Infiltration

It was in the training room where I found Adjutant Dalabhar sparring against Ser Rolly Duckfield with a formidable two-handed axe that, if not blunted, could easily split a boar in half with a single swing. I stood on the side-lines and watched the two go back and forth with Duck usually on the back foot, red-faced and panting as he used all his skill just to survive against the seven-foot-tall giant who remained deathly silent as he moved with calculated feints and strikes. It was clear as to why Haldon compared him to Sandoq the Shadow.

"Ladies," I called abruptly. Both stopped to turn to me. Duck threw off his battered helm, the heavy padding beneath and spat out some blood. "Good to see you both training in arms. I was looking for the both of you so it's fortunate you're in the same place. I need some trusted men around me for what I have planned."

"What you've planned?" Rolly grimaced in pain, ran a finger along his teeth, than cursed colourfully. "What are you talking about, Young Griff?"

"I had a dream – a dragon dream – a few nights ago. You know the kind. With the recent news from Westeros and after some consideration, I think we should go on a little trip to King's Landing. Only us three and no one else. No one can know." The last thing I needed was anyone getting word of what I had planned. In no way would it be authorised.

Dalabhar eyed me cryptically. "King's Landing? That's on the other side of the Narrow Sea and the stronghold of the Lannister branch of the Baratheon dynasty, purportedly. Are you such a fool to want to visit there, or only suicidal? You'd be strung up as soon as they realise who you are."

A bit of both to be honest. I died once. I might just resurrect in another body should I die again. An unhealthy way of thinking, truth be told, but did hold certain advantages. "You remember those dragon dreams I have?"

"Whenever you want something done you claim to have one. Seems to me they are very convenient dreams, if I may speak freely." Dalabhar didn't sound amused and he wasn't wrong. Dragon dreams were my excuse whenever I needed to tamper with the strings of fate. With what I'd done and my Targaryen ancestry, most didn't question it.

"A few nights ago, I dreamt of a little wolf pup watching her big wolfish father be slain before her as she hid in a crowd of animals. The crowd was cheering their approval and a lion, just barely a cub, ordered it whilst the lion king's court spoke against to no avail. I think it's a sign."

"I wouldn't claim that's a dragon dream. Not enough dragons in it."

"There might have been a dragon or two in the crowd."

The Summer Islander rolled his eyes. "What it seems to me is that big wolf is Lord Eddard Stark and the Lannisters will kill him in a public execution. I thought dreams were meant to be subtle."

"Mine aren't. I have a feeling Arya Stark or the other one, Sansa, is not in Lannister hands. Surely if Lord Eddard was smart, he would have sent his children away from King's Landing before launching his coup. Would you let your children be in the centre of such a dangerous plot and risk them being killed or captured? The dream tells us she isn't in the lions' paws, so no doubt she's alone and in need of rescue."

The Summer Islander half-laughed, half-snorted. "And I wager your idea is to cross the Narrow Sea and get yourself a valuable hostage to use against the Starks. If you weren't planning to sail into the most heavily guarded city in the Seven Kingdoms, I wouldn't consider you a rash fool."

I chuckled and held a finger before Azantys who was laid across my shoulders. The purple dragon nuzzled my finger, nipping it with the side of his mouth. It was surprising how cat-like these creatures could be and in no way was I complaining. I wasn't liking the fact I couldn't bring him along with us, but a dragon perched atop my shoulders would raise some interesting questions I didn't desire to answer. Instead he would be left in Daenerys' gentle care. She had taken it upon herself to learn all she could about dragons and now spent a considerable time with her nose deep in whatever books claimed to know about them. To say Dany was obsessed would be an understatement.

"It could be considered foolish, Dalabhar, but I never got anywhere by playing safe. If I wasn't taking risks, I wouldn't have a mage nor engineers in my employ. We won't have flamethrowers and dragons. Nor would the Golden Company be in the position it is in now. This operation will be high risk, I'll grant you, but will bring a high reward. I think I might be the chanciest gambler in the world."

"I am no fan of gambling."

"That I can see," I allowed, though I smirked at Duck who looked conflicted. "What do you say, ser?"

"You are usually right about these dreams of yours, Aegon," he allowed. "But I fear this is biting off more than you can chew. You want to infiltrate King's Landing, just us three, and steal a lord's daughter? This is foolish. What if Illyrio and Blackheart find out? They'll have our heads."

"Not if we return with Lord Stark's daughter. She's a great prize and I'm sure Myles will look the other way if not reward you on the spot. I certainly would with lands, honours and lots of gold. Myles Toyne is famously open-handed to those who've impressed him, and that's not counting Daenerys and her future consort who would no doubt reward men who've proven themselves in their service."

"I still urge against it," the Summer Islander sighed. "I fear we'll prove unable to fight our way out should the worst happen. This seems most likely with the chance of succeeding near impossible. How can you hope to find this Stark in a city that numbers near a million inhabitants? No doubt there'll be young girls with similar features as her. Do you even know what she looks like? Did your dream tell you that?"

