22 -|

Chapter 22: Second Interlude

Summary:

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

Notes:

So, as it turns out, writer's burn out is a very real thing. Sorry this took so long to get out, especially since I don't think it is a particularly good chapter. Still, I should be back on schedule soon, I just need to give my brain some rest after taking on so many projects at once.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Timeline

283 AC/4E 187: Robb Stark is born; (two months later) "Jon Snow" is born.286 AC/4E 190: Sansa Stark is born; RS-3, "JS"-3.289 AC/4E 193: Arya Stark is born; Theon Greyjoy (10) arrives at Winterfell; RS-6, "JS"-6, SS-3.290 AC/4E 194: Bran Stark is born; TG-11, RS-7, "JS"-7, SS-4, AS-1.295 AC/4E 199: Rickon Stark is born; TG-16, RS-12, "JS"-12, SS-9, AS-6, BS-5.296 AC/4E 200: Direwolves are found; TG-17, RS-13, "JS"-13, SS-10, AS-7, BS-6, RS-1.297 AC/4E 201: Robb Stark turns 14; (two months later) "Jon Snow" turns 14; (one month later) "Jon Snow" runs away from Winterfell/appears in Skyrim; TG-18, SS-11, AS-8, BS-7, RS-2.299 AC/4E 203: Jon Whitewolf sends a letter to Winterfell; TG-19, RS-16, JW-16, SS-13, AS-10, BS-9, RS-4.300 AC/4E 204: Lord Eddard Stark asks Jon to return to Winterfell; TG-20, RS-17, JW-17, SS-14, AS-11, BS-10, RS-5.302 AC/4E 206: Jon Whitewolf receives Arya's letter: TG-22, RS-18, JW-18, SS-16, AS-13, BS-12, RS-7.(Two-and-a-half months later) Jon Whitewolf arrives at Winterfell: TG-22, RS-18, JW-18, SS-16, AS-13, BS-12, RS-7.(Four days later) Robb Stark turns 19: TG-22, RS-19, JW-18, SS-16, AS-13, BS-12, RS-7.(Two weeks later) Jon Whitewolf (18) leaves for KL with Enzo, Ned Stark, Sansa Stark, Arya Stark, and the royal party.(Two weeks later) Jon Whitewolf (18), the Starks, and the royal party are attacked while at the Triton.(Two weeks later) Jon Whitewolf (18), the Starks, and the royal party arrive at King's Landing. (Three days later) the Tourney of the Hand begins.(Five days later) Serena arrives at the Red Keep.(Ten days later) King Robert Dies(Six days later) Cersei Lannister's attempted coup results in the deaths of Boros Blount, Preston Greenfield, Gregor Clegane, Jon Arryn, Selyse Baratheon, Joffrey & Tommen Baratheon, Eden & Sierra, Sallem & Morie, and Tywin Lannister. 

Arya VI

Arya was never particularly interested in hair, it had always been more of Sansa's thing. For years, she watched Mother comb sweet-scented oils into Sansa's hair or weave it into complex styles with pretty bits of ribbon and the occasional jeweled hairnet. Arya never wanted that, always thought it was more practical to just stick it in a braid, but it hurt that Mother had long since stopped asking if Arya wanted her hair combed too. Her hair wasn't even particularly nice! It wasn't thick or soft or a nice, rare color like Sansa's and it didn't have have the fun curls of Jon's hair -which he had the nerve to be ungrateful about, always saying the curls got tangled too easily- either. Arya's only solace was that it looked like Father's and even that wasn't much of a comfort when Sansa and her friends teased Arya about being 'plain.'

In fact, her own brunette locks had always existed as something of a nuisance. They got in the way when she was trying to do something or had to be pinned back so hard her scalp hurt for days afterward. Sometimes it would fall out of its braid when she was out playing and getting her in trouble with Mother or Septa Mordane because it revealed that Arya had been wrestling with Nymeria or climbing trees with Bran instead of practicing her needlepoint or whatever. Honestly, she'd rather be done with all it and hack her hair short like Serana.

'With everything going on, I could probably get away with it too. Me having short hair would be pretty low on Father's list of priorities these days,'  Arya thought as she fiddled with the scissors she'd gotten from Lady Valerica, opening and closing them a few times to make sure they were sharp. ' Mother would still probably throw a fit though.'

But despite her own failures in the area of 'ladies fashion,' Arya was the only one here right now. Mother was far away, Sansa had been put into another room by Father, and Arya hadn't seen or talked to her sister since, and Septa Mordane was... gone. That news had left Arya numb and unsure how to feel; she hadn't liked the woman, a side effect from only ever receiving criticism for her, but Arya had known the Septa since she'd been born and, at the very least, the woman didn't deserve to be killed like that.

"Are you sure you want me to do this?" she asked the girl sitting in a chair in front of her. 

