Queen of Ashes

by luckandillusions

Summary:

The realm is at war and the kings have made their claims, but not everyone can be a king. Every player is a chess piece in someone else's game, and if it gets them what they want, some of them are willing to watch the world burn.

Chapter 1: Prologue

          "We'll go East," his mother had promised, while rubbing her swollen belly. She painted beautiful pictures of the land across the Narrow Sea. Tales of the beauty in Lys, the Lyseni had the same Valyrian blood in their veins as House Targaryen. Promises of the safety they would find behind the Black Wall of Old Volantis that housed any noble who could trace their lineage back to Valyria before the Doom. Rhaella had planted many dreams into her son's head, but Rhaella Targaryen had lied.

          Viserys had known the truth of it the night the storm raged on Dragonstone. There would be no "we" that included his mother. He'd been summoned to Rhaella's chambers in the midst of her labor, much to the dismay of the midwife and maester. There was blood, so much blood. But still, Rhaella had grasped his hand tightly and called him "my dear boy," even as she screamed in pain. The storm outside cast eerie shadows on the stones. Flashes of lightning lit the room in bursts, and the claps of thunder that followed echoed through the bedchamber.

           He was frozen, still as stone. He hardly noticed when his mother let go of his hand and a moment later a tiny babe was pressed into his arms. "Hold her, there's another coming," the midwife had said, her mud-brown eyes as grave as if Rhaella was already dead. He looked down at the infant. She was robust, with tiny toes plump as berries and eyes as bright and purple as lilacs. "Rhaenyra," his mother whispered. The maester had only shaken his head and muttered, "May she reign for more than half a year."

          Viserys thought of his brother, slain at the Trident if the rumors were to be believed. Rhaegar should have been King. He would have made a good king. Instead his son would be heir to King Aerys. Aegon was only a boy, but already Prince of Dragonstone. Rhaenyra would be his Queen one day, when the war ended. And the war will end. Viserys had said it so many times he almost believed it.

          But Rhaella Targaryen would not be there to see that day, that much had become clear. The second child would rob them all of a mother. Outside the storm raged on, though the lightning had stopped. Viserys looked down at his sister, her purple eyes starring up at him. The lightning is in her eyes, he thought.

          The second girl burst into the world with a wail, her cries so loud he thought surely she must be dying. Rhaella's voice could hardly be heard over the screams as she spoke the child's name. Then she took her son's hand again. Her violet eyes were sad, they were always so sad. It was as if she saw the horrors of the world in her very dreams. "You must protect them," she said, her voice barely a whisper on the wind. And then, like a candle going out, Rhaella Targaryen died.

           A tear rolled down his chin, dropping on his sister's forehead. Rhaenyra didn't cry. She only stared with her big purple eyes. Daenerys wailed enough for everyone in the room.

           He couldn't be sure how long he'd sat there before the wet nurse came for Rhaenyra. Viserys wouldn't leave her side, however. He hovered making the woman uncomfortable, until she was done and Rhaenyra was returned to his arms. The first Rhaenyra was the daughter of King Viserys I Targaryen. "When we're in the East, I'll be like your father," he whispered in her ear. "You'll learn from me, like she learned from him." But that was yet another thing Rhaella had lied about.

           The day the maester brought the raven from King's Landing, the wet nurse cried. Viserys might have too, but he was the last son of King Aerys II Targaryen and princes did not cry. "We're to go East. Mother promised," he said, though those were a boy's words. He was almost a man grown. "It isn't safe in King's Landing, everyone knows that."

          "The King commands it," the maester said regretfully. "It isn't my place to question him."

          "He can't have her, she's mine," Viserys said, turning his back to shield the girl. "Mother said I must protect her." The light through the window, reflected in Rhaenyra's purple eyes. They were light, so light they seemed blue in some lights. It was the color of the pale lilac of dawn. Her hair stuck up in little tufts of white, like soft clouds. Dawn. It was a commoner's name. For a moment he almost considered spiriting her away and disguising her as a milkmaids' daughter. The Dawn Princess. But that would never do. Not even the dragonseeds of the island showed the Targaryen coloring like she did. Perhaps he could switch the girls, send Daenerys to King's Landing instead. But the maester and the wet nurse would know right away. Rhaenyra was more robust and so much quieter. Daenerys would wail half way to the Red Keep.

          In the end he relinquished Rhaenyra to the maester's hands. "We will usher in a new dawn for House Targaryen," Aerys had written. Viserys tried to hold onto the words. Maybe they were true. The King could win the war and have his family back together before year's end. But the servants whispered otherwise. "The city will burn," they said. "Aerys will see his daughter burn beside him." A part of him wanted to shout back, fire cannot kill the dragon! They would rise from the ashes better and stronger and take their fire to the usurper and his dogs.

