serana had given her the pair of tightly fitted shin-length shiny leather boots with some pretty light blue lace lining the top edge, declaring them to be both functional and fashionable- and palmed it.

Now it was time for Arya to figure out if she was as good as she thought she was.

"Oh, I can't believe I forgot to ask! I'm such an idiot!" Arya piped up, forcing a shocked expression as her would-be captor turned to her with a questioning look. "What is the password?"

Ruggart's confusion was evident, "What are you talking about?"

"Jon and I have a secret password," Arya explained, absolutely lying through her teeth, "and he told me that, if he ever sent someone to pick me up, he'd tell them the password. Now, I don't want him to be disappointed in me so, for my own sake, could you just tell me the password?"

As expected, she was scolded at.

"This is a very serious situation, Miss, hardly the time to be fooling around."

There was no friendliness in the man's voice anymore, no kindness in his eyes either and, instead, they just showed annoyance. "Now, no more lip out of you."

"Sorry," Arya replied bashfully. Then, before she could talk herself out of it, stabbed Ruggart right in the thigh.

The screaming that followed was horrendous -especially since it was being blasted right into her ear- but the man's pain gave her enough time to release the blade and cast Oakflesh on herself, colorful webs of magic flowing over her skin. Then she grabbed Candle by the handle, ripped it out, stick it back in her boot, fumbled with the carriage's door handle, finally swinging the door open and-

"Wait! Don't do-"

-leaped from the still-moving carriage and onto the cobblestone street of an upper-class neighborhood.

Arya hit the ground unevenly, rolling over-and-over a good half-dozen times until she finally came to a stop with the wind thoroughly knocked out of her. There was no pain or injury, the magic flowing over her skin ensured that, but the dirt, mud, and who knows what else that now covered her body and got in her mouth was far from pleasant. The sensation of her front teeth grinding against the rough cobblestone was even less so.

'Can't stop. Can't rest.'

The youngest she-wolf scrambled to her feet, blinking grit out of her eyes and spitting out dirt as Arya smoothed her now-disheveled braid back. Taking a quick look around, she saw the streets were mostly empty and the few passersby were merely gawking at the sight of her.

"You brat, get back here!"

The driver had lept from the carriage and was now coming right towards her. Arya didn't hesitate, she turned and sprinted away fast as she could, boots thudding against the cobblestone. Had she been thinking more clearly, Arya may have turned and darted down one of the narrow alleyways where she couldn't be followed but right now instinct was all she had and it was pushing her to run straight forward. Unfortunately, this also meant that she was an easy target.

"Gotcha, you little bitch," the driver snarled, grabbing at Arya.

The girl tried to side-step him but was just a second too slow. Arya was seized around the waist and lifted into the air as she kicked her legs out furiously. She fought against the man's grip, twisting around just enough to scratch at his face and digging her thumbs into his eye. The driver roared in pained but refused to let her go, still carrying her back towards the carriage.

'Yeah, this is probably going to end badly,' Arya thought. 'But, as Serana once said, when in doubt, fight dirty.'

With that in mind, Arya swung a foot back and, using the little leverage she had, nailed the man in the right groin with a vicious kick, making sure to focus the pressure on the solid, leather toe of her new boot in order to do the most damage. The kick was followed up with Arya pulling back a fist and landing a sharp punch to the man's throat.

It was a maneuver that Mister Enzo had described as the Punt & Punch.

Her almost abductor doubled-over with a loud, "Ompf!" and Arya was dumped back on the hard ground, flat on her butt and scraping up her palms -the magic of Oakflesh having worn off. Letting out a grunt but forcing herself to ignore the pain, Arya rolled underneath the carriage; the safety it offered giving her the smallest moment to breathe, to plan what to do next. 'That isn't going to keep them down; they're just going to be madder now, I need to go find Jon.'

Then the red face of the driver was there as he reached in, trying to grab her by the hair. Without thinking, Arya grabbed her dagger once more and slashed at his hand. Something thick and warm splattered across her face, getting in her eyes, and there was a furious, pained roar. By the time she could see again, the man had pulled back... leaving the three fingers Arya had severed behind in little pools of blood.

'Don't throw up, don't throw up, don't throw up!' Arya chanted to herself as she fought the urge to wretch of sight of the dismembered digits. 'If I'm going to be a brave heroine then I can't be losing my lunch at the slight of a little blood!'

"Ah!"

Something grabbed her by the ankle and Arya was yanked backward, her stomach dragging across the ground as she was pulled. She turned over to see Ruggart -if that was even his real name- glaring at her with a vicious grin. One Arya happily returned when she lashed out with her other foot, slamming her heel into the man's nose.

Crunch!

Could something sound sickening and oddly satisfying at the same time?

Her moment of solitary celebration changed to surprise when something dark and metallic came down on the head of Ruggart, splitting his face open with a bloody line along his forehead.

Seizing this moment, Arya crawled out from under the carriage and was on her feet fast as she could. Not knowing how long she had, the youngest she-wolf started to run once more. She got further this time, probably a few streets, as she dodged around pedestrians and men on horseback.

'We took two lefts, then a right, then we went straight for a while, and then another left... or was that a right? No, it was definitely a left... Right?'

"Arya! Arya! Arya, just wait up!"