"Yes, cut it all off please," Princess -former princess? This was all very confusing- Myrcella said. "Short as you'd like, just make sure you cut all the blood out."

Even in the dim light of the cabin they were shared, Arya could make out how the dried blood stuck the princess' long, beautiful golden hair together in messy clumps. She winced, "I can't promise it will look good. You'd probably be better off asking Serana, her mother, or my sister to do this."

"I'm asking you , Arya. There aren't many people I trust to hold something sharp close to my neck right now, and you're one of them," Myrcella insisted firmly. "It doesn't need to look good. I just want it gone as soon as possible."

The littlest she-wolf felt herself blush as her chest swelled with pride at the compliment. "Alright, let me get started."

Snip. Snip. Snip.

Slowly but surely, the dirty tangles of Myrcella's hair fell to the floor of their cabin as Arya tamed the girl's locks to chin-length. It was uneven and choppy, the bangs hanging in front of her eyes made the princess look a bit like a sheepdog, and Arya was pretty sure she came close to cutting off an ear once or twice. Never once did Mycrella make a peep though, just continuing to stare forward into the small mirror as Arya worked. 

"How's that?" Arya asked, bending over to gather up the cut locks. 

"It's fine, it'll actually make the next part easier," she noted. Her beautiful green eyes flickered to the hair Arya had gathered up, "Toss that in the fire, please. I don't want to see it again."

Without question, Arya did so, wrinkling her nose as the strands were eaten up by the flames and the bad smell of burning hair hit her. "What do you mean, next part?"

As an answer, Myrcella just held up a small jar and a pair of old gloves. "Have you ever done this before?"

"What? Dye hair? Sure, once. I wanted to darken my hair so I'd look more like Jon," Arya admitted. "It didn't go well, the color was uneven, and my mother threw a fit because I ruined the dress I was wearing."

The amusing little story actually put a bit of a smile on the princess' face, though it vanished after just a moment. "I'm not too worried about ruining this-" Myrcella gestured to her ripped and stained dress; an outfit that probably cost an easy thousand golden dragon would now be useless as rags. "-and, so long as I look different, I don't need my hair to be perfect either." 

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Arya mumbled, slipping on the gloves and wrapping a ratty towel she'd found a drawer of one tiny dresser drawers around Myrcella's shoulders. "This stuff is probably going to smell too."

She was right about that, at least. 

"You look so different, Princess," Arya noted as she watched Myrcella rub her now-black hair dry. "Like a whole new person."

"That's what I wanted," the other girl said, examining herself in the mirror and running around her choppy new bangs, "and you shouldn't call me that anymore."

"Call you what?"

"Princess, don't call me that anymore; in fact, don't call me Myrcella either. Call me Myra instead."

Arya was confused. "That is a pretty name and all, but why?"

"Same reason I wanted to change my hair. Lady Serana said I should try to hide who I am for as long as possible. We -she, your sister, and I- were among the first to get to the ship; the captain and crew don't know or have any reason to care about who I am so Lady Serana brought me to this room and told me to keep out of sight for as long as possible. She is worried I-ll... I'll..."

And with that, the strong, steely facade Mycrella had been putting up crumbled and the girl collapsed in on herself, folding into a tiny ball on the floor and starting to weep. 

"Nonono, don't do that," Arya pleaded, awkwardly fidgeting. This was far from her area of expertise and she doubted her usual methods of cheering up Bran and Rickon when they were sad -telling dirty jokes and making fart noises, respectively- would work very well in this situation. 'Should I go get Serana? She might be better at this than I am but-

I'm asking you, Arya.

-Myrcella is my friend.'

Slowly, so she wouldn't startle Myrcella, Arya sat down on the floor next to the crying girl and gently pulled her into a hug. "It'll be alright."

" No! It! Won't! " Myrcella gasped in between sobs. "I killed my brother! I killed Joffrey!  I'm a traitor! And, even worse, I'm a kinslayer!  I'm damned now, don't you understand? The gods will damn me the Seven Hells for what I did! And I don't even care because Tommen is dead too; Joffrey killed him for trying to protect me and I didn't even get the chance to say goodbye!" 

'Well, at this point, she's basically at rock bottom and things can't get much worse... but I doubt she'd find that comforting,' Arya thought, patting her friend on the back. "Look, I don't know what exactly happened by I do know you wouldn't have killed Joffrey if he didn't deserve it-"  'And he did, the obnoxious little prick.'  "-and I definitely know Tommen wouldn't want you to blame yourself for what happened. He loved you too much for that."

Honestly, Arya had always found the younger prince to be a bit of an annoying crybaby; leagues better than his older brother of course, but not someone she'd want to spend a lot of time around. Even still, the news of his brutal and completely senseless death had horrified her. 