          But still, tears glimmered in his eyes when dawn came and his sister was taken away. The wet nurse had the compassion to shove Daenerys into his arms, but the girl only took up her wailing again. She was hot to the touch as if fire burned under her skin. Daenerys is fire, but fires can be put out. Rhaenyra was lighting, sharp and uncontrollable, and she had the sun in her eyes.

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          Viserys woke in a tangle of blankets wrapped so tightly around him he could hardly breathe. The hot Pentoshi sun beat down on him through the window. The silhouette of a girl stood on the balcony, long silver hair cascading down her back. "Dawn," the name was a whisper on his lips, but the girl turned. It wasn't Rhaenyra. It was only a silver-haired bed-slave from Lys. Her eyes weren't even purple.

          "You missed dawn, m'lord," she chided, her voice sultry and smooth. She sauntered toward him, hands lifting to push the bedrobe from her shoulders.

          Viserys held a hand up to stop her. "Not now. I have matters to discuss with Illyrio. Have him brought to my solar, with wine." The whore frowned, but hurried off. Viserys walked to the balcony, overlooking the Magister's gardens. Dawn was gone, and Rhaenyra was dead. But he had long ago pushed his regrets aside. He was the last dragon, and there was a crown waiting for him across the Narrow Sea.

Chapter 2: Amina

          The Godswood were beautiful this time of day. The sunlight came in through the red leaves and cast a glow on the pool below. Amina lay beneath her favorite tree, a tall soldier pine with a multitude of thick branches meant for climbing. The sticky sap on her dress was evidence enough that she'd already climbed the tree once that day, and was giving serious consideration to a second trip up.

          Her considerations were cut short by an attack, she let out a tiny squeal as a blur of black and grey pinned her to the ground. She kicked, her legs causing her skirts to hike up around her waist, and clawed at the dark haired boy. Finally she gained the upper hand. They'd been here too many times. She knew all his weaknesses. Amina flipped him over, straddling him. Her own black hair had fallen out of its braid and cascaded around her face as she stared down at him with a grin. "You make this too easy, Snow."

          "Catelyn sent me," Jon said, sheepishly. It wasn't the first time her lady mother had sent hunters after her, and it was surely not the last. Jon Snow was the only one who could ever find her. "You had me worried too. I thought you'd run away this time for sure, Ami."

            Amina leaned down, her face hovering above his. "You know I'd never run away without you." She ran a lot, but the furthest she'd ever gone was Castle Cerwyn. Lord Medger had invited her to stay for supper and then sent her back to Winterfell with an escort. Amina would have come back anyway, she always did. She'd learned long ago that running scared Catelyn Tully half to death, and when Catelyn was scared she was like to give Amina whatever she wanted. Running had gained her almost everything important in her life: her knives, sword fighting lessons, peace and quiet. The only thing she hadn't begged out of Ned and Cat was Jon Snow.

          Jon propped himself up on his elbows to close the distance between them, and pressed his lips to hers. It was a sweet, soft kiss. He tasted of pine and honey. Amina sat up quickly. "Are there honeycakes?"

          Jon nearly choked on his laughter. "There are if Arya hasn't eaten them all by now. If you want some, you should hurry inside."

          She rolled off him, dropping back into the pine-needle bed beneath the trees. Small, red-eyed Ghost licked at her face. Amina lifted a hand to scratch under the direwolf's chin. "If I go in, Catelyn will find me and want to lecture me on being a proper lady. As if I don't know how to put on a good show." Amina ran her fingers though her hair, untangling the rest of her braid. "I won't embarrass anyone in front of the King."

          "Your hair's fading," Jon noticed, reaching out to twirl a piece of grey-black hair around his finger. "She'll want to dye it again before the royal family comes." As if attempting to protect Amina from that fate, Ghost clambered into her lap.

          Amina groaned, a long drawn out noise, and stuck her bottom lip out in a pout. "The dye makes it smell for a week. Tyrosh is famed for their dyes, yet they can't manage to remove the stink? I bet someone at the market is cheating us. It's probably not Tyroshi dye, it's probably some tar they cooked up in a kettle." She held a chunk of particularly faded hair up to the light; if she squinted she could almost see the silver. Or maybe that was just grey.

          "Do you want to run away?" She asked suddenly. Amina had thought about it a hundred times. The world was so big and full of mysteries, and she'd only seen one tiny corner of it. "We could go to King's Landing, where my family lived. Or across the Narrow Sea on a trading galley. We could be sellswords in the Golden Company, or merchants in Qarth. Or we could learn magic in Asshai and never want for anything ever again."