There was a hand on her elbow and Arya spun around, swinging Candle wildly. "Don't touch me!"

"Wow, wow, wow! Arya, it's me! Put that thing down!"

Arya blinked, her panting slowly ever so slightly. "G-gendry? Is that you?"

The blacksmith's apprentice took another step back, both hands raised even as he maintained a white-knuckled grip on a shove. "Wha... Of course, it is me! Now, just put that knife down before you hurt one of us."

For just a moment, a red-hot flash of indignation shot through Arya and she felt the urge to snap that she'd been trained far too well for that. But now was neither the time nor the place so she fought that urge back, instead lowering Candle to her side and taking a deep breath.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, pulling the young man into the closest alley so they were out of sight.

"I... I was looking for you. Your sword is done and Mister Enzo recommended I drop it off at your instructor's house last time he was in the shop, gave me the address and everything" Gendry explained, pulling at the strap to the bag swung across his back. "I got there just in time to see you climbing into that carriage and I guess that I had a bad feeling or something so I followed you. Good thing I did, huh?"

"Yeah," Ayra muttered to herself, feeling the first pangs of exhaustion start to hit, "a good thing."

"Dear gods, what happened to you?" Gendry asked, seeming to take in the sight of her for the first time. "You look like something dragged you through all Seven Hells."

Arya just gave him the finger.

"I'm only thinking out loud," was the young blacksmith's reply as he wet a handkerchief with some water from a nearby rain barrel.

He gently cupped her chin and turned Arya's face to the side, dabbing at her face and wiping away the blood and mud. Gendry's face was very close to her's and Arya couldn't help but notice how blue his eyes were and how strong his jaw looked, even as his face was twisted into a grimace. "What the fuck is going on?"

Arya blinked, leaning back ever so slightly as she felt herself blush. She shook herself out of that weird daze, "I... don't know. Those men showed up at my instructor's house and said Jon sent him to get me, that something bad happened and my family is in trouble."

"If someone just tried to kidnap you, then there is probably some truth to that," Gendry offered as he began cleaning the scrapes on her palms. "What should we do?"

"We?"

"Well, sure," he replied, giving her a stupid grin. "I'm not just going to abandon you."

"You know I can take care of myself," Arya said, crossing her arms.

Gendry huffed, "Yeah, obviously. But even the strongest people need help every once and a while. Just tell me what you need."

A smile forcing its way onto her face, Arya ducked her head and asked, "I need to find Jon. Do you know how to get down to the docks? I don't want to take any of the main streets, if we can avoid it."

"Sure, we just need to-"

"There's the girl!"

The duo both whirled around to see a group of city guards blocking the exit to the alleyway. Arya found herself wordlessly shoved behind Gendry, an action that was equal parts infuriating and sweet.

One of the guards -the leader?- took a step forward, a hand rested the hilt of his sword. "Now, son, this doesn't have to be messy; we just need the girl to come along with us, she needs to answer some questions. Everyone stays calm and everything will be alright. We just want to keep her safe."

'Yeah right,' Arya snidely thought as she readjusted her grip on Candle and tried to remember the incantation for a frost magic spell.

Gendry, as it turns out, shared her thoughts. The blacksmith's apprentice raised the shovel again and snarled a fierce, "Fuck off!"

This was going to end badly, Arya was sure, but if she ended up dying in this alleyway then damnit, she was going to go down swinging.

"No, let's all remain calm and-" anything else the guard had to say was cut off when a slim, slender blade was shoved through his throat before it was swiftly yanked out and the man's body fell to the ground.

In his place stood the wiry form of Syrio Forel.

"Arya," he said, pointing his blade at the other guards, "are you harmed?"

'Yes,' she thought, but Arya shook her head. "No, not really."

"Good, now would you care to explain to Syrio Forel what is going on?"

She didn't get the chance to respond because three guards instantly attacked the swordsman to... predictable results.

It was... simply breathtaking to watch Syrio move. It didn't even look like he was really fighting, it was dancing. He bobbed and weaved around his opponents, gracefully dodging their sword swings; It was like watching deer prance through the woods, like watching fish swim through a current or bird fly through a breeze. The man's outmaneuvering of the guards was made all the easier by the guards' armor and capes slowly slowing them down in the narrow alleyway.

It was so entrancing that Arya lost herself for a moment, forgetting to pay attention to what was going on around her.

"Arya, watch out!" Gendry shouted, swinging his shovel hard and hitting the flat of it against an attacker's face.

"Ufff," she hissed, dancing away from an attempted grab. Her shorter height being an advantage for once, Arya side-stepped around the man until she was an opening in his leg pieces of his armor, plunging Candle into the soft flesh right above the back of his knew. Tomorrow, if she lived that long, Arya would feel regret about all the injuries she caused today.

But that possibility was a long way off.

"Argh!" A sharp, hot pain burned at the back of Arya's left shoulder blade, bad enough that the shock -combined with the blood running down the dagger- caused her to drop Candle into the dirt. A brief touch discovered a long, thin but bleed slash wound.

"Got you, little w-"

Whatever vulgarity was about to be spewed at her was cut off by the icy blast of frost magic Arya shot into his face. The guard automatically brought his hands up to protect his face but that just ended with a fine layer of ice covering most of his upper body. The screaming was horrifying, as was the way his skin seemed to turn black and die right before Arya's eyes.

