Turom Myer was an Ironborn captain of middle age, with a flowing beard and deep-set, beady eyes in a face that showed the wear of a life spent at sea. Like most Ironborn, he disdained the normal sailor's fear of drowning and wore heavy chain mail along with a large helmet. At his side, waiting for the action to begin, was a large hafted spear. His family's coat-of-arms, ten nooses on a shield of white marked by a blood red edge, was painted proudly on his ship's sails.
He was the younger brother of the head of his house, whose name was Jon. Though Turom was a better fighting man than his brother, he knew he was nowhere near as smart. Turom had long chaffed under the fact his house was a vassal to their old time foes, Harlaw. He, like his brother and their sometimes ally, Euron Greyjoy, wished to return to the days of glory, when the Ironborn took what they willed when they willed.
That was why he and his personal ship, the Undertow, were here. The trade between Essos and Westeros was rich, the women of Essos made good salt wives, and the rest of their goods were valuable as well. Plus, the Essos city states didn't seem willing to chase him so long as he stayed well away from their fat, useless cities. This would be the fourth ship he had taken since arriving in these waters and not a one of them had put up much of a fight.
He looked up in surprise as his lookout felt out of the crow's nest with a cry, landing with a splat on the deck. He laughed. "Looks like the soft Essos pussies have found someone with a spine, boys! Let's see how well he can do when we feed him a foot of steel!"
His crew roared back at him in agreement, both the men readying themselves for the initial push onto the other ship and the half working the longship's oars. Once they had a few grapnels in the other ship, the oarsmen on that side would join their fellows first, followed by the others while the two ships were tied together. Everyone would have a chance to bloody their blades and win some glory.
He laughed as more arrows fell, most of them missing, others being blocked by the shields of his men, though a few fell. All the better, the portions of the spoils would be more for those who survived and death in battle, even by arrows like this, were worthy deaths in the eyes of the Drowned God.
He continued to laugh as the first grapnels flew out, then there was a cry, one that he hadn't heard since he and the other Ironborn rose in rebellion against the Iron Throne. "Winter is Coming!" And suddenly the easy victory Turom had envisioned disappeared.
OOOOOOO
Ranma didn't wait for the Ironborn to come fully alongside, seeing the Raiders ready their grapnels he raced to the back of the ship where the Ironborn were coming from. Knocking aside a few of the grapnels as they came in Ranma then leaped across the five yards of open water to land aboard the Ironborn ship, his hands both holding one of his katars. "Winter is Coming!"
The nearest Ironborn spent a few precious seconds gaping at the man who was performing this acrobatic act, then charged him as he landed aboard their ship. Four of them died before they could even raise their swords, his katars punching through their chain mail armor with ease.
The next few were better prepared and came forward with their shields high and their swords lashing out. Soon, Ranma was in the middle of a melee on the deck of the Ironborn ship but despite his best efforts the ship was still being propelled forward by the rowers on either side of the longship and coming alongside the caravel.
Several more ropes were hurled across to tie the two boats together so that the Ironborn could pull the ships into contact, their oars on that side pulled in expertly at the same time. But before they could finish this maneuver, Fenris followed his master. With a snarl, the giant direwolf leaped across the space between the ships, slamming into the shields of the few Ironborn from the initial group ready to board the caravel that hadn't already been pulled into combat with Ranma.
When their blades struck Fenris, they found to their shock and dismay that his coat turned their blades. Ranma had spent every evening he could teaching Fenris how to armor his fur like Ranma could his skin. He had been able to learn to do it, though he couldn't do it for very long.
For this battle, it would be enough. With a howl, Fenris was in and among the humans before they could reform their shield wall, snarling and lashing out with paws that smashed aside men and jaws that could bite through mail. A few tried to move up behind him, only to find that his hind legs were just as strong as his forelegs, a kick lashing back quickly and smashing faces or bodies as he leapt around.
For his part, Ranma was simply too fast. He was nicked in a few places but that was all. While his katars couldn't match the range of the Ironborn's longswords, they allowed him to use his full range of mobility. Even in the middle of battle, a few Ironborn had first looked at the odd weapons quizzically but that quizzical state passed quickly as they saw the somewhat short, triangle shaped blades slamming point first through chain mail easily and even once finding the eye-opening of a helmet.
The men aboard the caravel had not been idle. They were shooting into the ferocious melee occurring on the Ironborn ship, aimed fire now that they could fire straight over the shields that the Ironborn put up on the sides of their ships to protect the crew somewhat while they closed. Despite none of them being trained archers, they hey killed many of the outriders of the melee before they were attacked by several Ironborn, who split off from the battle occurring around Ranma and Fenris to assault the free trader, pulling the ships into contact with one another, then throwing themselves across the gunnels with a roar. Whether that was eagerness to get into the fight or because they were running away from the two monsters in their midst was debatable.