          "You won't want for anything," he said after a moment. "Not when you're the Lady of Winterfell." Jon looked at her with his sad grey eyes. She'd known for most her life that she would marry Robb Stark one day. Their betrothal was a secret from most. To the world she was only a highborn girl from an extinct house. Ned and Cat had taken her in as a ward, raising her alongside their children, grooming her to be the perfect little lady. They'd even gone through a whole show of parading her off to the seats of all the Northern lords as if they were actually seeking a match for her. But nothing would change her blood. She was a dragon and one day there would be no more hiding it.

          "I don't want to be Lady Stark. I don't want to raise children and sit on my hands while men fight battles leagues away. I want adventure." It was the only thing she couldn't weasel out of Catelyn with her running. She'd conceded to Amina's sword fighting lessons, and her throwing knives. Allowed her to go on hunts and attend tourneys as far south as the Twins. But whenever she asked to be set free, her lady mother would only pet her hair and promise that one day Ned would tell King Robert of her lineage, and Amina would finally be free. They had very different definitions of the word.

           Jon shook his head. "You're lucky." They'd had this conversation a dozen times. There were so many things they understood about each other. Bastards and orphans were not so different. Surrounded by loved ones, they were still alone. But on this matter they couldn't be more opposite. "Thousands of girls would kill to be in your shoes."

          "I'd gladly hand them over without all the bloodshed," she quipped. "I'd be a peasant if it meant I could be with you."

           Before he could answer, there was a shout from the gate of the Godswood. "Jon? Did you find her?" Catelyn's voice was tinted with worry. Still, she remained outside the gate. Catelyn Tully never entered the Godswood without a reason. It was just one of the many differences between Amina and the woman who raised her. "I see you sitting on the ground. Is she hurt? Don't tell me she fell out of a tree again."

          Amina pushed herself to her feet with a huff. The direwolf barked as he tumbled into the pine needles. "I'm quite all right!" She called toward the gate.

          Catelyn tore through the trees and wrapped Amina in a hug. She squeezed tight enough to crush bone, but Amina knew she was more than strong enough to shake Cat off if she wanted to. But she never did. At the end of the day, Lady Stark was the closest thing she'd ever had to a mother. The love she gave was welcome, even if it was often stifling.

          When Catelyn finally let go, she ran her hands over Amina's hair, taking a good look at her. "You nearly scared me to death. I thought for sure someone had kidnapped you this time." It was unusual for Amina to run off without first kicking up a fuss. But this time hadn't been a ploy to gain anything, only a moment to breathe. "Your hair is much too light, this won't do. Come inside, there's still time to set the dye before dinner."

          Amina let out a long sigh, but she knew better than to argue. There were few things that Catelyn stood her ground on, but the hair dye was one of them. Jon gave her an apologetic look from the ground, and an awkward half wave as Catelyn tugged Amina out of the Godswood and toward her smelly fate.

Chapter 3: Catelyn

         Playing with her daughters' hair had always been relaxing for Catelyn. That was the reason she took on the task of washing and dying Amina's hair even now. She trusted her handmaids and servants well enough, but why pass along the job when doing it herself was just as easy and a hundred times more relaxing.

          Sansa had caught them on the stairs and followed them up, eager to have Amina as a captive audience to her stories. More oft than not, Amina found excuses to escape the younger girl. While the dye set in Amina's hair, Catelyn brushed her own daughter's auburn locks till they shined. All the while, Sansa went on about the royal family. Her direwolf, Lady, lay curled up at her feet. "The Queen has two brothers. Jaime is in the Kingsguard, they say his hair shines nearly as bright as his armor."

          "They also say he killed the last king," Amina muttered. Sansa pretended not to hear, and continued on.

          "Queen Cersei's children are just as beautiful as she is. Joffrey is near my age, they say he might be as brave a knight as Ser Jaime one day."

          Amina screwed up her nose. "Who is this they you keep referring to, and why do you believe they know anything about the royal family?"

           "Jeyne Poole knows all the best stories," Sansa explained, not catching the biting sarcasm in her sister's tone. "I'm surprised you haven't heard about them. I can help you brush up of your studies if you'd like. I could even help with your needlework if you would like to make something nice for the Queen."

          Even Catelyn had to laugh then. Sansa gave her mother a scalding look in the mirror. "Sansa, I'm afraid not even you could save Amina's needlework. Everyone has something they must work at." The redhead frowned, as if unsure what the appropriate response was.