"I have a feeling I know where to find her. You've got to trust me." Dalabhar scoffed. He wasn't a man that like going on blind faith. "Are you with me? This needs to be secret and we need to reach King's Landing as soon as possible. No one else can know about this. Especially my father and the rest of the officers. This is strictly us. Got it?"

"I am unsure, lad," Rolly said cautiously. "This is very dangerous."

"I cannot accept this fool's errand," Dalabhar answered, putting his weapon back on the racking.

"What if I tell you this is an order?" My voice grew hard and the dragon on my shoulders rose higher as if he was doing his part to intimidate them. I didn't have eyes in the back of my head, but I wagered it looked more cute than outright threatening. "While I officially command only a hundred men, I am the last Blackfyre and that fact alone makes me among the most influential people in the Golden Company. Not only am I a higher rank, you both swore to serve me directly in whatever way I might decree. I don't desire to pull rank, but if I tell you to jump, the only question you should ask is how far. If I tell you to sail to Westeros with me, you shouldn't be asking any questions other than when. Will you refuse my order?"

Duck shuffled awkwardly but Dalabhar only folded his broad arms behind his back, lifted his chin and said, "I pledged an oath to serve the Golden Company and have sworn to personally serve you in all matters. I cannot refuse, regardless of my wishes. I will follow."

"And you, Duck?"

"I did promise to protect you, lad. With you going regardless of my objections, I feel duty bound to follow. Should I abandon a friend to fight this battle alone, I would never forgive myself."

I inclined my head. "I thank you both. I don't want to do this, but it feels I must. We should pack and quick. Dalabhar, you will find a ship to take us to Westeros. The sooner the better. A fast one. I care not for accommodations."

Dalabhar nodded. "Your will be done, Aegon Blackfyre."

"And me?" Duck asked.

"Just get ready. Make sure we have ample coin. We might need to bribe a few men and I would rather pay too much than too little." I gave them a thankful smile and left the training room, fingering the vial of sweepsleep I'd taken from Lyra's chambers. Now I need to dispatch the guards on the back gate. Let's hope I don't overdo it.

...

There were many stories of King's Landing, and one of the most infamous of which was the smell. As I stood atop the deck of the Scented Merchant, I smelt it not long after seeing the city on the horizon. "King's Landing. We should be there within the hour," Duck told me as we leaned on the rails of the galley.

Beside me, my ginger companion was grinning with a hungry look. We had been on the ship longer than I desired but we made good time regardless. The captain was an olive-skinned Myrishman going by the name Qos the One-Eye. He spoke the Common Tongue well enough with a strong accent and had sailed the Narrow Sea for thirty odd years, first as an oarsman, quartermaster and finally a captain. The Scented Merchant had two masts, seventy oars and was the fastest ship heading to King's Landing. Dalabhar ensured me the captain and crew would keep their lips tight, provided we pay each sailor a silver stag and the captain a gold dragon. Rolly had been cautious, saying how they might throw us into the sea. I doubted they would do that. Rolly could cut down half the crew if they dared anything and Dalabhar would do the other half, and the man knew how to sail a ship from his days in the Summer Isles.

"This ship's fast, with talented oars and two large sails," I shrugged my shoulders artlessly. "I just pray the silver's enough."

"I had a word with the captain," Dalabhar said as he approached from the prowl of the ship. "He won't say a word of our presence. Why would he? We are merely sellswords who heard of war in the Sunset Kingdoms and desire the gold of Casterly Rock."

On deck, he was easily the largest person here. While me and Duck wore gambesons and had swords at our hips, Dalabhar had stripped from his mail and instead wore the ragged clothes of a common sailor and very much looked the part, having wordlessly helped the crew with hauling cargo with one arm when others needed two. We needed disguises for infiltrating King's Landing. I was Griffin once more, though this time I had dyed my hair black instead of blue. Not only did it look better, it would ensure I didn't stand out like a sore thumb. I also decided to give myself an accent which ended up sounding vaguely French, so I might claim to be a Reachman or something.

"If you say so, sir."

My hand throbbed in pain and I grimaced. It hurt to bend my fingers and the bandages were bound tight enough to ensure they wouldn't. It just happened to be my sword hand as well so, if we got caught in a fight, I would need to use my left if not outright rely on my two companions. It made me near as useless as Jaime post-amputation but unlike him and lacking the famous Lannister wit, I wouldn't even be able to lay down pretty brutal verbal beatdowns whenever I felt like it. It was most inconvenient.

The trading galley skimmed the water with long slender oars rising and falling in perfect time. I stared at the city of King's Landing, the capital of the Seven Kingdoms, the economical and political fount of the ruling king and the most populous city on the continent. In no way did anything I hear or read of King's Landing do the city justice. Unlike the cities of Essos that had urban planning more or less as a standard, what laid before me looked like a tumour of human habitation planted on the mouth of a river.

Three hundred years ago, the land before me would instead have been covered with forests and tiny villages where humble fisherfolk lived on the shores of Blackwater Rush and the deep, swift river flowed into the sea from the God's Eye. This was where Aegon the Conqueror first landed on mainland Westeros with his host from Dragonstone. Riding Balerion, he landed atop the largest hill and erected the Aegon Fort, a redoubt of wood and earth to serve as his base of operations.