More men poured out from the longship's hold, and soon the entire crew of Ironborn was engaged in either attacking Ranma and Fenris or attacking the crew of the caravel but Fenris had done his job even better than his master. Without the force necessary for that initial rush onto the other ship's deck, the Ironborn found themselves matched against two or even three defenders at a time and were unable to break through the defense of the caravel.
With Ranma and Fenris firmly ensconced on the longship, breaking up any attempt to create an actual wedge to drive onto the other ship, the battle was slowly going against the Ironborn. They didn't realize it at first, being too busy trying to fight off the two insane monsters in their midst, but the sailors of the trading ship could feel it, and it heartened them despite their own losses.
Turom himself tried to spear Ranma, slamming his spear forward toward what he hoped was a weak point in the creature's armor; no way could this be a human, after all. But Ranma ducked aside, one katar slashing out to cut into the shaft of the spear, slicing through it and continuing to slice into the captain's shoulder.
The man grunted in agony but his other hand quickly pulled out his short sword and he tried to stab Ranma. Ranma blocked it with his other katar even as his leg lashed out at another Ironborn, catching him and throwing him into two more. He then spun away from another spear thrust, still with one katar locked with the other man's sword.
The captain tried to head butt him but Ranma also wore a helmet and slammed his own head forward with as much strength as he could. The captain flew backwards, his neck broken and his helmet smashed from the force of the blow.
"Winter is Coming!" Ranma shouted again with Fenris now howling in support. That howl seemed to break something in the remaining Ironborn, touching a very primitive part of their brains and invoking terror. Now they were no longer trying to fight back against Ranma and Fenris. No, they were hacking at the ropes tying them to the caravel, trying to get away. Fenris and Ranma, however, were still there, still fighting, still killing.
The crew of the caravel sensing the turn of the tide finished the Ironborn on the trading ship's deck then charged over the gunnels themselves. They hacked down the Ironborn who had been trying to chop away at the ropes then began to push the reavers back.
Nevertheless, the Ironborn did not give up. They well knew what awaited them caught in the act of piracy like this and it was better to go to the Drowned God in battle then to be executed or sold into slavery in one of the Free Cities. Several of them decided to offer themselves up personally, tossing themselves over the side of their ship, sinking quickly thanks to their armor.
About twenty minutes later the battle was over. The last Ironborn fell to the deck, gutted by a particularly swarthy sailor who grinned as he went about his work.
When the last Ironborn fell, Ranma sighed, looking around at the butchered Ironborn crew. In this kind of battle, Ranma knew he'd had basically every advantage above and beyond his own skill and strength. He had better weapons, although the Ironborn's swords had given them better reach but their shields had offset that by hampered their mobility and his armor and ki techniques to strengthen it had allowed him to take far more punishment. He was more mobile in an enclosed space like the deck of the ship, which was also too small for anyone to create any kind of formation against him, and far too small to get away from him to use bows.
Worse, the Ironborn, for all their ferocity, weren't really trained as Ranma understood the term. Oh, they had learned how to use their weapons well enough. They might even have been decent against a comparable force but they didn't know how to work well as a unit together, they fought as individuals, getting in one another's way a lot of the time once they were on the defensive.
Then Fenris was added into the deal. His size, ferocity, and his immunity to their weapons had terrified the Ironborn, who would've stood undaunted against Ranma by himself.
Though his ki-enhanced toughness hadn't lasted for the entire fight. Ranma could tell he had taken a few slashes and one on his side, in particular, looked like it might leave a scar and he was favoring one of his back legs, where he had taken a blow from a maul.
Fenris shook himself, covered with blood and ichor, lips wrinkling in distaste as he licked away some blood along his mouth. He moved gingerly over to his bonded master, nudging his head against Ranma's shoulder, whining lightly. "Yeah." Ranma said, shaking his head. "It's kind of always like this after a battle."
The two of them left the cleanup to the crew of the caravel, all of whom were now staring in mixed awe and fear at the two of them. He stalked through the ship to his room, Fenris padding after him. The door was barred and only opened when he said "It's me." in a loud voice.
Obara opened the door quickly, looking at him and Fenris in shock of the amount of blood splattered over them. "You won?"
"Yeah." Ranma said shaking his head as he moved past her, ignoring Arianne even as he stripped off his armor, dropping it to the ground not noticing the rivulets of blood seeping out of his clothing and trailing from the armor where it landed. All Ranma wanted right now was a bath and to forget, for a time at least, that the last hour or so had ever happened. "We won."
OOOOOOO
Edmure stretched his shoulders as he dismounted from his horse, keeping tight hold of the reins of the stallion as it tried to jolt away from him. It had been a gift from his father and Edmure had trained it himself but the animal still had a fractious attitude, made worse by the pace they had set. He and his men had used barges as often as they could, cutting down on the time to King's Landing a lot, but he had still set a hard pace when they were on horse.
He looked up from doing that as Lord Stark and his uncle came towards them smiling in welcome. "Uncle!" Edmure said happily, moving forward to pull the older man into a hug. "It's good to see you."