          "I appreciate the offer, but mother's right," Amina said from her chair. "Your hands were meant to sew, mine were meant to throw knives." She pantomimed throwing one of the silver knives on her belt. Catelyn was almost surprised Amina hadn't actually let one loose, it would have scared Sansa into tears. But, no, Amina was not Arya. She was no proper lady, at least not when it came to needlework, but Amina had grace. If only she could teach Arya how to wield courtesies, instead of weapons. On second thought, I can't imagine having two daughters who know how to kill a man with words and knives.

          Catelyn twisted Amina's freshly dyed hair back from her face. She brushed it through, one last time, with a dash of rose water to hide the telltale smell off Tyroshi dye. "There you are, good as new." Amina ran her fingers through her hair, admiring the way her hair shown. Even with so many layers of dye, it still gleamed with an otherworldly quality. It was as if they'd turned the silver-gold to obsidian.

          "You look like a princess," Sansa said wistfully. "Even the King will say so."

           "Go on, both of you," Cat said, shooing her daughters toward the door. "You'll have new dresses waiting for you in your rooms." Sansa and Amina looked at each other with grins. Dresses were one thing the eldest girls could agree on. Despite her affinity for weapons, Amina still loved a fine gown. Too much, Catelyn thought with a shake of her head. She'd ruined more than a few while play fighting with the boys in yard.

         "I can't wait to meet the prince, they say he's dashing," Sansa singsonged as they walked out the door. "Aren't you excited?"

           "You mean Jeyne Poole says he's dashing," Amina said. "There isn't a boy Jeyne Poole doesn't find dashing. I'm only excited for the food, Jon said there were honeycakes."

          "Those are meant for tomorrow," Sansa warned.

          Amina let out one sharp laugh. "If we wait until tomorrow, Arya will have them all eaten." Sansa's resulting giggle carried down the corridor. As Catelyn put the combs and perfumes in their proper places, Catelyn smiled to herself.

          No sooner had the girls departed than Eddard appeared in their place. She paused her tidying to turn toward him. "Preparations are almost complete for the King's arrival. Even with such a short time to prepare, the rooms are ready and the kitchens are overflowing."

           Ned glanced toward the hall with a raised eyebrow. "Not if that one has anything to say about it. She nearly slid down the balustrade singing something about honeycakes."

          Catelyn pressed two fingers to her forehead and sighed. "It's a miracle her wardrobe isn't in tatters."

          "To think we believed age would make her manageable." They both laughed quietly at the idea.

          "Perhaps the North could do with a bit more of her humor," Catelyn noted. The Northerners had always possessed a strange solemnity. It was present in everything from their castles to their house words.

          "Perhaps your right," Ned acquiesced. He crossed to the window and looked down at the courtyard below. It was bustling as everyone hurried to make last minute preparations for the King's arrival. "It's been too long, and this day is endless."

          Cat shook her head amused. It was nice to see Eddard this happy, even with the news of Jon Arryn's passing. Though the weeks of the King's visit would be chaotic, it would all be worth it if it could lift Ned's spirits. But still, there was the matter of a direwolf dead in the snow with a broken antler in its throat. A bad omen for things to come.

          She touched Ned's arm lightly. "Come, I'm sure there are still preparations to be made. The day will go quicker if you have something to do."

          He sighed. "I came here for a break, and you're sending me back to work." Catelyn smiled and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, willing the dread she felt to go away. 

Chapter 4: Eddard

          It was a chilly, late-summer morning when the King's party arrived in Winterfell. From the look of it, Robert had brought half of King's Landing along with him. Most would make camp outside the castle walls, while others would be lodging in the winter town, only the royal family and their household would be staying within the castle. Even still, it was enough to throw all of Winterfell into a flurry of activity. Feats were to be held, and Robert would want to hunt, of course. There were a thousand things to get in order, and they'd only been given a few short weeks to prepare.

          Nine years had passed since Ned had seen Robert Baratheon, and he was unsure what to expect. The Iron Throne was known to change those who sat upon it. How would Robert have changed in the years since?

          Ned needn't wait long to find his answer. If it weren't for Robert's roaring voice and the bone-crushing hug he gave his old friend, Ned might not have recognized the man at all. He'd gained at least eight stone since the day they stood in Balon Greyjoy's fallen castle and accepted the rebel lord's surrender and his youngest son as hostage and ward.

           Theon Greyjoy chose that moment to whisper something into Amina's ear that sent the girl into a fit of barely contained giggles. The dark haired girl clung to his arm, and hid her face in his shoulder until she managed to compose herself. After which, she delivered a stealthy punch to his ribs that made the lordling grimace. Ned gave them both a look of warning, but too late. Their antics had already caught the attention of the King.