What had been a fishing village swiftly turned into a town and that town grew into a city that stretched as far as the eyes could see. The shore was covered with manses and arbors and granaries, brick storehouses and timbered inns and merchant stalls, taverns and graveyards and brothels, all piled one atop the other with no space been left to waste. Even from a distance, I could hear the city, the clamour of the fish markets and general rumble of the city's denizens. A hundred quays lined the waterfront and the docks were absolutely crowded with ships. Deepwater fishing boats brought in the days catch, river runners coming and going, ferrymen sailing up and down the Blackwater Rush, ornate barges with gilding and roaring Lannister sails, fat-bellied whalers from the Port of Ibben, trading galleys, ocean sailing carracks and cogs loading or unloading cargo. There were the vividly painted Swan Ships of the Summer Isles with their large figureheads of birds, the galleys of Lys, Tyrosh and Braavos and many others. Together they had turned the waterfront into a forest of swaying masts and colourful sails. Upriver, a dozen lean golden warships waited in their cribs, sails furled and iron rams lapping at the water. Duck pointed then to the wooden shells of several massive war galleys being constructed. That was when I knew the Royal Fleet was stronger than originally expected.

As taking the capital was the main objective of my campaign, I made a point to check out the defences and they honestly intimidated me. Rising above the entire city, frowning down from Aegon's High Hill, was the Red Keep; made of seven huge drum-towers crowned with iron ramparts, an immense grim barbican, vaulted halls and covered bridges. No doubt the castle was a city in of itself with barracks for the garrison, servants' quarters, residences for nobles and large granaries to last a siege. Circling the city proper were stout, thick walls made of pale brick and red stone, lined with towers and archer nests while scorpions and spitfires stood at the ready. Those walls would be a tough nut to crack, having been designed to throw back any possible assault and built with the resources of an entire kingdom. Even with multiple investments to siegecraft, I questioned whether I'd done enough.

"This King's Landing?" Dalabhar asked in a voice flat and uncaring. "Can't say I'm impressed. Essos must have soiled my expectations."

I couldn't help but chuckle at Dalabhar's lack of shits. I did have plans to remedy that. Sometime in the future, King's Landing would be a beautiful city that'll have everything a true honest capital needs and could ever want. I could imagine it now. It'll be a mix of Lys and Myr, an advanced centre of learning that'll bring in people from all over. A city of culture and intellect with public health that'll make the Romans cry out in envy. I imagined organised urban planning with grid streets and long, straight wide boulevards organised for ease of movement, with effective sanitation and drinking water available to all. Much of the city would need to be demolished, true, but it'll be worth it. When all is done, it'll be my Alexandria – the polished jewel of my empire.

Captain Qos One-Eye shouted a command and at once, the oars lifted from the waves, reversed and backed water, slowing the galley. Another shout and the oars slipped back inside the hull. We thumped against the dock and the sailors leapt down to tie the ship up. The captain walked over to us, a large sloped shouldered man with an eyepatch and a smile plastered across his broad face. "King's Landing, Master Griffin, as you commanded. Never has there been a ship swifter and safer than mine own. Will you be needing assistance to carry your things to a lodge?" He smiled with yellow teeth that'd been smashed to oblivion.

I smiled my best smile. "No need, captain. I have my own people to carry my things. Though perhaps you could suggest somewhere clean and comfortable. There are bound to be a few lodges I'm sure you're aware of. This isn't your first visit to King's Landing I'm aware."

He grinned. "Just so. I know several establishments that may suit your needs. There are many more in King's Landing, but most tend to be of ill repute and not for those of good breeding like yourself. You should try the Weary Traveller. It provides good food and beds free of lice. It tends to be crowded so if they are, try the Drunken Stag which might as well be a brothel. I would visit those two. But first, before you go, might I be so bold to ask for the rest of the payment agreed upon? Forty silver, if my memory serves correctly."

"Forty silver," I agreed, glancing at Rolly. "Be a good Duck and pay the man. The coin is in the strongbox." I smiled sweetly and the knight hurried off to the cabin we stayed in. "For the oarsmen. I'll pay them myself."

"You think that is wise, Master Griffin? These men are sailors away from home. Your coin will not last them. They will dice it away or spend it on whores for a night's pleasure. Mayhaps you'll do better and give me the coin so I can give it to their wives when they return to Myr."

I never let the smile leave my face. "What they spend it on is their choice, captain. Be it drinks, dice or to lay between a woman's legs. It is not our responsibility. What they spend their coin on is up to them."

"As you say," the captain said, bowing his head, though he looked slightly annoyed as well.

To ensure the crew were properly bribed, we paid them ourselves. We didn't bring much with us and what we did have was easily carried by Dalabhar who doubled as an effective bulldozer. We didn't visit the Weary Traveller that was situated on the docks. Instead, we went deeper in the city and found a lodge not suggested by the captain. The wizened old woman who owned it looked Dalabhar over suspiciously but asked no questions. As my adjutant carried our luggage to our room, Duck and myself stayed in the commons to eat a plate of hard black bread no doubt stuffed with sawdust, fish stew and greasy bacon. The food was nothing to write home about and as soon as we finished, retired to our single room on the top floor that was large and had decent bedding.