Whatever problem lay between the Brynden and Hoster had never stretched to the children. That problem had begun decades ago when Brynden had refused his father making a match for him with Lady Olenna Redwyne. Now, with Olenna having earned the name Queen of Thorns, that seemed like a very good idea indeed, at least on a personal level.
Politically, it would've been a major advantage for Riverrun, which was why Hoster had made it, but Brynden had always maintained that his older brother had no right to make his marriage for him. In their youth, both men were hotheaded and words were said that could not be unsaid during that confrontation. Brynden had left Riverrun and had not spoken with his older brother since.
"Edmure." Brynden replied. "We weren't expecting you, any particular reason for this visit?"
Despite his youth and headstrong nature, Edmure had a decent idea of how the game of politics was played, so said in a loud voice. "Well my father has been sort of irritated with me lately, says I need to liven up my ideas." He scowled theatrically, which he would be remonstrated for later. After all, there was no need to be a ham about it. "So he sent me here so that Lord Stark and the King could be examples for me."
He went on in a much quieter voice. "I'm also supposed to meet with Ranma and see if we can become acquaintances. While your marriage to my sister makes you family to us, Lord Stark, a stronger bond between Riverrun and Winterfell could only be a good thing."
Ned nodded, and waved his hands towards the Hand's Tower. "Let us get some food, and we can set your men up in the barracks."
About five minutes later, Edmure sat down in the family area of the tower with his uncle and Lord Stark. "How many men did you bring with you?"
Edmure grabbed up the glass of wine in front of him, sipping at it for a moment before answering. He frowned, looking around and down at the staircase leading up into the family area, one eyebrow raised. Ned nodded and made his way over to make certain that no one could be listening from the stairwell. After that, he came back and Edmure answered quickly. "I brought another hundred men from Riverrun. My father thinks there's going to be trouble here, and sent us to aid you, however we may. I had them enter the city over the past few days with myself and the thirty men with me coming last."
"Good thinking." Brynden grinned slapping the younger man on the shoulder. With those men, they made up the men lost to the punitive expedition and many more besides. "We may need you and them here before long." The two older men exchanged a glance.
When Eddard spoke, he sounded almost reluctant to share anything but he was willing to share enough to put the younger man on his guard. The central accusation against the Queen was too terrible to share with anyone, not until it could be proven. "The corruption in King's Landing was utterly appalling." he began, shaking his head. "The kingdom is still in debt despite my best efforts this past while and we still don't know precisely how but we're leaning towards someone stealing money from the treasury when and how they could. We haven't cleared anyone of that accusation yet, up to and including the Queen."
That made Edmure blanch but Ned continued. "The Lannister influence in the town is still much too great, in my opinion, though we've done a good job thus far in trying to cut that back. However, it may well come to a physical confrontation eventually, even with the Queen not willing to take part. She is not the only Lannister here nor is she her father's representative."
Edmure looked dubious; surely influence like that would not be enough to cause open conflicts to break out in the city. Ned could understand his dubiousness but if the accusation about the children or at least about Joffrey was true, the Queen would face death for treason and desperate people often act irrationally. "Surely, the Gold Cloaks would help you, you're the Hand, you speak for the king!"
"The gold cloaks are still full of corrupt officers and other men, despite my getting rid of their commander." Ned smiled, he had managed that, at least, and Janos had gone with a ship full of new Night's Watchmen up to the wall, along with another ship full of Tyrion's cargo and the alchemists to tend to it. "We're not certain who they would answer to in a crisis, though they should respond to the King's call for aid."
"And the King himself? What does he think of all this?"
Loath as he was to speak ill of his friend, Eddard had to admit the truth. "Robert doesn't care for politics or the small counsel. It's all I can do to make him care about the kingdom being in debt at all, which has somewhat curtailed his antics, at least. He spends most of his time hunting and carousing, that's pretty much it."
Ned was no longer willing to turn a blind eye to his friend's faults, not since Robert had agreed to send Ranma away at what could be a wild dragon chase. He could now see what had become of Robert once he put the Crown on his head and did not like it. Still, he was the King and, as such, was the center of the government. The Queen's influence over him was minimal, at best, but her control of him, her ability to steer him was extremely well honed.
He said so and Edmure scowled. "I hadn't known his carousing had gotten to that point. It's no secret that he jumps from bed to bed. The Queen is both a figure of pity and japery for that but I didn't realize that he had pushed all of his duties on to you, Lord Stark."
"According to Robert, this is what the Hands does, shoveling the shit so that the King can smell the roses." Ned said dryly, causing both other men to laugh. "I doubt I'm the first Hand to say something like that, anyway."
"Regardless, we're here to help if it comes to it, though it's a wrench. I had hoped to be told to just keep going and meet up with the men heading out to fight the damn bandits raiding out from the Westerlands." Edmure said, shrugging his shoulders. "Still, if you need us here, there's no arguing with it. But what have you been up to, uncle?"