          Robert stopped in front of Amina, where she stood a few rows back. She gave him a shy smile, though Ned knew it was only a ruse. He couldn't remember a time when the girl had truly been shy. Amina curtsied, but the King continued to stare. Eddard knew what Robert was seeing. Lyanna.

          There was many a time when even Ned saw Lyanna in the girl. It wasn't Amina's look, no, her coloring was wrong. Lyanna had hair the color of chestnuts, and eyes grey as the bricks of Winterfell. Whereas Amina's hair was coal black, and her eyes were blue as ice. No, they shared no common features, but they carried themselves the same way. There was defiance in the way Amina rolled back her shoulders when she spoke, and a sparkle in her eye that said she was always in on the joke. Like Lyanna, she rode horses as well as any man, and practiced with bows and swords until blisters bubbled on her hands. But Amina was no wolf.

          After a long moment, Robert appeared to realize he had been staring, but offered no word of apology. "You have a name, girl?"

          "Amina," she answered, voice crisp, almost indignant. There were few things she loathed more than giving her stolen name. "Lady Amina Corrigan, your grace." She curtsied again, and gave the King another smile.

          "Ah, the other ward." He nodded as if her answer explained everything. House Corrigan had gone extinct during the Rebellion. They'd been small and confined to an island, not unlike the Mormonts. But their Lord Corrigan had been young and eager to prove himself on the mainland, so eager that he'd committed all his fighting men to Robert's cause. When Beldain Island was abandoned, save for the women, children, and old men, the Ironborn took the opportunity to attack. They had carted off their gold and their women, and then burned the rest.

          What had been a tragedy for House Corrigan had proved a Gods' blessing for Amina. The Beldish were known for sable hair and pale blue eyes. The girl's coloring was near enough to match, and those that knew the islanders well enough to tell the difference had burned with the Corrigans.

          "Leave it to the Ironborn to rob this kingdom of Beldish beauty," Robert said, going as far as to spit on the ground, much to his Queen's disgust. Theon shifted uncomfortably, but Amina had him firmly in her grip. "Leaves you to carry it on. Surprised there isn't a line of suitors at the gate for you."

          Amina gave a polite laugh. "Lord Stark frightens them all away."

          That earned a chuckle out of the King as well. He still had the same loud, hearty laugh he'd had since they were boys. "I wouldn't doubt that for a moment." Robert clapped a hand on Eddard's shoulder. "Let the girl have some fun, Ned!" Amina shared a look with Theon that nearly had them both in stitches again. It was unlike the girl to be so free with her laughter in front of guests, but with the stresses of the past weeks Ned couldn't fault her for it.

          Ned just shook his head; the girl had plenty of fun, though perhaps of a different sort than the King was implying. Amongst the household, his wards were thought to be a two-headed terror. When they weren't stealing from the kitchens or sparring on the roofs, they were in the winter town. Of late, their favorite haunt was the Smoking Log, an alehouse known for its brawls. From the bruises Amina returned home with, it was evident it was more than just silver she put at risk.

          "Come, meet the rest of my children," Ned called.

          Robert turned and threw his arm around his friend's shoulder. "Yes, and then take me down to your crypts, Eddard. I would pay my respects." As they moved on, Ned noticed that the King wasn't the only one whose attention had been captured by Amina. The Queen's eldest brother, Ser Jaime Lannister, was watching her as well. Ned frowned. Though he wasn't certain why, the look on the knight's face left him with a sense of dread.

Chapter 5: Jon

           Jon had been tucked in the back of the hall with the younger squires, but he didn't mind. The company here was surely better than that of the royalty on the dais. He'd had the chance to judge them all from his vantage point as they entered the Great Hall. The Queen, though beautiful, wore a smile like wax. Her King was no more impressive, fat and sweating though his silks.

          Robb escorted Princess Myrcella in, grinning like a fool. Jon didn't see much in her to inspire that sort of reaction, the tiny blonde seemed uninspiring and commonplace compared to the princess they spent every day with. Arya and Sansa entered with Princes Tommen and Joffrey respectively. The eldest prince, though younger than Jon, was taller, and he frowned at the hall as if it were beneath him. Sansa didn't appear to notice however, and smiled up at him dreamily.

          Among the last to enter were the Queen's brothers. Ser Jaime was tall and gallant with golden hair and he wore the white armor of the Kingsguard. He looked like a true knight straight out of Sansa's beloved songs. The dwarf was more than a few steps behind, attempting to keep up.