She honestly felt bad for him as the man ran off.

"And then there was but one," Syrio hissed, shoving his blade under the chin of the last guard still on his feet as Gendry and Arya closed in on him as well.

The man glanced at each of them one at a time before dropping his sword and putting his hands up in surrender. "I give up, I'm not getting paid enough to deal with all this shit. I'll tell you what you want to know, just please don't kill me."

'Finally, someone reasonable!' Arya reached up, grabbed the man by his breastplate, and pulled the guard down so they were at eye-level, "What is going on? Why did you attack me? Where is my family, are they alright?"

"I... I don't know," he whimpered, taken aback her demanding growl and burning glare. "Look, we were just told to bring you back to the palace. The note was so you'd come quietly; it wouldn't look good if the city guards started grabbing screaming girls off the street, our hold on the city is weak enough as is. As for your family, they probably are in danger but, so far as I know, none of them have been captured yet. I also know your brother is connected to a ship docked in the harbor, not sure which one though; if you want to escape, that might still be your best bet."

"Thank you for that information, you've been very helpful," Syrio growled before turning his gaze to Gendry. "Young man, if you would be so kind."

Wham!

The guard dropped to the ground, completely unconscious. Gendry eyed his handwork and scowled, "It would be safer just to kill him."

"Hmmm, probably," Syrio agreed, eyes shifting to Arya. "What do you think, child? You were the one who was targeted, you should decide his fate."

Arya froze, breath caught in her throat. 'Gendry's right, it would be safer to kill him but-'

"Aim to finish fights quickly, Little One; it is your best chance for winning," Mister Enzo instructed, adjusting Arya's grip on her dagger. Wrapping a massive hand over hers, he mimed cutting along his forearm and down the side of his neck. "Cutting an enemy's arteries -throat, wrist, and -especially for someone as short as you- the inner thigh will cause them to bleed out quickly. They will grow weak and then you will be victorious."

Arya looked nervously at where Candle's razor-sharp edge was hovering just above Mister's Enzo skin. Her dagger was so sharp, she'd nicked herself on it over a dozen times; one sneeze or slip could cut the man to ribbons.

Then it hit her, "B- but if I cut someone open like that, won't they... die?"

Mister Enzo took a long pause, letting go of Arya to rub his goatee. "Yes, probably," he eventually answered, solemn and thoughtful. "If you choose to be a warrior, Arya, it is inevitable that you will kill someone eventually. That first life will be hard, it always is, but those after it will get easier. That being said, do not rush to become a killer and know that, sometimes, fleeing is victory."

'-I don't want to kill any more than I have to.'

She shook her head, "Just leave him, we have to go. I need to get to the docks."

Neither Gendry nor Syrio looked convinced but both gave stiff nods. "I'll take you there," Gendry growled, shouldering the shovel.

"As will I," Syrio agreed before giving Arya a sharp, disapproving look. "I saw you climbing into that carriage from my solar window. What were you thinking going off with someone you didn't know? I've been chasing after you since, took me far too long to catch up. You are too rash, child, and that will be your undoing."

Fighting the urge to roll her tired eyes, Arya just grumbled, "Can you save the lecture until we get someplace safe?"

The city docks were vast and sprawling, a virtual spider's web of interconnecting wooden pathways that led to dozens of different ships both big and small. Even on a colder, cloudy day like today when people avoided the water and the icy sea breeze that came off of it, it was easy to lose yourself in the masses. It was also almost impossible to find a ship you couldn't identify.

"Look for one flying an East Empire Trading Company flag," Arya called over the bustle. "That is the company Jon works for."

"Great," Gendry replied before, after a moment, adding, "what does their flag look like? I've never even heard of that company."

"I know what it looks like," Syrio said. "I got my good brandy from them back in Braavos."

Then, without warning, he forced both Arya and Gendry's head down. "Stay close," he hissed as a group of three city guards passed by, "and keep your eye out for the ship."

"But I don't know-"

Rreeek!

A very familiar bird's cry drew Arya's eye to the top of a nearby signpost on which a very familiar bird was perched.

"Sweet Roll!" she cheered, not even surprised by how happy she was to see the giant bird.

Gendry gawked, "What is that thing?"

"Jon's pet!"

The bone bird didn't seem to like that address, giving an angry squawk before taking flight. For a brief moment, Arya was worried but then Sweet Roll landed on another signpost further down the dock and that was when she got it.

"Follow that bird!" she declared.

"Wha-"

"Just do it," Syrio demanded. "At this point, what do we have to lose?"

Despite her exhaustion and despite her fear, Arya found herself grinning as she started to run after Jon's bird. This was almost over! They were almost safe! She was almost with her family!

But, of course, nothing could ever be easy.

Someone slammed into her, tackling Arya off the dock and into the water below before she or anyone else could even react. She gasped at the shock of hitting the hard, icy water's surface, any breath in her lungs already leaving her. Arms tightened around her as they sank; Arya fought as she could, squirming and kicking, but the cold and the pain and the lack of air and the exhaustion from using so much magic in one day left her drained.

'Not like this!' Arya declared, digging her fingernails into the arm wrapped around her with the last of her strength.