"Oh, quite a few things." Brynden replied smiling thinly. "We'll be getting you up to speed as quickly as possible, and then…"
OOOOOOO
That evening, Ned Stark smiled faintly as he leaned back, swishing the single glass of wine he allowed himself. He normally wouldn't be that abstemious but watching his old friend drinking himself into an early grave these past months had impacted his own preferences greatly. "Off on another hunt, then?"
"Soon as we're done here." Robert answered nodding his head. "That stag is still around, my huntsmen says. I'll run it to ground eventually!" He guffawed loudly. "Best fun I've had in weeks! And it'll be another month or so before we hear back from the expedition forces sent out against those bandits raiding across the borders between the Westerlands and the Riverlands so I've naught to do for a time."
"True, but that is not what we are here to talk about is it?" Eddard asked looking at his old friend smiling still faintly, not willing to point out there was indeed a lot of work the King should have been working on. They had healed the rift between them somewhat, though they remained a little more distant than previously since Ranma had been sent off. They simply didn't talk about such subjects but it remained between them unspoken. Still, Robert knew that he could trust Ned's loyalty to the Crown and to him.
The King nodded. "I'm ready to make my decision about that, yes. It's been a week and a half now and Tommen hasn't shown any sign of backsliding. Oh," Robert waved his hand airily. "He spends too much time with his books, sister, and mother still but that can be fixed over time."
He laughed, shaking his head. "He's certainly a better fit for the Crown than Joffrey is! That boy's older but he's not wiser, and…" Robert shook his head cutting the thoughts off. He hadn't seen any sign of his oldest son going back to the cruel ways he had as a child but they still remained in Robert's mind whenever he looked at the boy. "That," he said, looking up at Ned, "and the fact that he will look to you as a guide as well as to me. Joffrey looks to his mother too much."
Robert had never liked the way that his wife coddled all three of her children but at least Tommy was trying to step away from her shadow, whereas Joffrey seemed perfectly willing to lean on Lannister men for everything. Robert had also continued his ham-handed way of getting close to his youngest son and had succeeded, for the most part. They were now much closer than they had ever been before and Robert was now actually happy to call Tommen his son.
"Good." Ned nodded. "I don't wish to say anything about your oldest but by this point in his life, Joffrey should at least have some knowledge of logistics, land management, and so on, rather than how to move in court, how to dress, and how to conform himself in parties. Those are important, I suppose…" Ned said almost as if he was forcing the words out, which caused Robert to guffaw, though he agreed with the sentiment. "But he simply isn't ready to be King or even the leader really. Tommen, on the other hand, shows promise and is young enough that we can start teaching him what he needs to know in time for him to take over from you when you pass on."
"Hah!" Robert laughed. "I'm not planning to pass on anytime soon but you're right, Tommy will respond better to further learning. Joffrey is too set in his ways by this point. I'll make the official announcement in a few days' time, though I'll have to beard the lioness in her den first."
"Agreed, it would be best not to spring this on Her Majesty. Far better all-around, I think." Ned replied nodding his head, not mentioning the fact that the wine and ale his friend was even now sloshing down his throat would kill him before long unless he cut back. But Robert was also too set in his ways, something he had in common with Joffrey, though Ned wasn't going to point that out.
Moments later, the King left for the hunt once more. Ned headed up the stairs to his desk, sighing as he girded his loins once more to battle with the dreaded paperwork.
Neither man saw the servant who had been listening at the key hole. She had previously been a scullery maid in the kitchen of the tower, but had since taken up other jobs as needed, which had allowed her run of the Tower.
OOOOOOO
Numb. That was all Daenerys felt, just numb, leeched of all emotion for the moment. She had tried so hard to think of a way to get away from her older brother's mad plans and her upcoming marriage to Khal Drogo. Yet, it had all come down to this. The Khal was one week's ride away from Pentos and she was to be presented up to him upon his second day in the city. They were to be wed immediately or as soon as could be contrived, considering that the barbarians insisted on having their own ceremony out on the plains. She was out of time and no opportunity to escape that presented itself.
Over the past two weeks, Daenerys had been going out of her way to try and ingratiate herself to Illyrio, trying to show that she was a better candidate for queenship than her brother was for kingship. Unfortunately, Illyrio knew that they needed more men and that the Dothraki could be their main force, if she married the Khal. Therefore, he was unwilling to even think of changing that plan.
"I know it's a hardship," Viserys said consolingly as he lightly stroked her arm, though the smirk on his face went poorly with his tone. Of course, he had been the one to come and tell her about the Khan's upcoming arrival. "But think on this, sweet sister, you will be doing your part as best you can for our cause. With the Dothraki behind us we will sweep any open field and, with the connections we've gotten elsewhere, we will have an infantry army to take any castles we need to."
His eyes shone with fervor as he exclaimed, "With the ships we've ordered, we can have a force of barbarians in King's Landing within a month and when King's Landing falls the rest of Westeros will bow to us or face our conquering hordes!"