          On the arm of the Kingslayer, was Amina. Her hair was newly dyed and so black it seemed to drink in the light. Her gown was silver and white, like Sansa's. But Amina wore rubies around her neck and dangling from her ears, red and sparkling like dragon blood. She looked every bit the princess that she was. Ser Jaime whispered something in her ear and she laughed, not the polite giggle she'd given King Robert when he praised her beauty, but a true laugh. Jon could see the smirk on her face when her eyes darted toward the dais, and knew the next words out of her mouth were some scathing joke. It was Jaime's turn to laugh then. They seemed as if they were old friends.

          He'd started drinking then, and had not stopped. There was no one here to limit him to only one glass of wine, and he told himself he was fortunate in that.

          Some time later, uncle Benjen joined them at the back table, squeezing in beside Jon and stealing away his summerwine. He took one look at his nephew, who'd long since lost count of how many glasses he'd had, and laughed. "Well, I believe I was younger than you the first time I got truly and sincerely drunk."

          Benjen scratched between Ghost's ears under the table, and snuck him a chicken leg while no one was looking. Jon hardly noticed, for across the room Amina's head was bent toward Jaime Lannister's as they talked so intensely it was as if they were sat alone. Jon had sat with her like that a hundred times, and more oft than not she could be found with Theon Greyjoy, heads bent together plotting something sure to get them both in trouble. But they, along with Robb, had been by her side for years.

          "Have you heard a word I've said, boy?" Benjen asked, waving a roast onion in Jon's face. "You fancy the Corrigan girl?" It took half a moment for Jon to recall the name Amina was most known as, and when he did, he flushed. "They do say she's the darling of Winterfell, or the terror, depending who you ask."

          "Depending on the day," Jon murmured.

          "She's the only one on the dais who appears to be enjoying herself," his uncle noticed. "Other than the King." Jon had realized that too. His father was polite but withdrawn, and the Queen was cold as an ice sculpture. Even his half-siblings seemed finally to realize their companions were less interesting than expected. Only Amina's glowing smile matched the King's drunken revelry, and she knew better than to be in her cups at a feast.

          If only Jon himself had half the restraint. Her words came back to him from the evening before. She'd asked him to run away with her, as she had a dozen times before. Each time he'd turned her down, for this reason. This world, with nobility and politics and feasts, it was her world. She belonged here, in Winterfell, with Robb. No matter how she begged, Amina Targaryen was not meant to be a bastard's wife. She would always want for more, she would always deserve a crown. Jon could never give her that life, but just like Amina, he wanted for more as well.

          He turned back to his uncle, a man of the Night's Watch, an honorable order. Jon would never be a Lord like Robb, never command armies like Bran and Rickon, but in the Night's Watch he could be something. "When you go back to the Wall, take me with you."

          Benjen watched his nephew for a heartbeat. "The Wall is a hard place for a boy, Jon."

          "I know what I'm asking, and I am ready to take an oath."

          His uncle glanced toward the dais, then back to Jon. "We have no families, none of us will ever father sons. Our wife is duty. Our mistress is honor. Until you have known a woman, you cannot understand what you would be giving up. Come back to me when you've fathered a few bastards of your own, and we'll see how you feel."

          "I will never father a bastard," he insisted, enunciating each word. "Never!"

          The table had fallen silent, the other men watching the altercation between uncle and nephew, and Jon felt the tears welling up in his eyes. He stood, and stepped away from the table. "I must be excused." It was the summerwine, he'd had too much. On his way out of the hall, he nearly tripped over his own feet and he stumbled into a serving girl who spilled her tray.

          He hardly acknowledged the laugher, or the hands that offered to help him keep his feet. Jon pushed through the doors and stepped out into the yard. He took up a dulled practice sword and swung it at one of the targets. Once, twice, three times. Straw flew around him.

          "If you take the arm off, Ser Rodrick will make you sew it back on yourself." Jon turned at the familiar voice. Amina stood there, in her gown and jewels, looking entirely out of place in the training yard. She climbed up on the railing, as if she were wearing leather pants and a tunic instead. "You made quite a fuss inside. That poor serving girl ran crying into the kitchens."

          Jon flushed. "I drank more than I ought have."

          She hummed. "Then you're in good company. Most of the hall could say the same, not the least of which the King himself." Amina pushed herself from the railing, and took the sword from his hand, returning it to the stand. She led him around the corner, out of sight of the sentry on the battlement. One of her hands tangled in his curls. "Are you alright?"