It shouldn't have worked and, yet, she felt herself being released and drifting away from whoever was holding her. Though her dress was dragging her down, Arya managed to turn around... and immediately regretted it.

Old Nan told a lot of stories about monsters and, though Arya always claimed she wanted to see them, that was no longer the case.

It looked like a man-sized lizard with green scales, long tail, and red horns growing out of its head. And it was currently biting a chunk out of her attacker's neck. Blood filling the water, the monster released its victim and reached for Arya.

Arya was a strong swimmer, or, at least, she always thought she was. Turns out, swimming in the hot springs back home in Winterfell was a lot different than swimming in the cold waters of the bay. No matter how hard she kicked and moved, she never seemed to go anywhere and soon felt the strong, scaley grasp of the monster grabbing at her upper arm and hand.

Instinctively, she screamed and by the time Arya realized her mistake, it was too late. Brackish water flooded her throat and filled her lungs and... Arya could breathe.

Of a brief moment, the youngest she-wolf wondered if she was dead; there could be no other reason for Arya to be inhaling water as easily as air. The shock of it all caused Arya to stop her struggling and she found her hand being raised to her face, the monster still clutching it tightly; one of the lizard-man's long, clawed fingers tapped a small glowing ring on her finger that hadn't been there before.

'Is... is it glowing?' she wondered, looking up at her... savior?

"Magic?" she mouthed, getting a nod in response.

'Oh, so he is a good monster,' she realized as the lizard-man pulled her close to its chest and began swimming off. All things considering, swimming underneath the docks and boats while peering up from under the water was really neat.

Shooting up and out of the water at high speeds before landing hard on the wooden deck of a ship, however, was not. Especially once Arya realized that she could no longer breathe and it was COLD!

Arya gasped, clutching at her chest and folding in herself as a gust of wind cut right through her wet dress. The ring was ripped from her finger and, all of a sudden, she was spewing water up all over the deck as her lungs emptied. Even the first new breath of air hurt and left Arya wheezing; this was the first magic she didn't like.

That being said, all the unpleasant was made worth it by the warm, rough tongue that licked across her face.

"Nymeria," Arya cried, wrapping her arms around the direwolf burying her face into the warm fur of the animal's neck. "Oh gods, Nymeria, it has been so awful!"

"I'm sure it has," an older woman cut in. A heavy blanket was wrapped around Arya's shoulders and the woman smiled at her, "My name is Adelaisa, I'm a friend of Jon's, and I take it you're Arya, right?"

The girl nodded, wincing against the wind. Adelaisa frowned, "Let's get you inside, you need dry clothes or hypothermia might start setting in."

"But my-"

"Your friends are safe, they're below deck right now. You just rest."

' Rest,' Arya thought, finally giving in to her exhaustion. 'Yeah, that sounds nice.'

Tywin II

One should never allow the foolish to make their own decisions.

"Cersei!" Tywin roared, throwing open the door to the queen's private quarters. "What is going on?"

His daughter, clad in a glistening floor-length crimson gown and with her hair done up in elaborate braids like she was going to a ball -really, the girl could at least make the effort to put on the show of a grieving widow-, turned from the window and smile sweetly. "Hello, Father, lovely day isn't it? Why aren't you in your room?"

Tywin scowled, angry at the memory of the two guards that had the audacity to demand he say the Lannister quarters. He had set them straight quickly enough; they'd regret their stupidity in the days to come.

"What is going on, Cersei?" he demanded. "Where is Jaime? Where are your brothers?"

"Rest assured, Jaime is safely locked away and far from harm," she answered, staring down into her glass of wine. "As for Tyrion... well, he'll be here soon. I have business with him."

Her tone was calm and dismissive but there was just a hint of giddiness that made it sound like Cersei was very pleased with herself. The little smirk playing on her painted lips added to that. It was in sharp contrast to the ethereal glow given to her by the light of several oil lamps reflecting off the woman's jewelry.

"That isn't an answer, Cersei," Tywin said coldly, stalking towards her. "Answer. Me."

His daughter rolled her eyes like a spoiled child and scoffed, "I'm doing my duty to the family, Father, just as you have always impressed upon me. I've simply taken steps to ensure Joffrey's rise to the throne will occur unimpeded."

"How so?"

"The same way I learned growing up, by removing any obstacles in my path." Then, after a moment, Cersei turned back around to face the window and giggled, a high-pitched girlish thing, "Including one very big obstacle."

'No... she didn't; it was too soon, too messy! Joffrey can't be allowed to take the throne under these circumstances.' Dread filled the Old Lion as he stormed towards his daughter, "Cersei, are you mad? You could ruin us! I taught you better than this!"

"You taught me to do whatever is needed to be done to ensure success," was her smoothly snide reply. "And right now that means getting the heirs to the kingdom under my control and taking out those who would oppose me. It'll be messy, yes, but the right lie here or there should smooth that over. After all, what legacy isn't built on bloodshed?"

"That's enough!" the Lannister Lord snarled. He grabbed Cersei by the shoulder and spun his daughter around, "This ends n-nnnggff."

Hand falling to his side, Tywin glanced down at his chest to where the hilt of a golden, ornamental letter opener was sticking out of his heart. Stumbling backward, crashing into a table and sending everything flying, the Old Lion's mouth began to fill with blood and he looked up at his beaming daughter.