"Joffrey is... was awful, I know that but he's still my brother," Myrcella said, trying to rub away the tears and snot that was running down her face. "The Seven detest kinslayers, everyone knows that! I-"

"I follow the Old Gods and they hate kinslayers too but I also think that... if any sort of gods exists, they have to understand that there are exceptions to every rule. Right?" Arya asked, half to Myrcella and half to herself. "Joffrey killed Tommen and he probably would have hurt you, Sansa, and Serana too. You were just protecting yourself and, if the gods really do damn you for that then maybe they aren't worth following?"

Myrcella gasped, "That is sacrilegious! Do you want to risk divine retribution?"

Arya just shrugged, "They can bring it on! I'm tough enough to handle them!"

The other girl just gave her a funny look before bursting out into laughter, which Arya followed. The two girls collapsed fully against one another, nearly rolling on the floor giggling. Every time the laughter got close to finishing up, they'd look at one another and it would start all over again. It was as if, in this one moment, all of the horrors they just faced didn't exist and they could just be carefree young girls. 

A knock on the cabin door interrupted the merriment, if only briefly.

"Who is it?" Arya called out, choking back another laugh as Myrcella buried her face into Arya's shoulder to try and smother her own giggles.

"Me!" Serana called back. "Can I come in?"

Arya glanced at Myrcella, who nodded. "Yeah, just give me a second to unlock the door."

After a moment of fiddling with the lock, she waved the older woman in. 

"So what was all that laughing I heard?" Serana asked, nimbly kicking the door close with the foot as she balanced a stack of folded clothing in her arms. 

"Oh, nothing," Myrcella said, blushing slightly. "Just something stupid."

"The fact that something made you laugh at all is a good sign, considering..." she trailed off, seeming to lose her train of thought. "Anyway, Myrcella, I brought you some clean clothes. Mother and I dug out some clothes from cargo; we had to alter them so you'll have to try them on and let me know if they need to be adjusted."

Myrcella took the outfits with a smile and a soft thank you, tracing the navy blue collar of a simple dress. Serana patted the girl on the head, pinching a strand of her newly dyed hair between two pale fingers. 

"Your hair looks nice," she offered. "I'm glad you took my advice and changed your appearance."

"My name too, I want to be called Myra for now," the princess explained. 

Serana nodded, "Good, I'll let everyone know. You'll need a family name too. How do you feel about pretending to be my niece?"

Arya looked up, confused, "You have a niece?"

"No... but no one else in this country knows that. If Mother and I claim a girl with black hair and green eyes is Myra Volkihar then who can prove otherwise?" the young woman explained. 

"But will people really believe that?" Myrcella asked.

"Doesn't matter, if they can't prove it then they can't prove it. It's not a perfect plan," Serana admitted, "but it should add an extra layer of safety for Myrcella until..."

And awkward silence filled the tiny cabin as both Serana and Arya's eyes still to the still-huddled form of Myrcella who scowled.

"I'm not going back!" she declared. "I refuse to go back to my mother! I refuse to even call that woman my mother! I refuse to let Cersei Lannister use me as a puppet and a pawn for her own goals!"

Arya awkwardly shifted in her seat on the bed, "Myrcella... Do you know what you're saying? Are you really give up a chance to-"

"To what? To sit on the Iron Throne?" the other girl snapped. "That throne turned Robert Baratheon into a broken glutton. The promise of it turned Joffrey into an entitled monster and the chance to control it made Cersei Lannister willing to kill babies. I want nothing to do with it!"

"Myrcella, she is still your mother," the youngest she-wolf reminded gently. She hated the queen too but it just seemed... wrong for a child to hate their parent. Angry as her own mother often made her, Arya could imagine life without the woman.

The runaway princess' face turned vicious. "No, she's not! Mothers love their children and the Queen can't love anyone but herself; even her precious Joffrey was only a tool to her! One she was confident in her ability to control that she let him 'protect' Tommen and I. She is just as responsible for Tommen's death as Joffrey was."

The girl's chest was heaving, her face flushed red with rage. With burning green eyes, she looked up and growled, "I don't want a throne. I don't want a crown. I don't even want a mother. I want Tommen back but, since I can't have that, I want  revenge! "

.

.

.

"Alright, Myra Volkihar it is," Ayra mumbled. 

Serana gave the girl an understanding look, "We'll officially 'introduce' you tomorrow but for now you girls should get some sleep, things aren't going to get any easier in these coming days."

"Can you at least tell us what you know?" Myrcella... Myra asked. "How is everyone? What are our most immediate plans?"

Arya nodded, "Where is Jon? Is he okay? What is going on with Sansa? Father didn't let me see or talk with her, he seems angry with her."

"Oh, he is," Serana said immediately, then blinked when she realized what she blurted out. The older woman closed her eyes and let out a long sigh, sinking into a chair. "Look, after everything, you girls deserve to be talked to like adults so that is what I'm going to do."