While Rolly and Dalabhar made themselves comfortable – with the former offering to instead sleep in the chair in the corner – I threw open the windows and looked outside at the alleys and small gardens of the neighbouring buildings. The air was hot and the smell was near bad enough to bring the food back up again. George's writing weren't sufficient warning for the city's stench. It carried with it the sharp smell of fish and meat - both fresh and rotting - newly baked bread and sour wine, of sweet fragrances and cheap perfumes, men's sweat and the sharp scents of human refuge, tar, wood chips and a hundred different animals wandering the streets. I swung the windows shut but the damage was done.

We would need to begin the search soon as possible. I had a clue where Arya Stark would be, but I didn't know what she looked like. If there's a girl chasing pigeons and has a well-forged blade on her, that's our girl. At least I knew where she would be during a certain execution so I would need to be there when the time came.

...

We spent several days in King's Landing, waking up at first light to comb through a massive city to find a tiny girl with brown hair and grey eyes, a scrawny little thing hiding among thousands of other scrawny things with the same coloured features. It was no easy feat as we patrolled the streets, swords at our hips just visible enough to discourage anyone who'd dare trouble us, and there was always trouble ranging from corrupt gold cloaks to thugs who'd murder us for our boots.

I cursed under my breath as we pushed through the crowds that sought to halt us. Lining the narrow winding streets were buildings rising tall and crooked, pressing against each other and certain to collapse should a single beam fall. While King's Landing had some broad avenues – usually before the main gates – most streets and alleys were so narrow it was near impossible for more than two to walk abreast. Through the buildings I occasionally glimpsed Visenya's Hill crowned with the Great Sept of Baelor with its seven crystal towers and vast dome of white marble. I decided to remain near the Great Sept because that was the location Eddard was to be executed and I would need to be close for when it happened. As tempted as we were, we couldn't afford to split off. Not only was it never good in the stories when the group did so, I couldn't risk the safety of any of us and, as the person who ordered them here, I did feel personally responsible for their well-being. The last thing I needed was any of us getting stabbed in an alley. I doubted most would want to risk it against those two, but the threat was there.

Taking a turn and passing through a crowd being riled by up a septon in a shabby tunic of human hair and loudly praying late King Robert's sins be forgiven, we reached the Streets of Flour. It was another location I remembered Arya visiting. Thanks to this being where all the bakers worked, this street smelled much nicer than the rest of the city. It was scented with fresh bread and pastries and cakes, fresh fruit and meats used for the fillings of countless pies. More than once we brought the baker's food and used them to bribe the sweet urchins of information. My attempt to forge my own intelligence network kind of fell flat seeing as the information we received was too broad and, most likely, completely inaccurate. I couldn't remember what Arya called herself, or if she called herself anything other than Arya at this point. The lack of information left me in the dark.

The Street of Flour wasn't the only place we searched. We scoured the city top to bottom. We even visited Flea Bottom and all the various pot shops selling bowl o' brown that had been stirring in vast tubs for years at a time. That part of King's Landing looked like the slums you would find in a third-world country and just walking through them made me throw up. Flea Bottom needed to change dramatically, and should it accidentally be burnt down by dragonfire, I didn't think it would matter all that much. It was a puss-filled tumour clinging to the side of Rhaenys' Hill, stinking of pigsties, dyers and tanner's sheds, a den of crime and debauchery controlled by various crime families who used the city watch as their own private muscle. The few times we did visit Flea Bottom, we usually stuck to the outskirts. We did, however, traverse the docks every day to see if young Arya was looking for ships. That quest never bore fruit. There was a ship though, with household guards in heavy grey woollen cloaks and silver pins wrought in the shape of the direwolf of House Stark. They were no Northmen, but instead Lannister men in disguise and we learnt to stay away from them, just as Arya must have done.

Talk of the street was that the gold cloaks had thrown their lot in with the Lannisters - which I already knew - and were searching the city for Stark loyalists and the daughter. It was perhaps fortunate local law enforcement was under the command of Janos Slynt (Lord Slynt now, and one must not forget that if you desire to keep your kneecaps) and therefor unbelievably corrupt, so it was no hard feat to pay them for information. It ended up they were Varys' men and the eunuch found me on only the second day.

It was after a day of searching and getting lost countless times that we returned to the lodge only to find Varys waiting for us in the common room. It'll be honest and say I never expected to run into him and never imagined he looked the way he did when he accosted us. Varys was a master of disguise and I fell for that hook line and sinker. He didn't look like how I imagined Varys to look with a bald plump face white with powder and draping himself in rich silks, but instead a man so unassuming he could easily blend into the crowds outside. A stout man, he looked, in a heavy brown robe of roughspun with cracked, mud-caked boots that were falling apart, a face hidden by a cowl and hands drawn up into voluminous sleeves. Stepping before us and lowering his cowl, the Spider revealed a round, scarred face with a dark stubble, smelling of sweat and sour wine strong enough to upset my stomach. He even sounded different, not the effeminate voice I imagined, but instead a growl thin and sharp as a whip. That was the interesting thing about Varys. He not only changed his name and costume, but could change his gait, smell and committed himself to certain quirks. It fit his persona as a master mummer. And I'm his dragon, dangling from the Spider's strings.