A sickening excitement burning in her green eyes, Cersei smiled at him and took another sip of her wine. "Oh, don't be mad, Father. I'm only doing what you would have."

Vision fading and no longer able to breathe or move, Tywin could only lie there and listen as the door to the room opened.

"Dear sister, I have arrived," Tyrion said mockingly. "What would it be my pleasure to help you with?"

'Joanna, I'm sorry. I couldn't keep my promise.'

Tyrion III

"Dear sister, I have arrived," Tyrion declared mockingly, making a big show of theatrically throwing open the door. "What would it be my pleasure to help you with?"

Cersei rarely summoned him and, when she did, it was usually to berate him for his behavior or to forbid the imp from spending time with her children. Not that being barred from Joffrey's oh so delightful company was a hardship but Myrcella and Tommen were genuinely lovely to be around. Tyrion loved his niece and nephew far more than he loved himself so he just ignored her orders when it came to them.

"So what will it be today, huh?" he asked, strolling inside. "I embarrassed you by getting too drunk at supper? Or perhaps you intend to banish me from the capital for Robert's funeral and Joffrey's..."

There was blood on the floor, a thick, heavy pool of it that was creeping across the floor and soaking into woven rugs and the bed skirt.

'What the...' Tyrion's heart began to beat quicker than he ever thought possible and dread grew in the pit of his stomach as the imp's eyes followed the blood to an unexpected source, the lifeless form of the Warden of the West himself. 'Father?'

"Oh dear," Cersei sighed, wading through their father's blood to rip the blade out of the man's chest. "You got here too soon, I was planning to kill you with some poisoned wine but I guess sometimes you just have to get your hands dirty. At least this way I can be sure you're dead."

"Wait wait wait!" he pleaded, holding up his hands and itching backward towards the door.

Usually perfect hair falling into her flushed face, Cersei clutched the bloody letter opener tightly in both hands and stalked forward. "I've wanted to do this for a long time! I'll put an end to that damned prophecy right now!"

She lunged forward but missed; ironically, the blood of her own victim caused Cersei to slip and fall on her arse. Tyrion used the opportunity to grab a hold of a nearby oil lamp, throwing it on the ground. The lamp shattered, spilling the oil across the room and setting it alight. There was a rush of heat, Cersei started shrieking, and Tyrion turned to run.

'Of the many drawbacks to being an imp, short legs is now at the top of the list!' Tyrion thought, grabbing a hold of a flag pole to help him round a corner without tripping or slowing down.

Finally reaching his room, he slammed the door closed and pulled the safety bar down. For perhaps the first time, Tyrion desperately wished he had less lavish quarters; that would mean they were further from his sister.

"Oh, your back already," Bronn observed, barely even glancing up from the book he was flipping through. "Do you know why the guards are all up-in-arms?"

"My sister just tried to kill me!"

.

.

.

"Oh, well that isn't too surprising," Bronn shrugged. "My family tried to kill each other all the time, it was almost a game; I won in the end though."

Tyrion paused from the clothes he was beginning to throw into a bag to glare at his bodyguard, "That is very unhelpful, thank you. By the way, she also killed our father... though that one is much more understandable; I've certainly had the urge."

"Maybe it was because of your cheery personality?"

"Now that was just rude," the imp snarked, rolling his eyes. "Grab your things, we need to go."

Bronn cocked an eyebrow, "What makes you think I'm going?"

"You're my bodyguard! I'm paying you to protect me!"

"Well, you're not paying me enough to go against the crown." Then the sellsword shrugged and sighed, "It's all about risk vs rewards and you're not worth that much."

'Have you been talking to my father?' Tyrion couldn't help but think. Then he shook that thought away, it wasn't time for parental issues. "How about this risk? My sister won't hesitate to have you executed if you stick around."

"Why, I didn't do anything?" Bronn snapped, incredulously.

"Merely being associated with me is a crime in her eyes," the imp replied, only somewhat lying. "But, if you help me escape, I'll see you are generously compensated."

There was a tense moment where Tyrion could see in the sellsword's eyes that he was playing out different options. Would he decide it was a better idea to just turn Tyrion over to the guards or...

"Alright, but I want a castle," Bronn stated, standing and grabbing his sword and dagger. "I suppose you've got a plan for escape brewing in that big brain of yours?"

"I do!" Tyrion nodded, glad something was finally going right. "I've spent a lot of time mapping out the secret passageways in this castle throughout the years and found that one will let out at a secret beach near the docks."

"...I've heard crazier."

Jon XX

Logic and mathematics dictated that the shortest distance between two points was a straight line and, therefore, the fastest way to get to someplace was to move in said straight line. Of course, that wasn't always possible, plenty of obstacles could obstruct the path, but Jon was less bothered by those than others might be. It may look strange to travel by rooftops but, when possible, Jon preferred it to the regular streets -much less traffic. Still, now that he was getting close to the Pink Lantern it was best to avoid attracting the attention of the hoards of roving city guards. He didn't know if they were in on the coup but he'd also rather not find out.

Dropping down into an alleyway, Jon ducked his head and was seamlessly absorbed into crowds of people going about their regular day. "Excuse me," Jon said to no one in particular, dodging through the throngs of people. "Pardon me."