She turned to Arya, "Your sister made a... well, 'mistake' doesn't even begin to cover it and your father is trying to figure out the best way to deal with it; he doesn't want her to say anything to anyone before he can make any decisions. He is cooped up in his cabin right now, between what your sister did and what happened with Jon, I'm sure he has a lot to work out."

"W-what kind of mistake?" Arya asked.

The older woman hesitated, biting her lip before sighing once more. "The kind of mistake that has gotten people killed. The kind of mistake that could get her killed."

That just about crushed the young Stark girl. Sure, she'd always thought Sansa was an idiot but never that much of one! 

'I promised that I'd look after her,'  Arya thought,  'but I didn't and now this happened! Damnit, this is all my fault!'

"Jon is resting," Serana continued on. "He is fine, just... tired. He put a lot of work into getting as many people to safety as possible and is recovering; you may not see him for a few days but don't worry."

Both Arya and Myrcella let out a relieved sigh at that news. 

"Lady Shireen and her guardian, Davos Seaworth, are with us but her mother was killed along with Lord Arryn; they asked to be dropped off at a place called Dragonstone. We also have the Tyrells and Lord Renly with us too, they came with some of your father's men."

Then she paused and gave Arya a sympathetic look, "Arya, Wyl and Heward were killed."

Her throat tightened and her eyes got hot. Arya wrapped her arms around herself and nodded, signaling for the older woman to continue. 

"Margaery Tyrell was injured in the attack but nothing life-threatening; Mother is with her now. Renly, though, is in much worse shape; I'm not sure if he'll survive. Samwell Tarly came with Mother, Shireen, and Davos. He is fine physically but the seasickness may succeed where the Lannisters failed. Other than that, Enzo and Jon managed to get two of King Robert's children and their mothers to the ship."

They lapsed into silence then as Myrcella and Arya absorbed everything Serana said and the implications her words held. 

'Cersei wanted to control everything,'  Arya realized. 'With just about every major noble family being in the Capital, she had all the potential hostages she could ever want. It was the perfect storm -Father, Lord Arryn, the Tyrells, Tywin Lannister... aside from Mother's family, the Greyjoys, and the Martells, all the pieces were in one place.' 

"There is going to be a war," Myrcella said, soft but certain. 

Serana was quiet but eventually gave a slow nod, "That... seems likely. Now, get some sleep; it is late. Lock the door behind me."

And, with that, the older woman left the cabin as the two girls were forced to ponder what the coming days would hold. The last major military conflict was the Greyjoy Rebellion and both had barely been alive for that; though Arya and Myrcella had heard stories of the horrors of wars, neither had ever been forced to deal with it personally. Hell, Arya even got another brother out of the Greyjoy Rebellion.

Wordlessly, they did as Serana suggested, changing into nightgowns and Arya slid into the narrow bunk. Sleep didn't come easy, even with the comforting rocking of this ship. She tossed and turned; while not uncomfortably, exactly, the mattress didn't hold a candle to her one at home or at the Red Keep. It also didn't help that Nymeria wasn't with her, instead, she, Ghost, and Jon's other animals had been given a cleared out storage room to stay in.

"Arya, are you awake?" Myrcella whispered into the darkness. 

"Yes."

There was the rustling of cloth followed by the patter of bare feet on the wooden floor. Silently, Myrcella slipped into Arya's bunk beside her, nestling down into the covers. 

"I'm scared," she said sadly, her warm breath tickling Arya's cheek. 

"Me too," the youngest she-wolf admitted. 

The princess took her hand under the blankets, "Arya, can you teach me about magic?"

Enzo VI

The sun was annoyingly bright. 

"Well, how is everyone this morning?" 

His question was greeted by a breakfast table of tired, scared, and unamused glares. 

"Yes, that seems about right," Enzo remarked, sliding into a chair next to Serana and grabbing an apple.

Serana, chin propped up on her hand, gave him a lazy look. "You don't look like a million septims yourself there, Z."

"I have not been sleeping," he admitted. "Being on a boat is bad enough when you are from the desert but I keep worrying that we will be ambushed. I just stay awake pacing the deck to make sure everyone is safe."

"Have you spoken to Jon then?" 

"Well, Jon isn't exactly speaking to anyone," Enzo joked, pointing towards his throat. The action caused Serana and her mother to chuckle, much to the confusion of everyone else at the table. "But he does seem fine, just needing rest for now."

For a moment, Enzo amused himself with the idea that his friend was just faking it to explain the whole magic thing to everyone. Satakal, was he glad it wasn't his responsibility. 

"Speaking of young Whitewolf, I'm going to whip something up for his throat," Valerica announced. As she walked away, Lady Poison called over her shoulder, "Samwise, be sure you finish that tea; it will settle your stomach. I can sympathize with seasickness but if you vomit on my boots again I shall ie you up and dangle you over the side of the ship as shark bait. Shark meat is quite the delicacy and I'm sure they'll find you to be delicious."