"Stand aside," Rolly had demanded when he blocked us on the stairs.

The than-stranger smiled. "Black hair is it? I half believed you would be more subtle." He examined me with narrow dark eyes and, while he was grinning, didn't look pleased in the slightest. His voice was quiet, so much so that I strained to hear, and I was standing right before him.

"And who might you be?" I looked him up and down, not having a clue at that moment despite the nagging feeling in the back of my mind.

"A friend."

Varys.

"The Spider," Dalabhar said blandly to everyone's surprise.

Varys looked up at the Summer Islander in astonishment and I couldn't help but chuckle. "And how might you have known that?"

"Few people in King's Landing would have the information to know such a thing. It didn't take much to conclude he would learn what was going on and desire to meet you in person. A eunuch may look different, smell different and have a different way of speaking, but he is still a eunuch. I'm rarely deceived. Those on the run tend to learn things, else you end up like many foolish exiles."

Varys looked hurt but intrigued as he looked Dalabhar up and down. I interjected, "Mayhaps you'll want wine and a seat. I hope that face isn't due to those shoes. I know how it is to have blisters on your feet." I smiled and we headed to a table in the corner of the lodge. It was fortunate the place was crowded so the room was loud and chaotic. "Griffin's my name, and yours is?"

"Barth," Varys smiled broadly though it was an obviously fake one, showing a mouth full of rotten teeth. Once you knew someone was a master of disguise, they ceased being a master and I grew increasingly suspicious of each little gesture. For all his fake identities, it made me wonder if Varys was his actual name or if the Spider was just another persona to destabilise the Westerosi monarchy. "I must say I'm surprised by your unexpected appearance."

"I could say the same about you," I smirked. "Duck, be a good man and bring us some drinks. I've a feeling we may need it. Dalabhar, you may retire upstairs. It might be rude to say, but you do stand out and many are looking over at us. I desire they don't." Grunting, my assistant did as I bid, and many eyes followed the ebony giant. With them both gone, me and Varys were left alone, and I leaned back, trying to act casual though internally I was panicking. "You could say our little venture into King's Landing was unexpected . . . but there was a reason like everything that has been done."

"Like putting yourself in danger?" Varys' voice changed to being grave with a noticeable hiss. "I would say this is dire circumstance. Sneaking out with only a small escort. Rest assured, I have already told your father and he is not happy."

I wasn't surprised. Fortunately for me, I never really sought his approval. "Every day I put myself in danger. There are hundreds of ways one can die. Poison, getting stabbed in the back or someone coughing on me. There is no such thing as being safe, Barth. I came became I need to. It is risky, of course, but visiting the hive called King's Landing provides certain opportunities."

"And what opportunities may these be to come across the Narrow Sea with only your associates?"

"I am aware of Arya Stark of Winterfell. I know she has escaped the Red Keep from under Cersei Lannister's nose and is out in the city. Don't ask me how I know, but I have come to find her. I can't risk her getting loose and losing a useful hostage when we finally land."

Varys false smile turned upside down. "Many are looking for the girl who's fled the Red Keep. Janos Slynt leads the city watch and Cersei has Commander Vylarr and the red cloaks prowling the streets to aid them. All my little birds are looking for her as well, and much silver is finding its way into the pockets of whoever has information to offer. Mayhaps thankfully for you, Her Grace is not half as competent as she imagines herself to be and will find her to no avail. Especially not after your presence. But you think you can?"

I leaned forward, trying my best to ignore the horrid smell of his breath. "I know I can. You know Daemon the Second Blackfyre? He sailed to Westeros against the wishes of Bittersteel because of his dragon dreams. He claimed to know the future." Varys' face wrinkled and I pushed forward. "The dragon dreams come from those of Targaryen blood, be they red or black. It's something both families share. I learned I suffer from them as well and they've provided me certain opportunities. That is why I'm here and performed all the actions you've no doubt heard of. I can do it, but I need your help. No doubt she is an important tool that can be used with pressuring the Northmen and undermining the Lannister position."

I left the rest unsaid and Varys' expression was an unflinching mask. Having Arya Stark in my procession would be a strategic victory, and having both Stark sisters would reinforce my hand even more. It was unfortunate Sansa was in the Red Keep and carefully watched, and I couldn't delude myself into believing Varys would pull her out. He might be on my side, but Varys was a survivor first and foremost.

"What do you say?"

Barth smiled slowly.

...

Far across the city, the bells began to ring.

I halted before a puddle of what I hoped was only rainwater. Both Rolly and Dalabhar continued ahead a few steps, not knowing I had paused, before turning around to me staring up at the roofs. The hair on the back of my neck stood on edge. "The sept bells?" I wondered aloud, listening to the echoing rumble through King's Landing.

"The sept bell," Duck corrected as he followed my gaze.

"What is it now?" cried a fat woman leaning out the shutters of a house. "Can't they stop that ringing?"

"May the Seven ha'mercy," muttered a withered old man in a leather cap and clothes covered with mud. "Tis the boy king dead now?"