Finally finding himself at the brothel, he let himself in and ignored the ringing of the bell; not bothering to explain, Jon pushed through the curtain and passed Chataya then was up the stairs to Mhaegen's room, throwing the door open without a word.

As it turns out, the woman was currently entertaining a customer who was quite upset about the interruption.

"What are you-"

The paunchy man's protest was cut off by a solid punch to the jaw that knocked him right out. Turning to a stunned and mostly nude Mhaegen, Jon quickly threw her the closest dress. "It's happening! Grab your daughter and the bag I told you to pack, I need to get you out of here."

The woman's face instantly went white but Mhaegen swallowed hard and nodded as she pulled the silky robe over her head. "My bag is in that wardrobe there, can you grab it while I get Barra?"

Not bothering to wait for an answer, Mhaegen was on her feet and out the door and Jon was left to gather the woman's things -which, almost sadly, was just two blue canvas bags. Swinging both over his shoulder, Jon went to follow Mhaegen but was stopped by a cold-eyed Chataya who grabbed him by the front of his tunic and pulled him close, a long cooking knife pressed to his throat.

"Who are you?" she hissed. "What are you planning to do with Mhaegen and Barra?"

'We don't have time for this,' Jon thought. "My name is Jon and, believe it or not, I'm trying to protect them -she is in danger!"

Chataya frowned, "Why? Who'd hurt such a sweet girl?"

"It's not about her, it is about Barra being the king's child. That makes her the target," Jon explained.

"Yes... that does make sense," the Summer Islander nodded slowly, lowering the knife a little.

"Look, it will pay you twenty gold dragons if you let us go without issue," Jon offered. "I just want to get them to safety."

Surprisingly, the offer made Chataya furious. "You think that just because I run a brothel I think so little of life, so little of my workers? I save those girls from life on the streets! I raised most of them myself! I adore them, they are my responsibility!"

"Chataya, stop!" the recently returned Mhaegen begged as she clutched a squirming Barra to her chest. "Jon is trying to help us."

The woman's dark eyes darted from Mhaegen then to Jon and back again. She opened her mouth to say something only to be cut off but the muffled chiming of the front doorbell followed swiftly by the thudding of someone running up the stairs.

"Mother," Alayaya cried, rushing into the room, "members of the city guard are here, five of them. They're looking for Mhaegen!"

The young mother let out a choked sob and Chataya's face turned firm, "Mhaegen, you and your... friend here need to leave through the rear exit. Go quickly but stay quiet."

Then she gave a warm, gentle pat to Mhaegen's cheek before turning and starting down the stairs, calling out a, "Alayaya, gather up the other girls."

Jon watched them go and Mhaegen grabbed his hand, putting a finger to her lips and began dragging him through the brothel then down a long, narrow staircase. There was a hidden door that let out into the alley behind the building where they could mix themselves with other passersby without much hassle or suspicion.

"We need to go to the harbor," Jon explained as they made their way through the busy streets. "I have a ship there that can get us out of the city."

"Where will it take us?"

Jon had been planning on sending them and all of Robert's other illegitimate children to Skyrim where he knew they'd be safe but instead he shrugged. "Do you have anywhere to go?"

I was probably better or, at least, more comforting, to give ger a choice.

"...No, I don't have anyone."

'Well, that settles it,' he thought. Scanning the crowd, his eyes went wide when he spotted a group of guards approaching. Wordlessly, Jon slipped an arm around Mhaegen's waist and pulled her against him. When she gave him a confused look, he nodded towards the guards. "If they're looking for us, they'll be looking for a man, a woman, and a baby, not a couple and their child. Duck your head and giggle."

Clearly the professional, Mhaegen put on quite the performance and they were able to pass by the patrol without even so much as a glance in her direction.

'We may be able to get there without issue.'

Of course, Jon didn't have that much luck.

"Stop right there, by order of the Queen!"

Damnit! Only three streets away from the docks and the guards had chosen now to stop them. Mhaegen screamed, clutching Barra closer as the guards rushed closer. Without thinking or pausing to consider any potentially... quieter options, Jon stepped forward, waited until they got close enough, and then drew in a deep breath. "YOL TOOR SHUL!"

A massive bloom of fire exploded from Jon's mouth; the warm flames tickling at his lips was almost pleasant if you ignored Mhaegen shriek of fearful surprise, the shouts form confused on-lookers, and the agonizing death wails of the men currently burning alive. But then there was an intense ruthless pain in this throat, it was like he attempted swallowing rusty barbed wire.

'Three shouts in one day is my limit,' Jon noted, rubbing his throat. 'One more and my voice will be out of commission for a while. Any more after that and I'll do serious damage to myself.'

He turned back to Mhaegen and internally wilted at the terrified look on her face. Jon held up a calming hand and croaked out, "Get to the ship and I'll explain later."

She didn't look all that reassured and, hells, Jon couldn't blame her. But, lacking any obvious better options, Mhaegen gave a stiff nod and they continued on, watching him out of the corner of her eye. They rounded a final corner and the city buildings gave way to the sight of the gray sky about the city harbor.

A relieved smile breaking out across her beautiful face, Mhaegen started to jog ahead. "We made it!"