Serana gave Sam a confused look, "Samwise? Why did she call you that?"

"I don't think she bothered to remember my name and, quite frankly, I'm scared to correct her," a pale-looking Sam shrugged, taking a shaky sip from his mug. 

"She is a formidable woman," the old knight, Ser Barristan offered, to which Enzo couldn't help but mentally add, 'You don't know the half of it.'

"Makes good tea though," Sam added, his color already improving.

That actually made the extremely dour-faced Olenna Tyrell look up from the meal she'd been picking at. She turned to address Serana, "Yes, I noticed your mother seemed to have an affinity for plant life. I'm something of a herbalist myself; tell me, is your mother a healer?"

"Not really," Serana replied nonchalantly. "She is mostly just interested in plant toxins."

Sam looked up, alarmed, "What?"

"I mean, poisoning and healing are two halves of the same coin; by studying one she, by default, learned a lot about the other," the vampiress added. "And, I promise, my mother knows her plants."

"...I have no doubt," the hirsute young man commented meekly as he poured his remaining tea into a nearby potted plant, which he would doubtlessly be keeping an eye on to see if it would be dead by nightfall. 

"Some mail for you, Enzo," Veehsi Cadaresh rasped, laying another plate of bacon straight from the kitchen on the table as he handed over a stack of letters. 

Enzo took them with a nod, eyeing the Argonian's chef's hat with amusement. The only thing more so what the dumbfounded, disbelieving expressions on the faces of the majority of the Westerosi passengers. "Thank you, Veehsi. Back to the kitchens then?"

"Yes, a chef's work is never done, especially at sea."

And with that, he turned tail and left, leaving only confusion in his wake. 

Eventually, the fat flower lord cleared his throat, "I'm sorry, but can I just ask about-"

"Quiet down, Mace; now is not the time or the place," the old woman snapped. 

Barristan gave a small chuckle, "Seeing as we owe this crew our lives, I think it is best that we stay polite."

"Yes, and commenting on people's appearance is rarely so," Arya's bald sword instructor added wryly. 

"Seriously, why are none of you surprised by the man-lizard?" asked Loras, who threw down his fork in exasperation. 

"I'm old," all three simply replied... much to the young man's frustration.

"The world is much larger than you know, Loras, and you have still only seen a small part of what is out there. It is best you prepare yourself for things you never thought possible," Enzo suggested. Then opened the first of the letters, giving it a quick once over. "Ah, excellent."

"What do you have there, Z?" Serana asked, peering over his shoulder. 

"The first update from my information network," he explained. "These-" he held up the stack of letters"- should tell us what is going on in King's Landing."

"Oh, that should be helpful."

.

.

.

"Wait a... INFORMATION NETWORK?  Since when do you have that? " the vampiress demanded. 

"Not long, I put it together during the time we were in the city." Then Enzo had to reluctantly admit an embarrassing fact. "It is only composed of a shamefully small sixty individuals, not nearly as large as the one I have back in Skyrim and Tamriel as a whole."

Serana buried her face in her hands and let out an almost deranged giggle, "You really are one of a kind, Enzo. Only you would think creating an entire spy network in a city you were visiting was necessary."

"Well, what did you think I was doing whenever I went off on my own?" the Ebony Warrior asked, getting a wry glare from the dark-haired woman.

"Don't make me answer that," she grumbled. "I-"

"As interesting as your process in building a spy network surely is," Olenna Tyrella cut in, voice sharp and stern, "perhaps you could share some of those updates with us?"

"Oh, yes, of course," Enzo hummed, shuffling through the papers and wordlessly passing Serana half of them. "It seems the Cuckoo Queen is rushing to do damage control, starting with locking down the city."

"She's locked the gates?" the Fat Flower asked, aghast. "The city will stave within three months, they rely on food shipments from the other kingdoms to feed the citizens!" 

"Not quite," Enzo said slowly, shaking his head. "Merchants and the like are still allowed into the city, though they are carefully checked first, but no one inside is allowed to leave -for now, at least." 

"So she has hostages," Lady Alerie, who'd been quiet and haggard-looking all morning, whispered. "How frightening... all those poor people in danger stuck under her thumb."

"While it's certainly not a positive development," Lady Olenna admitted, "Tywin isn't one to let chaos run wide; he is too anal-retentive for that. He will rein her in." 

Sam raised an eyebrow, "Is that a good thing?" 

The old woman shrugged her boney, hunched shoulders. "That depends on how if you'd rather have a ruthless and uncompromising but pragmatic and intelligent individual as your enemy over a self-important woman-child with delusions of grandeur, an over-inflated ego, and a decent amount of skills at manipulation."

"Doesn't matter," Enzo gruntled, holding up one letter in particular. "Tywin Lannister is dead."

" WHAT? " everyone at the table demanded. 