          Jon nodded, though Amina's frown indicated she saw right through it. But he couldn't tell her the things he'd thought, couldn't tell her he'd asked to be taken far away. Before she could ask again, he leaned her against the wall and brought his lips down to hers. Her arms snaked around his neck, pulling him closer toward her.

          After a moment, she pulled away, looking up at him. "One day, we'll be free of this. I feel it in my bones. We were meant for more than this."

            Jon kissed her forehead. "Go. They'll miss you inside." She held him in her arms for a moment, then gave a nod. "Give them a good show."

          "I always do." Amina let him go, and slipped out from under his arms. When she was halfway to the door, she turned to curtsey and give him a wink, before disappearing back into the great hall. When she was gone, Jon stood there in the yard, alone. 

Chapter 6: Arya

           Arya found Amina and Jon sitting in the windowsill of the covered bridge between the armory and the Great Keep. She wiggled herself between them with a grin. Her direwolf, Nymeria, danced around below, urging Ghost to play. "Has Robb beaten the prince yet?" She asked, reclining her head against Amina.

           "Once or twice," Amina told her with a smirk. They'd all decided Prince Joffrey was an entitled brat. Only Sansa remained under his spell, but that was to be expected. "Avoiding needlework?"

          The younger girl huffed. Arya had always considered Amina her favorite sister. Maybe they shared no blood, but when Sansa was the other option, it was easy to choose. Sansa was always so difficult to get along with, but Amina shared Arya's affinity for weapons and horses. And while Sansa considered those affinities faults, Arya had no such disdain for Amina's love of dresses and histories, though she'd rather avoid them herself. "How did you get out of lessons?" Arya asked, linking her arm through her sister's.

          Amina shrugged a shoulder. "I've been given leave of my lessons with Septa Mordane. I suppose it's a consolation. When the rest of you go to the capital, I'll be left behind." Arya frowned at the reminder. She overheard her father discussing Amina with the King. Robert wanted Amina to join them; there were many more suitors in the south, after all. But Ned had insisted she was better suited for the North, and ought to stay behind to help Catelyn run the day-to-day business of Winterfell.

          "Left behind to be a Lady," Arya reminded her. With a teasing smirk, she added, "You and Robb might as well be married already." Beside them Jon intently watched Bran fight the younger prince. "I don't want to go to King's Landing, can't you beg mother to let me stay?"

          Amina ruffled the girl's hair. "I doubt it would have much effect. Besides, the capital will be good for you, just wait. When you return you'll speak half a dozen languages and have friends from every corner of the world." Her eyes glittered at the prospect, so Arya kept her mouth shut and her opinions to herself. 

          They all looked back down as Bran rushed at Tommen again. "I could do just as good as Bran," Arya insisted.

          "You're too skinny," Jon said with a laugh. "I doubt you could even lift a longsword, little sister, never mind swing one."

          "Neither could Bran! They're using wooden swords."

          "She is right. We all start somewhere." Amina smiled softly.

          Below Joffrey challenged Robb to a fight with live steel, but Ser Rodrick refused. Arya wondered if it was because he knew Robb would win. The prince would surely run crying to his mother and then they might all be in trouble. "Oh, let them fight!" Amina taunted. Theon smirked up at her and she laughed. "Come, Arya. The show's over, and there's something I want to show you before Catelyn chases you down."

          Arya climbed down from the windowsill, leaning against it while she waited for Amina to follow. Amina put her hand on Jon's shoulder and squeezed. Leaning down over his shoulder, she whispered, "See you tonight." In the yard, Theon watched them with a frown. Amina blew him a kiss. Then she turned, tossed her arm 'round Arya's shoulder, and led her into the keep.

          In Amina's room, Arya made herself comfortable on the bed, stretching out like she had a hundred times before, while Amina searched though her wardrobe. She hardly remember the last time Amina had left Winterfell for any length of time. Arya was so used to sneaking into Amina's room whenever she felt like it to listen to stories until she fell asleep.

          Amina turned, and laid out her knife roll across the bed. Arya slid over to inspect them. She'd seen Amina throw them countless times, but never had she been so close. Amina slid one out and turned it over in her hand. It was silver, like all the others, but the handle was polished obsidian, not bone like the rest. "A knight gave me this knife, years ago at a tourney. This is the knife I taught myself to throw with. Take it to King's Landing with you."

          "Oh, I couldn't!" Arya protested, even as she took the knife in her hands and turned it over like Amina had. The obsidian was as black as Amina's hair, and near as shiny. It felt like she was holding something important, and she knew without a doubt this was Amina's favorite knife.

          "It's the last knife I reach for," Amina explained, as if she'd read her thoughts. "It's weighted differently from the rest. Here, I'll teach you how to throw it, and then you can practice while you're gone."