Jon flashed her a bright smile and started scanning the sprawling interconnected web of docks, trying to spot the gleaming mahogany deck of the Bell Singer and ignoring the metallic tang of blood in his mouth. 'I've never come this way before. Let's see, it was docked at the east end of the harbor and next to-"

"AHHH!"

Jon spun around, hand going for his sword as a rage rushed through his body at the sight of a guard -his armor half melted to his body and remaining exposed skin black and red with ash and burns- holding Mhaegen by the hair. He wasn't even saying anything, just thrashing her around from side to side as the woman desperately attempted not to drop poor Barra.

"Get your hands off-"

He didn't even get the chance to finish his threat when a dagger was plunged into his temple and the man was knocked aside, Mhaegen freeing herself from his grip and running to Jon's side. Where there once stood a half-melted man and his hostage there was now only one figure -Ser Barristan Selmy.

"Ser Barristan," Jon gasped.

The old knight smiled pleasantly, "Hello Jon, I see things have gotten a little messy. I hope I can be of some assistance."

Mhaegen's hand gripped Jon's shirt and she whispered out a fearful, "Jon, he's a member of the Kingsguard."

"Ex-member, actually," Ser Barristan corrected gently. "I was 'relieved' of my position by the Queen earlier this morning."

Jon gave the man a confused look, "But... I thought the Kingsguard served for life?"

"So did I but Cersei clearly had a different idea," the old knight with an exaggerated sigh. "And, seeing as I am no longer honor-bound to serve the throne, I am free to assist you in your endeavors."

Swallowing hard against the pain in his throat, Jon grinned, "Right now our only endeavor is getting on my friend's ship."

"Well, it would be my genuine pleasure to escort you there."

"By the Nine, more people?" Adelaisa asked incredulously, eyes wide at their little group even as she waved them on board. "Including a baby!"

"Long story," Jon sighed, feeling absolutely drained and hoping he'd get a nap in before he had to start explaining everything.

"One I'm gonna be hearing soon, no doubt," the older woman grumbled before ordering the gangplank to be pulled up.

"Wait!" Jon shouted, the word catching in his torn throat. "There are still people I need to get to safety."

"No, you don't."

"Enzo!"

His giant friend gave Jon a tired smile that didn't quite reach his sad eyes. "Everyone is here... everyone we could save, that is; there is even more than we planned for."

Jon's heart skipped a beat, 'Everyone we could save? Please, whoever is listening, let Arya be okay!'

He swallowed hard, "Then it is time to set sail. Adelaisa?"

"Right!"

And with that, the captain was giving the orders to start setting off. Jon all but collapsed against the bridge, sliding down to the deck and closing his eyes, daring to hope it was almost over.

"We're being followed! Ships coming up on our Port Quarter!" Veehsi Cadaresh rashed, his scales shining even in the dim sunlight.

Jon's eyes snapped open and he was regrettably on his feet in an instant, rushing towards the stern of the Bell Singer. Coming up to Adelaisa's side his eyes scanned the horizon and Jon's mouth went dry -three large fast battleships flying the royal colors were approaching.

"Those are part of the royal navy fleet," Ser Barristan, who'd gotten over the shock of meeting an Argonian for the first time impressively quickly, noted.

"Any chance we can outrun them?" Jon asked Adelaisa who shook her head with a grave headshake.

"No, this ship is built for long-distance travel and to withstand bad weather, not speed or an intense battle," the woman explained.

Ser Barristan gripped at his sword hilt, an action that was undoubtedly an old, deeply engraved habit by now. "Should we prepare to be boarded?"

"That is probably for the best," Adelaisa. "My men can fight and we have five battlem-"

"No," Jon declared, cutting the captain off. "We have too many civilians aboard to risk a battle."

A small, knowing smirk growing on her face Adelaisa asked, "Are you proposing what I think you are?"

Jon gave a nod, "Make sure those who can are ready to throw the shields up. As for everyone else, get anyone who isn't critical to sailing the ship below deck and tell them not to get nervous -we're getting to our guests get a little bit closer."

And with just a few swift commands, Adelaisa's loyal crew sprung into motion. Ser Barristan was ushered below deck -best not to overload him on the whole 'magic' thing just yet- despite his insistence that he stay and fight. Her six battlemages, all retired from the Legion, spread out on the deck, ready to raise magical shields to protect the Bell Singer when the time came. All while Jon kept his dark eyes fixed on the approaching vessels.

The wait was agonizing but sooner than Jon would have preferred.

"Jon?"

"Hold onto something, Adelaisa," he warned. Then the Last Dragonborn shouted out towards the heavens, "STRUN BAH QO!"

In the blink of an eye, it was as if a portal to hell opened in the sky above them. The already overcast clouds turned ominously dark and the heavy downpour started as the battlemages raised their shields in a dome over the Bell Singer. Brutal winds kicked up deadly waves that tossed and turned every ship in the water. But even they were only a minor danger in comparison to the powerful bolts of lightning that lashed out like a god's anger.

Jon could only watch on as the first ship sank, then the second, and finally the third was claimed by the watery depths. Lost to the cold waters for years to come, maybe even forever. Bad as the destruction was, it would have been far worse if he'd used this shout on land -that was the reason Jon only ever called forth the destruction of the storm as the last resort.