"There is no need to shout," Enzo noted, rubbing his inner ear. "Apparently, the queen has announced that her father and her sons were all slain by her brother, Tyrion, who, with help from the 'treacherous Starks' then abducted Myrcella Baratheon and fled the Capital using the princess as a hostage."

"That can't be right," Serana stated. "From what I saw, Tyrion absolutely adored Tommen and Myrcella; sure, maybe he could have killed Joffrey but so would just about everyone and everything that ever met him, but not them."

"Agreed," Enzo grunted. 'If for no other reason that the princess is still tucked in a bed on this very ship.'

"Still, it is a believable enough lie," Lady Olenna admitted, obviously reluctant to pay the queen something even resembling a compliment. "Tywin's hatred of his imp son was well-known and the feeling was quite mutual. Anything else?"

"A couple of kingsguard are dead, many guards killed... aw, Jon Arryn was killed. That is disappointing; I liked him," the Ebony Warrior mumbled.

"Does it say how?"

Enzo shook his head, "Just that he was stabbed and that it appeared to be murder. If I was such a man, I would bet that Queen Cuckoo is attempting to keep as many details away from the public as possible."

"Not surprising, it was a Lannister man who did the killing," Serana said. Seeing the questioning looks on everyone else's faces, she continued, "The Mountain, he killed Lord Arryn. Jon was there and said he was stabbed right through the chest."

"Can't wait to see how the Lannister spin that," Lady Olenna hummed.

"Oh, they are blaming Jon… uh, our Jon, and the Starks. Apparently, they, and we by extension, are traitorous schemes who, and this is apparently a direct quote, 'seized the vulnerable time between the official crowning of a new monarch as a chance to weaken the crown's power by killing important court members," Enzo remarked. 

Serana sighed and tugged at her hair, "Wonderful… it makes sense though, Jon did kill the Mountain after all."

"Really?" Loras asked, surprised. 

" Mmmhmmm ," Enzo nodded. "He could not tell me all of the details but it seems Jon killed Clegane in the infirmary with a candlestick. So they are pinning, I suppose rightfully, that on Jon, along with starting several large fires that were started around the city and the deaths of some guards and city watchmen."

"Joy," Serana grunted sarcastically, head thumping down on the table. "I can't wait to see the fall out from all that."

"What about our family?" Lady Alerie asked. "What do we need to prepare our people for?"

" Hmmm , let me check... Ah, you are all traitors as well, of course," he explained, scanning the small, smudged writing. Then he glanced over to the old knight and added blandly, "As are you, Ser Barristan."

The man looked amused, eyes bright, and surprisingly mischievous over his raised teacup. "Oh, really?"

Enzo gave a theatrically solemn nod, "Yes, you have abandoned your position in an act of cowardness and disdain for the royal family."

"Well, that second part is right," the other man said, mostly to himself. Then he just shrugged, "Considering recent events, I will wear the title of traitor proudly. And stop with this 'Ser Barristan' nonsense; I believe we are safely on a first-name basis by now."

"Of course," the Ebony Warrior smiled, "and I insisted you do the same."

"How sweet," the recent;y-returned Valerica cooed, an amused smile pulling at her lips and carrying a pale blue bottle of pulpy liquid. She held up the concoction, "Serana, would you like to take this to Jon?"

The vampiress hopped up from her seat a little too quickly, knees knocking into the table. "Of course, I'll give it to him right now."

"Jonny is getting a bit of personal nursing, eh, Sera?" Enzo snickered... then winced at the hard slap he got to the back of the head. 'She had to know how much that would hurt.'

"Is... is there anything about my family?" Sam asked, swallowing nervously.

"...No, actually. Nothing about them at all," Enzo commented. Then, taking in the fear still in the young man's eyes, added, "That is not a bad thing -no news is good news, after all. You got them to leave the city before the bloodshed started, they are probably safe."

"Oh... oh, that is good," Sam said, giving a relieved smile. "I was worried about them."

Lady Olenna cleared her throat, turning to Sam. 

"Out of curiosity, how did you manage to convince your father to leave," the shrewd, wrinkled Old Flower questioned. "In my experience, Randall Tarly isn't a man to listen to others very well."

Sam flushed and gave an awkward laugh. "I... I hit him."

The entire table turned to the red-faced young man in surprise. 

"Really?" Olenna asked, actually sounding somewhat impressed.

Another laugh. "We were arguing... Father refused to listen, I got really angry and just... hit him, right in the face." Sam mimed a punch -Enzo fought the urge to wince at the young man's positively horrendous form- and continued. "I thought he'd killed me for it but I guess Father came to the conclusion that, if I was determined enough about getting him to leave that I'd resort to violence, then I was probably being serious. So he gathered up the rest of my family and left the city."

Lord Mace's eyebrows shot up at the explanation, "Truly? That is... Mother, why are you laughing?"