Daenerys shuddered a little at the light in his eyes, as well as the touch on her arm. "I'm sure you think so, Viserys. Yet, if there is one thing I've learned since studying here in Illyrio's library, it is that warfare is never so simple as those who have not experienced it believe. And there is no such thing as certainty in that kind of chaos." She said coolly trying to move away from him but his touch on her arm suddenly became a grip on her bicep.
Viserys scowled a little at her negativity but then smiled, leaning forward. "You know," he murmured looking down at her body lustily, "you don't have to go to this barbarian with no knowledge of the carnal arts. Even though your brides-head needs to stay intact, I could give you some sweet memories to hold in your heart as he ruts with you, sister."
While this comment was mostly a continuance of Viserys flirting with his sister, as he had done most of their lives following the Targaryen tradition of incest, it was also fueled by Daenerys' body. She was well on her way to what would be an astonishingly beautiful womanhood. Her breasts were more than a handful already and her hips were that of a dancer. Pale of skin, wide luminescent purple eyes, a gorgeous face with high cheekbones, small, yet pouty lips, framed by the silver colored hair that was another mark of their family.
There was not a mark or blemish on her, save for one or two scars that Viserys had given her, one above one eye, and another on her bare forearm. When he looked at them, Viserys found himself feeling proud of that. His sister might be going off to be wed to give him the force he needed to reclaim his throne but when the Khal made her bleed, she would already bear the marks he gave her.
"I think not." Daenerys said moving back again and Viserys' face went from a smirk to a scowl. His other hand made to come up and touch her breasts despite her protests causing Daenerys to flinch back.
Thankfully, at least in this instance, Illyrio's forward thinking work in Daenerys' favor. One of the massive women that guarded Daenerys stepped forward. Viserys might have put on some weight and he had been training extensively with some of the guards in swordsmanship during the mornings but he was nowhere near the weight of these women. The woman gestured him away from Daenerys, one hand dropping to her heavy, almost cleaver-like blade at her waist.
The Crown Prince of House Targaryen glared angrily at the woman but released his sister, thrusting her away from him. "In a week's time you'll wish you had such memories to bolster you, Daenerys." he said laughing coldly. "The barbarians think themselves horses in truth, they don't make love with their wives; they just mount them!" With a laugh he turned, leaving Daenerys to shiver and shake for a moment.
The door remained open after her brother flounced out and, looking through it, Daenerys saw Domeric moving past her the doorway. He nodded solemnly at her. Daenerys took a deep breath, gaining control of herself and waving off the massive woman who was looking at her sternly.
Daenerys straightened her shoulders, visibly throwing off the effect of her brother's visit and then tapped three fingers as if it was a nervous tick against her thigh before moving further into her room. Three nights, no more, and, come what may, Daenerys was going to try to escape. Without any of the captains she knew in port, she didn't have much hope of them getting away but she was still bound and determined to try.
OOOOOOO
Jon ducked, using his sword to block before bring up his free hand to grab Arya's elbow when she failed to recover quickly enough. He slipped his foot in between her own, then heaved, throwing her to the ground with ease. Before she could rise, his sword point (he was only using one at present since she had disarmed him of the other in a rather neat parry) was at her throat. "Don't over extend. You're too small and too weak to go for all that over the top crap. Economic movements, constantly moving from place to place, that is the way you need to fight. You got overconfident when you disarmed me of one of my weapons, don't make that mistake again."
A moment later, he had retrieved his blade and smirked over at her. "Again!" he said, stepping back, raising both swords in a stance that Ranma had taught him, one sword pointed forward held waist high, the other in a guard position higher up his chest.
Arya pounded the ground with her free hand but rose quickly to her knees and, moving up faster than most would've thought she could, bounded towards him. At the last instant, she ducked aside, avoiding trying to go sword to sword with Jon, her own sword, a practice blade made to be as light as Fang, flicking out at Jon's legs. Jon was forced to dodge backwards and before he could set himself, Arya was once again on him, flicking this way and that, using her mobility and smaller stature to badger him from all sides as best she could.
Jon laughed and nodded. "Yes exactly, that's it! Keep moving, don't stand still, don't try to go sword to sword with me again." But with his twin blades, Jon was able to fend her attacks off, moving her this way and that, until once again she made a mistake. One of her feet was just barely out of position to allow her to dodge if Jon went on the attack.
He did so ruthlessly, now hounding Arya in turn. She couldn't get herself set again, and after a few more parries Jon smacked Arya's blade off to one side, his other practice sword coming up to smack against her inner arm, causing her to drop her sword. A shoulder smacked into her chest, tossing Arya once more onto her rear.
"Much better." Jon laughed thrusting his twin swords into the ground before reaching down to lift Arya up easily. "Well done. If you can keep up with me for that long, you're almost as good as any of the wolfsworn." That was a bit of an overstatement, actually. It would be at least another few months before Arya could make that claim but Jon knew if she could hold out against him, she was well down that road.