A guardsman in a gold cloak laughed as he leaned against his long spear. "Boys never last long they don't. If so, we'll have an even younger boy. Mayhaps a boar killed this one to."

"No," huffed a fat-bellied trader with a a pair of sagging breasts big as the woman's in the window, only his were covered with a coarse carpet of hair thick as his beard. "Tis the summoning bell it is. One tower tolling. If the king died, they'd ring them all. It's to Baelor's Sept. A summoning."

I only had to share a look with my companions to know they had the same idea. Without wasting breath, we raced up Visenya's Hill to the Great Sept. We weren't the only ones. The entire city followed our example and soon engulfed us, slowing us to a halt and demanding what was going on. Everyone had questions and many more had answers that went anywhere from believable to absurd. The dirt track were narrow and it didn't take long for the smallfolk to turn the Street of the Sister's into a river occasionally broken up by islands of wagons and carts, each one having cut deep ruts into the mud.

Somewhere close, a girl cried out in pain and then I heard a shout of, "Make way! Make way for my lords of Redwyne!" Only to see four guardsmen atop massive horses galloping through the crowd and trampling over any who weren't fast enough to get out the way. The guards wore checked cloaks of blue-and-burgundy and behind them rode two lordlings on a pair of chestnut mares. You could tell they were nobles by the richly embroidered clothes they wore. Both were identical with the same homely square faces speckled with freckles and orange hair. They must have been the Redwyne twins, Horas and Hobber. Their faces were hard, their expressions tight and they carried with them the smug sense of superiority I had seen from passing nobles in King's Landing.

Reaching the peak of Rhaenys' Hill, the bells grew louder, clanging and calling for everyone in the city to converge on one point. The shouting only grew, and everything became increasingly chaotic. People laughed and cursed and pushed. When one man tried to shove past and almost toppled me over, Dalabhar grabbed him by the throat and punched him in the face so hard I was afraid he killed him. People gave us some space after that.

"—the King's Hand, Lord Stark. They are carrying him up to Baelor's Sept!"

"I heard he was dead."

"Soon enough, soon enough. Here, I got a silver coin they lop his head off."

"Past time, the traitor," another man spat.

"Fool! They aren't neither going to lop him. Since when do they knick traitors on the steps of the Great Sept?"

"Well, they don't mean to anoint him no knight. I heard it was Stark killed old King Robert. Slit his throat in the woods, and when they found him, he stood there cold as you please and said it was some old boar did His Grace."

"Ah, that's not true, it was his own brother did him, that Renly, him with his gold antlers."

"Gorged him from throat to belly on his helm he did," cried another.

"You shut your lying mouth, woman. You don't know what you're saying, his lordship's a fine true man."

"It was the other one, that Stannis. Grim man that one. Dark of heart he is. Must have used dark magic to kill His Grace. Desires the crown he does. Him and the Florents. Too ambitious them lot."

By the time we reached the plaza, everyone was packed shoulder to shoulder like sardines. We were trapped in the human current that drove us ever forward. The white marble plaza was little more than a solid mass of people, all yammering at each other and straining to get closer to the raised platform. The only ones who could move freely were the children crawling between people's legs and many carried knives to snatch the unwary purse. The bells rang above, deep and deafening. Where I stood, near the centre of the mass, I felt faint. My chest was hurting from lack of air and it had grown hotter than Volantis. I wanted only to pull out my sword and clear myself some space. I didn't, and instead looked at King Baelor's statue that was swarming with children. One short girl was beginning to climb and wedged herself between the king's feet. Nudging Duck, I pointed in her direction. He nodded and we struggled forward.

There was a shout and a quick glance to the Great Sept brought me the sight of Lord Eddard Stark on the High Septon's pulpit and flanked by two gold cloaks. He was dressed in a rich grey velvet doublet with a white wolf sewn on the front in beads, and a grey wool cloak trimmed with fur. Even from a distance, I saw how thin he was. His long face was drawn with pain and should he not have been being held up by guardsmen on either side, Stark would surely have collapsed. The cast over his leg was grey and rotten.

The High Septon rose his hands high in the air. The leader of the Faith of the Seven and avatar of the gods – the Westerosi pope – was squat, grey with age and the fattest man I had ever seen, which was saying a lot compared to the likes of Illyrio. He wore long white robes patterned with gold and balancing atop his head was an immense crown of crystal that wreathed his head with rainbows whenever he moved.

Clustered around the doors of the sept, in front of the raised marble pulpit, was a knot of knights and high lords wearing every colour known to man. Standing before them all could only be the newly crowned king. Joffrey Baratheon, the Worst of His Name, King of the Vandals, the Rippers and the Worst Men. Tyrant of the Seven Kingdoms and Destroyer of the Realm. He stood prominent, surprisingly tall for a twelve-year-old. His raiment was all crimson, silk and satin patterned with prancing stags and roaring lions, a crown of soft gold laid atop his head of curls. He was a monster, a handsome monster, though it would be more accurate to describe him as pretty. He had delicate features, deep green eyes and sneering pouty lips only a fist would love.