Valerica II

"You should prepare yourselves for what you're about to see," Valerica advised the huddled group of Tyrells. "We've cleaned the girl up but the damage is rather extensive and the injury is still fresh; the first time seeing it may be hard."

"Will Margaery be alright?" the woman, Alerie, asked.

The pleading look in the other mother's eyes and the desperation that tinted her voice was to soften even Valerica's dead, old heart and made her hesitate briefly before answering. "...She will survive her wound, I have no doubt, but the girl may have a hard time living with her injury. 

"What about Renly?" the young man spoke up, wringing his hands nervously. 

"That is a touch more complicated," the ancient vampiress admitted. She gave the whole group a sympathetic once over, "It should reassure you that they are both in stable condition and we've decided that you can see them."

They all surged forward a step, causing Valerica to raise a hand for them to stop. " But ," she stressed, "only one each and at a time. One for the girl and one for the man."

"I have to see Renly," Loras demanded, stepping forward.

Valerica gave a nod; Serana had explained to her the specifics of the two men's relationship -not that it wasn't obvious- so she wasn't inclined to argue. "Alright. Now, who will see the girl?"

Even though there was no exchange of words, the looks passed between the family spoke volumes. Everyone wanted to see their loved one yet all were scared about what they'd see. They want to see and comfort the girl but, by not seeing her state, they could still pretend to themselves it wasn't too bad. 

After a moment, the old woman -Olenna, she vaguely recalled- stepped forward. "I'll go."

The fat man put a pudgy hand on the crone's shoulder. "Mother, I-"

"Don't say anything," Olenna shook him off. "A parent shouldn't have to see their child in certain states. I am old; I've seen far too much and the only risk to me at this point is my heart giving out."

Valerica's lips twitched at the joke but she turned to the two concerned parents, "You'll get to see your daughter in due time; try to relax and ready yourselves for now. You two, come with me."

With that, she led the grandmother and grandson into the ship's infirmary. It was a small cabin, but cleaner and brighter than most with comfortable cots and cabinets full of medical supplies, both of the traditional and magical variety. Only two of the five beds were occupied, thankfully, and the Bell Singer's chief healer, Recilia Magione, sat crouched over the sleeping form of the girl, Margaery, and was dabbing at her bandage-wrapped face with a damp cloth. 

"Oh, Margaery," Olenna breathed, all but collapsing at the girl's bedside despite the old woman's attempt to remain stoic. 

In a rare, silent act of respect and gentleness, Recilia rose from her seat so the grandmother could take it and passed over the washcloth. "I'm going to change her bandages soon but first she needs to be freshened up. Even unconscious, I'm sure your granddaughter would find it more comfortable if you assisted me."

Leaving them to it, Valerica led Loras by the elbow and led him over the second occupied cot where his lover was unconscious. At first glance, it appeared that the young lord was sleeping but if you looked closer you'd see the unnatural stillness of his rest and the uncomfortable slowness of his breathing. P ulling up a chair, the handsome knight took hold of Renly's hand and took it to the sight of him. Either Recilia or one of her assistant had shaved the man and cut his hair short so it would be easier to keep his head wound clean. They'd also stripped and then redressed him -and Margaery- in a loosely fitted robe so he'd be easier to wash.

Touching the man's cheek tenderly, Loras turned to Valerica. "What is wrong with him?"

"Brain swelling," she explained, gently turning Renly's bandage-wrapped head to the side and pointing to the large, covered wound on the upper left side of his skull. "The injury has put him into a coma."

All of the blood drained from Loras' face. "What? When will he wake up? Isn't there anything you can do for him?"

All the questions tumbled out at once, harried and scared. Valerica could understand the confusion and fear but held up a finger to quiet him. "There is no way of knowing how long the coma will last; he could wake up tonight for all we know. And we have been doing something -everything we can, in fact."

And they had. On top of the mundane manners of healing injuries, Recilia had cast her spells, her assistant had carefully fed the man healing potions, and Valerica had applied three different healing balms to the head wound. 

But Renly still did not wake. 

No matter how much magic they fed into his body or smelling salts they waves under his nose or the pins they stuck into the arch of his foot, he would not wake. 

And, quite frankly, that was not surprising. 

'The thing about Restoration that frustrates most mages,' Valerica mused, 'is that healing magic is finicky and untamable. One can study the school of an entire lifetime and still fail to save a mother in the birthing bed while a novice can pull a soldier back from the brink of death. Emperors have died from falling off a horse while surrounded by the greatest healers in the world.'

The testy, unpredictable nature of restoration magic was what kept most mages from studying it too deeply and what a shame that was, especially since in Skyrim it was just about the only type of magic universally respected. Still, young impatient students of magic wanted to be validated when they practiced their spells -they wanted to shoot fire from their fingertips and summon daedra and harden their flesh and put up shields- so the very real possibility of being able to heal a burn one day and achieving absolutely nothing the next was disheartening to them. 