"LOK VAH KOOR!"

The storm seised away. The winds stopped. The waves calmed. The sky cleared. Jon leaned over the guardrail and spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva as his throat burned.

'I need a nap.'

There was a babe in a silver cradle cooing its little heart out. Hovering above the cradle was a young girl, maybe a little older than ten, with long silver-golden hair. Hesitantly, she reached a hand out to stroke the babe's foot, causing it to kick a little leg out.

"So I can safely assume that you like your little brother?" The question came from a beautiful woman with braided silver hair and warm violet eyes who giggled when the girl jolted back from the cradle, tucking both arms behind her back.

"Well, I guess he's cute," she said, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet. Then her eyes fixed on the ornate box the woman was carrying, "Is that it, Mother?"

The woman, the mother, held the box out to her daughter, "Why don't you open it and find out?"

A bright, pearly grin split across the girl's face as her tiny hands opened out and pulled out a glorious prize -a dragon's egg.

Tan in color with shimmering waves of gold, the girl gasped at it in delight. "I've never gotten to hold one before!"

"Amazing, isn't it?" the woman agreed. "You must be the one to put it in your brother's cradle, Rhaena."

"Why?"

"Because you are a Targaryen and I am not," the mother explained, smoothing a hand over her daughter's hair. "Now, go on."

Handling the egg with near reverence, Rhaena put the egg in the cradle with her brother. The task complete, mother and daughter gathered close and watched as the babe wiggled about; he rolled to the side, grasping at the egg, and eventually getting his tiny, uncoordinated arms around it.

"Waaaa!"

"Jae's hurt!" Rhaena gasped, lunging forward to take the egg away.

Her mother stopped her thought, pulling the girl back and pointing, "Watch. See how he reacts?"

For a moment, the babe waves its arms around -blood flowing from small cuts made in his soft flesh by the egg's rough, jagged exterior- before once more wrapping his arms around it's cradle-mate, smearing blood along the shell.

"Your father says this is a test, that this is how they test all newborn Targaryens. If a babe turns away from the pain, turns away from the egg, then the egg will not hatch. But, if they are strong and stay latched to their egg then the warmth of their body and power in their blood will cause it to hatch."

"Is that true, Mother?"

"Oh, I don't know, Sweetling," the woman said, pulling the girl to her side. "It might be... but it could also just be a little fable to strengthen the house words."

"Fire and Blood," Rhaena whispered. "Fire and blood are what birth dragons."

'Fire and Blood.'

Those words rang clear and strong in Jon's mind as his eyelids fluttered open, taking in the darkness of his and Enzo's shared -extremely cramped, it was only made for one person and their bunks were nearly on top of each other- cabin. There was no way of knowing how late or early in the day it was, he could tell that he was alone.

Sitting up, Jon was almost immediately overtaken by a fit of coughing. Covering his mouth, he let the fit work itself out as he tried to ignore the deep, burning pain in his throat; once it was finished, Jon glanced down at his hands and winced at the speckles of blood that dotted them.

The power of the Thu'um was a great, terrible thing and wasn't to be taken lightly. Esbern once off-handedly told him a story about a Dragonborn who got too greedy with its power and ended up overexerting himself to the power his final Shout ripped the man's body apart, seemed to find the tale quite humorous. Jon disagreed.

When asked, Arngeir assured him that such an event didn't sound possible but also warned that, until his body's endurance to the power of the Thu'um, Jon needed to be careful how often he used shouts, less he risk losing his voice entirely.

Pushing all that to the side, Jon pulled himself from his bed and -limbs still heavy with sleep- and grabbed his dagger from under his pillow then made his way over to his stacks of luggage. He shifted through the trunks and bags until he found the one he was working for; there, nestled among the piles of his parents' letters, papers, and journals, was his three dragon eggs.

The Bell Singer's cabins each came with a little fireplace to ward off the chill of long nights on the ocean; it was a luxury only made possible by a clever bit of magic that kept any unruly flames from leaping out and devouring the boat home. It was in the burning embers of his fireplace that Jon arranged the three eggs, packing them with a few more pieces of wood.

Once they were comfortable, he held his left arm over the growing fire and, after a deep breath, cut a deep slice along his forearm. Blood flowed freely from the wound, hissing when it hit the flames and coating each egg.

'Blood and Fire,' Jon thought, healing the cut. 'That is how dragons are made.'

Next Chapter: The fallout of Cersei's coup is felt throughout the Kingdom, especially the survivors, but she isn't the only force out in the wildest of Westeros.

1) It might have been better to cut this into 2 separate chapters... oh well, nothing to do about it now.

2) Just to be clear, I know nothing about boats or sailing.

3) So a couple of you were actually able to get the origins of Enzo's name right. CONGRATULATIONS! He was named after Enzo Matrix from the cartoon series ReBoot. It's really good and is currently on Amazon Prime, I highly recommend watching it -especially season 3.

4) There are a couple of other shout-outs to different nerdy things sprinkled through the chapters too. For example, there is a reference to Assassin's Creed in chapter 4 and a nod to Pennywise the Dancing Clown in chapter 13. I've been trying to work in a One Piece reference too but haven't found the place yet.