While Jon knew he didn't come close to Ranma, after all, the cheater had an entire other life of experiences to call upon, Jon felt he was probably better than any of the other blades of the kingdom possibly even Jaime Kingslayer. He wished, sometimes wistfully, sometimes eagerly, for the opportunity to put that to the test at some point in the future.
Arya grinned and hugged her brother fiercely. She loved this! Now that her mother was busy with the new baby (who wouldn't be named until their father came home), there was no one to stop Arya from hanging out with Jon as much as she could, exercising and training with him and the men-at-arms he was training.
The first two 'echelons', as Jon called them, had been trained already and had moved out in small squads to train the men of the minor lords who looked personally to House Stark as well as those of House Cerwyn. Arya didn't know the totality of the numbers or why the training had been decided on, with its emphasis on endurance and working together. But she was slowly coming to the understanding that Jon, her father, and her other favorite brother, Ranma, had made plans for this kind of training long before and Jon had simply jumped on the opportunity offered by the troubles up north and possible troubles down south to implement it.
"What's next?" she asked eagerly almost bouncing in place.
"Next," Jon said sternly, "you have some lessons with Maester Luwin to get to. After that, you can come back and you and I will go on a bit of a hunting expedition." He smiled, looking at her disconsolate face. She brightened up immediately and he laughed. "Mikken has already finished the bows. Apparently working with the bones of the lizard lion was much easier than working with the armor. You and I can try ours out before I send Theon his."
Jon smirked grimly. A message had arrived a few days ago from White Harbor about how Theon had already proven his worth to the convoys going up to the Wall. The gift of a new bow made from lizard line bones would fit the archer of the wolfsworn quite well.
Arya nodded and the two of them silently moved over to put their practice swords away. Around them, sixty men who had been watching the exercise of the two Starks, moved forward to take their places, going through strength exercises. Half of them were wielding large pikes, practicing thrusting them forward as a group and moving in formation. After that, they would go on a march for the rest of the day wearing heavy weighted packs.
The others were being taught by several others on how to fire a bow. Of course, they all knew how to do this already. Most northern smallfolk hunting on the side for their food but there was a difference between using a bow for hunting and using it in battle. While hunting, you needed an archer's eye and the skill to find your target. In battle, speed was more important than specific targets. This put much more strain on the bowman's upper body, which needed to be built up.
As they were finishing up, Arya looked up at her bigger brother. "Jon," she paused and looked much more like a young girl than she normally did, her wild nature suddenly in abeyance, "do you think Father and Ranma will be all right?"
Jon finished putting his own swords away in the practice bin before he answered. "I don't know. Things are… different down south and the threats there aren't nearly as easy to see as they would be in a physical battle. All we can do is prepare the men here for whatever happens and trust that Ranma and our father will be all right. Besides" he smiled suddenly. "I don't think anything the Southerners can do to him would matter much to Ranma. It would take a giant's strength to take him on." Jon said with authority, having seen that exact thing. The memory of the broken arm Ranma had gotten in that battle against the frost giants or whatever they had been had stayed with Jon afterward, even if Ranma had healed from it.
Arya nodded and went inside, a little more somber than she had been before she asked that question but also a little happier with Jon's response.
Jon stayed outside the training area for a moment, gazing south past the walls of Winterfell, hoping that his father and brother were all right as he had said. Then Jon turned his gaze north and his eyes hardened noticeably. By this point, Dacey should have arrived in mountain clan territory and begun working her way northward, though that journey will no doubt take a while. Still, I wonder what she'll find, and what is going on down south. We've done all we can to prepare for whatever comes, but is it enough?
After a moment he shook off his maudlin thoughts and turned to go inside Winterfell, not knowing that the avalanche he had been preparing for was about to begin.
OOOOOOO
Cersei smiled slightly as Joffrey pulled her chair back for her at the breakfast table. "Thank you, my dear."
Joffrey smiled at his mother, bowing slightly from the waist in a regal manner before taking his own space, while Myrcella and Tommen waited until their older sibling was seated before sitting themselves.
The servants came forward with the meal and Tommen began to regale his mother with what he and Ned had been talking about that morning in a loud voice. "So we talked about how rivers and stuff are important for carrying goods and stuff like that, and then he quizzed me on my maths before he taught me this new exercise for my legs, they kind of hurt now, but it's a good kind of hurt you know? Where you know you've pushed your body to the limigahhh"
At that noise, Cersei looked up from her meal where she had been smiling faintly at the deluge of information coming from her youngest. Her eyes grew alarmed as she noticed her youngest clutching at his throat, making gagging noises. "Joffrey!" she ordered standing up and moving towards him, "quick, he's choking on something!"
Myrcella, however, had already moved around the table, grabbing up her younger brother, who was actually a little heavier than she was now after putting on some decent muscle. She placed her fist underneath his chest, trying to pull back and pump his stomach like she had seen done a time or two to get him to spit out whatever was bothering him. But nothing came out.