'Children these days... consumed by the belief that something isn't worth doing if there isn't the promise of results,'  the pure-blood vampiress thought. Most of her greatest breakthroughs only came after years of practice, refinement, and trial. Though, to be fair, she had far more time than most. 

Loras' admittedly lovely eyes stared up at her, "Is there anything I can do?"

"Well, you could-"

"I'll tell you this," Recilia cut in, having left Margaery's side to stand by Valerica. She jerked a thumb toward the unconscious Renly, "If he doesn't wake up in a month's time then you should just smother him."

" WHAT? " the young knight all but shrieked, jumping to his feet and surging towards the ship's healer but then Margaery stirred and let out a pained mutter in her drug-induced sleep. 

The noise caused them all to freeze and Valerica used the opportunity to shove Loras right back down into his seat. She fixed him a stern, hard stare and hissed out, "Sit down and be quiet."

Then she turned to Recilia with the same look. Now, let it be said that Valerica liked the healer; she was a rough 'n' tumble, take no-nonsense woman in her thirties who'd, while having received a rich education, never lost her common roots as the put-upon youngest daughter of a fisherman and a tavern wench. This had left Recilia with a hard disposition and a coldly realistic outlook on life. She spoke her mind and never honey-coated anything, including her medical advice. These were things Valerica usually appreciated but right now found far too harsh. 

And, yes, Valerica did realize how hypocritical that sounded coming from her. 

Recilia just shrugged, "I'm just speaking the truth and you know, Val."

Still, the woman's face softened just a touch as she turned back to Loras. With a small sigh, she, not completely unkindly, explained, "Look, it is still far too early to worry about him not waking up -he could be up and about tomorrow, for all we know- but the longer he doesn't wake up the greater the chance that he never will. At a certain point, doesn't it become more merciful to let him go?"

Loras looked stricken but said nothing, only turning his eyes to his love's face. 

"You should try talking to him," Recilia added. "I can't say if he'll actually hear you but it can't hurt. You're welcome to stay as long as you'd like... so long as you don't get too loud."

There would be no shouting in Recilia's infirmary, she even had a plaque stating as such hanging above her desk. 

The woman leaned over to Valerica before nodding towards Margaery and her grandmother. "I'm going to go start brewing more sleeping drafts for the girl. Think you can replace her bandages and keep everything under control?"

"Of course. Let me know if you need any ingredients."

And, with that, the two women separated -Recilia leaving for her private quarters attached to the infirmary and Valerica going to join Olenna. Silently, she slid into a seat beside the old woman and waited for her to say something. It wouldn't be long.

"I would like to see it," the Tyrell matriarch declared, voice stern but soft. "The injury. I would like to see it."

"I can show you, but you need to be prepared," Valerica. "We've cleaned it up as much as possible but the wound isn't pretty."

"I've lived so long that gore and viscera no longer bother me," the old woman replied. "Blood might as well be spilled ink as far as I'm concerned."

Valerica clinked her tongue even as she started to unwind the bandages from Margaery's head and face. "Be that as it may, it is always different when it is family."

The only reply she got was a sharp intake of breath as the gauze came away to reveal the girl's empty left eye socket. The attack had left Margaery with a deep gash that ran from her left cheekbone up through her eye, across the bridge of her nose and cutting through her right eyebrow before ending midway up her forehead. Though they'd cleaned the wound, applying magic and healing salves, it was still red and swollen -a brutal mark of ugliness against a beautiful face.

"We couldn't save the eye," Valerica said, as if it wasn't obvious, "but the wound shall heal nicely if cared for properly and, with time, Margaery will be able to use her other eye to compensate for the missing one."

Face remaining impressively stoic, Lady Olenna reached out as if to touch the injury, only to pull her hand back at the last minute. Her eyes tracing the long length of the slash mark, she breathed in through her teeth. "I won't pretend to understand who you people are and the strange things you are capable of doing, but... why can't you fix her?"

"She is not broken," Valerica shot back out automatically as she started gently smearing a thick healing paste made from corkbulb root, ash hopper jelly, and blisterwort on the wound. "And, bad as the wound is, your granddaughter is far from disfigured. I've seen much worse"

'Though,'  the vampiress mentally added, eyeing the girl's face, 'in a society that seems to use a girl's beauty as one measure of her worth, perhaps she will see herself as broken as well.'

"Recilia is keeping her asleep for now so that the worst of the healing can be done in peace," Valerica continued, starting to apply clean, fresh bandages. "The most important thing is that she does not itch or pick at it, otherwise it could reopen and cause further scaring."

 It was only Valerica's extra sensitive ears that allowed her to hear the old woman's hard swallow. "Well, I suppose I'll need to have some nice eyepatches made up; perhaps a lovely glass eye, as well. Nothing but the best for my granddaughter."

At those words, the pure-blood vampiress couldn't help but give the idle thought, 'Who doesn't want the best for their loved ones?'