Standing beside him was the mother: Queen Cersei Lannister. While he wore crimson, Cersei wore a black gown like she was still mourning for King Robert Baratheon. She couldn't pull that trick on me. Her dress was black silk slashed with crimson, with a veil of black diamonds in her hair. Decorating her bodice were tiny rubies cut into the shape of teardrops so much like the ones Rhaegar had been wearing when Robert killed him. Wow Cersei, you complete savage. Just the sheer boldness was worthy of respect. And goddamn, the dowager queen was beautiful. You hear things but seeing is something else, even from a distance. She stood slender and graceful, with golden hair that caught the light, bright emerald eyes and flawless skin. Now that was what a queen should look like.

Protecting them was a line of gold and red cloaks, as well as the kingsguard who were identical white sentinels in polished plate and scales, all except the Hound with his burnt face and wearing the snowy white cloak over dented grey plate. There was Varys gliding among the lords in soft slippers and a patterned damask robe, and near him was a short man with a silvery cape and pointed beard who I wagered was Lord Petyr Baelish. Littlefinger was a man I didn't hate as perhaps I should but then again, he was unknowingly aiding me. Sooner or later, he'd be toast . . . perhaps literally. Then standing in their midst was the young girl who could only be Sansa Stark, dressed in sky-blue silk, her long auburn hair washed and curled and silver bracelets on her wrists. She was smiling prettily and looked pleased with herself.

Poor girl doesn't know.

We pushed closer to the statue but the struggle was like moving a massive boulder. There were many children clinging to Baelor and thankfully only one looked to be Arya freaking Stark. Took her long enough to show herself. I'd been in King's Landing longer than I would ever want and it was most infuriating. The sooner I nab her, the sooner I could return to Pentos with a useful hostage in tow.

The bells ceased to toll and quiet settled across the great plaza. When Lord Eddard opened his mouth to speak, his voice was so thin and weak I couldn't make it out. The crowd than roared for Stark to speak louder and a stout man in elaborate black and gold armour harshly prodded him. "I am Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King," he said more loudly, his voice just barely managing to carry across the plaza. "And I come before you to confess my treason in the sight of gods and men."

"No," the girl whispered. She was bleeding from where her nail had been ripped off and had painted the statue with it.

Gotcha.

The crowd screamed and shouted, filling the air with taunts and obscenities so loud it was deafening. Sansa Stark hid her face with both hands. She looked so young. Both Stark girls looked so young. Their father rose his voice still, straining to he heard, "I betrayed the faith of my king and the truth of my friend, Robert. I swore to defend and protect his children, yet before his blood was cold, I plotted to depose and murder his son and seize the throne for myself. Let the High Septon and Baelor the Beloved and the Seven bear witness to the truth of what I say: Joffrey Baratheon is the one true heir to the Iron Throne, and by the grace of all the gods, Lord of the Seven Kingdom and Protector of the Realm!"

He swears before the Seven . . . gods he doesn't believe in. Lord Eddard you subtle man.

A stone sailed out the crowd, hitting Stark in the forehead. Only the gold cloaks kept him from falling. Blood ran down his face from the deep gash and more stones followed. The kingsguard stepped in front of the royals, raising their shields to protect them from the hail of projectiles.

The High Septon knelt before the king and his mother. "As we sin, so do we suffer," he intoned in a deep voice so much louder than Lord Stark's. "This man confessed his crimes in the sight of gods and men, here in this holy place." Rainbows danced around his head as he lifted his hands. "The gods are just yet Blessed Baelor taught us that they are also merciful. What shall be done with this traitor, Your Grace?"

A thousand voices were screaming. Some cried for mercy, others justice, some said the Seven should decide, while others demanded Stark be executed as a traitor. Arya only stared at her father; tears on the verge of running down her cheeks. King Joffrey stepped from behind the shields of the kingsguard and looked down at the crowds. "My mother bids me let Lord Eddard take the black, and Lady Sansa has begged mercy for her father." He looked at Sansa, a boyish smile playing on his lips. Then he turned back to the crowds and said, "But they have the soft hearts of women. So long as I am your king, treason shall never go unpunished. Ser Ilyn, bring me his head!"

The crowd roared both offence and approval. People surged and I was pushed further from my target. Duck fought against the tide as Dalabhar smashed one large man in the face with his elbow, whereupon someone leapt atop his back. That someone was thrown to the ground and trampled by the crowd. The High Septon clutched the king's cape and Varys rushed over waving his arms. Even the queen looked panicked, saying something to her son but Joffrey shook his head with a giddy smile on his face. Littlefinger looked content. Lord and knights stepped aside as the King's Justice stepped forward, tall and fleshless like a skeleton in mail. Sansa screamed and fell to her knees, sobbing hysterically.

Just as I was about to grab Arya, she threw herself from between the marble legs and drew Needle. She landed atop a man in a butcher's apron, knocking them both to the ground. Before she could do anything stupid, I threw myself forward, going straight into her and knocking the girl over as soon as she found her feet. Bodies closed in around us, stumbling and pushing, trampling each other. Arya slashed frantically with Needle and I was slammed into the statue, groaning in pain as the air was knocked out of my lungs.