"Give him to me!" Cersei pushed her daughter away, taking her son and trying to do the same maneuver but, again, nothing came out, though he still was making gagging noises. "Send for the Maesters!" she said quickly looking around at a servant who had been looking on with a shocked expression. Knocked out of his stupor, he nodded then quickly raced off.
"Jaime!" The shout brought her brother from where he had been standing guard with Ser Oakheart outside the dining hall. Seeing what was going on, he moved forward quickly, trying to do the same thing but even with his strength, nothing came up. "It's not anything in his throat!" he reported. "He's having some kind of reaction!" Jaime put the young boy on the table then began to pound on his chest with one fist. Nothing happened, though the boy bounced lightly up from where he lay on the table.
Myrcella stumbled back in horror as her brother began to thrash where Jaime was trying to hold him still on the table. Oakheart began to thump on his chest, trying to get whatever was causing the reaction out, but nothing came up.
Pyrcelle arrived quickly, pushing aside the guards and servants, laying one hand on Tommen's throat. The boy looked over at his mother, his eyes pleading with her to help him before rolling up in their sockets, his convulsions ending with the suddenness of a guillotine.
The Grandmaester frowned grabbing up the boy's wrist. Finding no pulse, Pyrcelle's frown deepened horribly and he shook his head sadly. He opened the young boy's mouth, scowling in rising fury at the site of the bright yellow tongue that greeted him. "Poison!" he muttered shaking his head.
"Do something!" Cersei shouted tears now running down her face.
"There is… nothing I can do, your grace." the Grand Maester said, sighing faintly. "He's already gone."
"No!" Cersei shouted the word, pushing him to one side to clasp Tommen up into her arms with one arm smacking his face with her other hand, as if to wake him up from a stupor. "Tommen! Tommen, open your eyes, my little cub! My babe, can you hear me!?"
The maester looked past her at Jaime and shook his head, motioning Jaime to come forward and separate the two. Jaime did so but his sister fought him like a wildcat, trying to move forward to grasp her baby boy to her chest again. After a moment she suddenly wilted, throwing her arms around her brother and sobbing into his breastplate, as Jaime stared at the body, his face a rictus of horror and rage.
The servants milled around uncertainly, not certain what they should do as Cersei sobbed and the Princess fell to her knees in shock and horror, staring at her younger brother's body. One moment he had been alive and vibrant, talking excitedly as he always did and the next, dead!
Eventually Cersei got control of herself for the moment, pushing away from her brother. "Poison!" she growled angrily, the light of grief-stricken madness in her eyes now. "Send for Littlefinger and the eunuch!"
Then she looked over at her youngest son's body and shook her head visibly stopping herself from crying once more. "Th-Then send a runner out to find the King." That thought seemed to anger her further. The King was once again out and about, ostensibly on a hunt, but Cersei knew he had stopped in at one of the brothels in town last evening and had not returned to the Red Keep yet.
The two thus asked for arrived quickly. Only someone very good at noticing things would have seen Littlefinger's eyes widening just a little bit more than shock should have allowed for, before he pasted a look of shocked horror on his face.
"What has happened?" Varys asked quickly, looking at the little dead body and away. Unlike the others, he didn't seem to show much emotion, shock yes, but no grief. This was not the first dead child he had ever seen or the worst body, either. Indeed, part of him was thinking it more along the line of poetic justice, though of course he kept that thought off his face.
"Poison!" Cersei hissed. "Poison most foul. You know where that Sand Snake bitch lives in the city, find her now! Search her premises!"
"We have no evidence to link her to this crime, yet," Littlefinger said, trying to calm the situation.
But Cersei would not be quieted. "My son has been poisoned! I will have whoever was behind this, I will have my justice! Go!" she said now looking at her brother.
Jaime nodded, his own eyes hard and his face grim. He looked over at the master of whisperers, who sighed and gave him an address. Within minutes he and two other Lannister men were racing into the city, accompanied by one of Maester Prycelle's students.
With that done, Cersei looked down at the body still lying there on the table. "Find out what the poison was in, Pyrcelle." she said coldly. "Then, then prepare, have the servants, have them see to his body." At that, she broke down again, collapsing into a chair nearby sobbing into her hands.
At this point, Myrcella also lost control and rushed forward, burying herself into her mother's side, while Joffrey moved over to his younger brother's body and closed his wide staring eyes. Only Myrcella and Littlefinger noticed the very, very small, yet triumphant smile on Joffrey's face before it disappeared under a mask of grief.
Petyr shook his head mentally. I had not intended this when I told Joffrey about Eddard and Robert thinking of passing him over for being the Crown Prince. I had expected him to try and liven his ideas up, or to go to his mother and whine about it, further deepening the rift between the King and Queen. And maybe he did, Cersei has been especially cagey of late, unwilling to further risk her position. Still, to willingly become a kinslayer, even if he just did the planning…
The Master of Coin shook his head. There were some things even he would not be willing to do. Of course, Petyr didn't have any kin but if he did he certainly wouldn't be willing to plot their murder. The boy's viciousness is far worse than I had expected, which I will need to account for in my plans. If he cannot be controlled, my… aspirations for Sansa, if I cannot have Catelyn, will be much more difficult to prepare.
Myrcella knew none of Petyr's thoughts, she had simply seen Joffrey's small smile and suddenly had begun to wonder in gathering horror how far her older brother would go to get what he wanted.
OOOOOOO
Tyene and her bodyguard Damien still roomed in the same inn that Arianne had found for the trio of Dornish women. It was in an understated, yet very good part of the city, home to merchants who specialized in small but expensive goods, who relied on one or two very good guardsmen and anonymity. The room itself followed similar lines, with simple but well-made and comfortable furniture, a heavy oak door, and a private stair leading up to it from the inn's grounds.
At the present moment, however, Tyene was more concerned that the bed was large, fluffy, and comfortable than anything else. The evening before, she had been consoling herself with Damien's help on not being able to get close to her personal target. Her pursuit of the Blackfish had not amounted to much, the man was cagey and experienced. He was quite willing to flirt with her but kept his distance beyond that. That only made Brynden more attractive to her, easy prey was never worth the chase in her opinion.
Still, a woman had physical needs and Damien was a young man with that breed's wondering eye. He and Arianne had a brief affair when they were younger, which had been sweet and tender, something that recommended him to Tyene. It was clear however that Damien had learned since then, coupling eagerness and earnestness with actual knowledge rather than curiosity and a fast recovery time.
That explained why they were both naked when two men-at-arms in Lannister colors burst through led by Jaime Kingslayer in his white enameled armor.
"What is the meaning of this!?" Tyene shouted drawing the blanket up to her neck. Damien, on the other hand, had quickly rolled out of bed, coming up with his sword out of its scabbard from where it had been leaning against the bed table.
Jaime's blade also flashed out of its scabbard and he stood there grimly, none of his normal insouciance in his face or tone. "You two are under arrest for the poisoning of Prince Tommen Baratheon. Search their belongings." he ordered the other two men.
"What!?" Tyene exclaimed, her normal self-control gone, the accusation and the sudden intrusion impacting her harshly. "Why in the world would I try to poison… you can't…"
Before she could protest further, the two men in Lannister colors had moved forward, dumping her belongings out onto the floor from the chest. Pyrcelle's student came forward, sifting through the potions and ingredients quickly, looking for the poison his maester had described to him. He scowled angrily, picking up one particular potion, which was a green goop with black specks here and there.
He opened it quickly, bringing it to his nose and taking a single sniff before holding it at arms-length. "This is it." he said grimly. "Devil's Blood, there's no reason for anyone to have this on their person, it's a poison through and through, can't even be diluted to anything useful."
"I've never seen that before in my life!" said Tyene but cut off as the two men moved forward grimly.
"Take them." Jaime growled, his eyes hard.
At that point, Damien had had enough. He darted forward, his sword slamming into the hazily raised blade of the first man throwing him backwards before twirling away to bring around his elbow into the other man's unarmored temple, who went down like a sack of bricks.
But then Jaime was on him. Despite the fact that he wasn't close to Ranma's level, Jaime was one of the best blades in the kingdom, if not the best. Damien was marked as a good swordsman, one of the best in Dorne but in comparison to Jaime, he was barely at the journeyman level.
He blocked the first few blows desperately but could already tell that Jaime had begun a series of moves, ones Damien never seen before. A thrust, then a shoulder slash, followed by one to the other shoulder, then to Damien's surprise there was a slight opening in Jaime's defense. Too late, Damien realized it was a feint and before he could recover, Jaime had stepped backwards lightly, his weight having already been on his back foot, then the Kingslayer's sword was suddenly flicking down, avoiding Damien's clumsy attempt to block it.
Jaime's sword came down in a short economical stroke that bit deeply into Damien's unprotected thigh before Jaime pulled it out just as quickly, the blade having not bitten into the bone, just enough to make the leg useless to bear weight. Then his blade smashed Damien's sword from his suddenly nerveless grip.
The younger man screamed, going down to his knees, both his hands trying to staunch the flow of blood from the crippling injury in his thigh. He looked up and the sword thrusting quickly towards his chest was the last thing Damien saw.
Jaime kicked the dead body off his sword and looked over at the bed. Tyene's eyes had widened in horror at seeing Damien so dispatched, without care and so easily. She just lay there as the two Lannister men moved toward her.
"Clothe her first, you idiots, my sister wants her for questioning, we're not here for your pleasures." Jaime growled, cleaning his blade on the bed sheet by Tyene's feet. Under the Kingslayer's watchful eyes, the two men forced Tyene to dress, then tied her hands together before leading her out the door.
OOOOOOO