"You!" I shouted, anger flaring as I drew my sword. The girl saw me and attempted to flee, squirming between the legs of the man before her. Duck saw me pointing and tried to shove, but the men before him were a stalwart wall. Arya wasn't looking and slammed into a woman and that gave us much needed time. Dalabhar, the good man he was, bulldozed his way through the crowd and yanked her by the hair. Arya screamed in pain and the crowds turned to us, making a move against the Summer Islander. Ser Duck pulled out his sword and warded them away, screaming, "Get back. Get back!" Arya, too, had her sword out and tried to slash my assistant. The blade sliced through the outer layer of his garb but not the steel underneath. The little girl cried and struggled but was restrained by his grip. A swing of a meaty hand sent Needle flying from her grip.

Then there was silence.

On the stand, Ser Ilyn Payne was having difficulty drawing the two-handed greatsword from the scabbard on his back. You don't put scabbards on your back, you twit, I thought disapprovingly. Despite calls from Rolly to leave, I couldn't help but stare at the pulpit. Ser Ilyn needed aid and had to lean forward for someone else to draw it, which was slightly comedic for such a dark scene. When that was done, Joffrey sniggered and the headsman lifted the blade above his head. Sunlight seemed to ripple and dance down the dark metal, glinting off an edge sharper than anything in the world. I turned to Arya who stopped resisting to stare where I'd been staring. Tears streamed down her face.

"Shield her! Don't let her look!" I growled and Dalabhar did so, wrenching Arya off the ground and pressing her face to his chest, holding her as easy as a doll.

"I . . . I . . . I," Arya sobbed.

Then there was the noise, dim and far away. It was a soft sigh, and everyone let out a breath at once. I glimpsed a man with greasy hair, a patched and musty black cloak that covered twisted shoulders. He squinted at me. I frowned, raising my sword slightly, then he backed away, his onyx eyes not leaving mine. Duck turned to me, eyes pleading, and I gave a shallow nod. Rolly picked up Needle, examining the blade approvingly before sheathing it on his belt.

"We are done here. Girl, you are coming with us and you'll be keeping your mouth shut." She was about to open her mouth, but I silenced her, "Shut it, else you risk everything. Say anything and we'll hand you over to Joffrey and trust me, he'll be mad."

As the plaza began to empty, we swiftly took our exit and practically dragged the girl to a nearby alley. She didn't resist, only look numb with what happened. "W-who, who are you?"

"People who know who you truly are," was my brusque response. Her mouth widened and she looked ready to dart away, but Dalabhar's hand restrained Arya. She couldn't have gotten away if she tried. "We're here to help."

"Help?" She barely got the words out.

I forced a smile to put her at ease. It didn't work. "Come with us without a struggle and we can tell you everything and perhaps get some food down your throat. You look hungry. But first . . ." I pulled out a knife and Arya kicked, wrenching her head from side to side. After a few cuts, dark-brown hair littered the ground.

Shortly afterwards, we were back at the lodge. As soon as we shut and bolted the door behind us, Duck began to pack. We needed to flee King's Landing as soon as possible and find a ship. No doubt father wanted me back. While I held no delusions about him being furious I disappeared, the expression would be priceless when I stride in and say, "Happy to be back, father. Oh, and what do we have here, I kidnapped a Stark girl."

As Arya Stark stood in the corner of the room, I smiled warmly at her, trying to be as comforting as I could in such a situation. Granted, my father was never beheaded before me, in this life or the one before, so I couldn't sit beside her and say I understood what she was going through. "There's a bowl there. Clean yourself up. After running around King's Landing, you look a beggar and half a dead one at that." But she didn't say anything, nor look up from where she was. Tears were still running down her face and her bony form was shuddering. I was too much in a hurry to comfort her. The longer we stayed in King's Landing, the more likely we were to be revealed. "Dry your tears. With your hair cut, the gold cloaks will no longer be after you. They are looking for a girl. And be thankful we're returning you to your brother."

She looked up and me and wiped her face with the back of her hand. "My brother?"

"Robb Stark unless I'm mistaken." The future King in the North, so that will make you a princess in the near future. Seems to be a thing for dragons to kidnap princesses and Starks. "I plan to return you to him."

"You will?" She looked so hopeful and boy was it heart-breaking.

"In the future I will," I allowed. No point lying after all. "We'll be taking a ship and heading to Pentos first. We can't simply go to him. I hope you understand."

Any relief she felt left as soon as it came. "Oh."

Duck approached, pulling out the sword called Needle and offered it to her. Arya broke off into a relieved smile and snatched it from Rolly's rough hands. "Needle!" she squealed, hugging the blade to her person. I wagered she would have kissed it if not for the mud and our very presence.

"You dropped it," Duck explained, scratching the back of his head. "I apologise for hurting you, milady."

"Likewise," the Summer Islander said with a slight bow of his head.

Arya Stark turned to me, obviously knowing I was the leader of our little group. She didn't look trusting, but why should she? "You're going to help me? When are we leaving?"

"As soon as possible," I informed her. "Best wash yourself and get something to eat first. You look like you haven't eaten at all. How about some lemon cakes?"