          "Do you name knives?" She asked, still studying the knife.

          "No, only swords." Amina smiled conspiratorially. "But perhaps you should be considering a good sword name too." Arya furrowed her brow, but before she could ask any questions, Amina was pulling back a tapestry on her wall, exposing a makeshift target beneath it. "Come on, let me show you how to throw her."

Chapter 7: Amina

          The Godswood were quiet as Jon's words hung in the air between them. Going to the Wall to take the black. I should have know, she cursed. It had been near a moon's turn since he'd decided, but no one had spoken the words to her face and she turned a deaf ear to the chatter. She'd been so busy. After Bran had fallen from the Burned Tower things had seemed to speed up, and Amina was always running to catch up with them. Her nights were consumed with worry for Bran, and her days were spent grooming her sisters for the capital. Amina hadn't even gone out of her way to avoid Jon, she just hadn't time to sneak away. But finally the time had come.

          In the Godswood, under her favorite soldier pine, he said goodbye. "We always knew this had to end," he said, though she could hardly hear over the pounding of her heart in her chest. He must hear it; he must know this will kill me.

          "It doesn't have to," she whispered. Queens don't beg, she scolded herself, but that didn't stop the words from coming out of her mouth. "You can stay. Please." Her vision was cloudy with tears, but she didn't dare raise a hand to wipe them from her eyes. She'd used her tears a hundred times to get her way, why would this be any different?

          Jon kissed her, hard and hungry as if this were their last kiss. As if he had to burn the taste of her into his memory. This is not our last kiss, she promised herself. I won't let it be. Amina could taste the salt of tears, but wasn't sure if they were his or her own. When she opened her eyes, he was gone.

          Amina felt the snow under her knees. She didn't remember falling. Her forehead pressed into the bark of their tree. For hours she stayed like that, letting the sobs tear through her body until they finally ran out. The sun came up, and the castle grew quiet. He was gone, she knew. They all were. Amina was alone.

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          Amina bounced Rickon on her hip, while they watched Robb and Theon spar in the yard. Robb had been graduated from blunted training swords to live steel, and was determined to make good use of the new weapon. Amina wanted nothing more than to join them, but someone had to care for the youngest boy. Ned and the girls were eight days gone and Catelyn hadn't been seen outside Bran's bedchamber since.

          "Lady Corrigan," Maester Luwin called from the terrace. "May I have a word?"

          Amina gave a nod, and sat Rickon atop a hay bale. "Mind the boy," she warned Robb, before turning to Rickon and urging him to stay in his seat. Luwin stood at the top of the stairs, with books and papers. "Are we back to lessons then?"

          The maester shook his head, and offered her a list. "Unfortunately, we are not. There are appointments to be made, ones that cannot wait." Amina scanned the names upon the list. "We're in need of a new captain for the guard, for one. Then there's the matter of food stores, the King's men had healthy appetites."

          "And winter is coming," Amina finished. "Catelyn should review the figures, and the names." She hardly paused before she answered her own thought. "But Cat hasn't left Bran's bedside in a fortnight." Maester Luwin gave a small nod. "Very well, Robb and I will review the necessary tasks on the morrow, will that be alright?"

          For a moment, she thought Luwin might protest. But they both looked down at the scene below. Robb, though sweating from the fight, was grinning like she hadn't seen since Bran's fall. "Very well," he acquiesced.

          The maester retreated into the keep, and Amina lingered on the terrace for a moment, watching her boys from above. It was good to see smiles on their faces, though she couldn't imagine conjuring one of her own. For a moment Robb looked unburdened, like the boy he was supposed to be. Though Amina was Robb's elder only by a few short months, she hadn't been afforded the luxury of girlhood. No, she'd been tearfully removed from that bliss the day she learned her life was in perpetual danger. Sparing Robb one last day of playful sparring and smiles was an easy choice. He could grow up tomorrow.

          Amina leaned over the railing, and called out below, "Either of you brave enough to face me in a knife throwing contest?"

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          Winterfell was empty without Catelyn. At least that was how it felt to Amina, as if her departure to the south had been the tipping point. Ned and Cat were the heart and soul of the castle. Though years of lessons had been leading to this day, the day Robb and Amina would take their place, neither of them expected it would come quite so soon. But it was good for her, busywork to distract her from the dark and ragged hole in her chest.

          "Garrett of the winter town," Amina said when the subject of new guardsmen was breached. "He's lowborn, but he knows his way around weapons. I'd feel confident betting on him in a fight." In fact she had bet on him, many times. Sometimes even against Theon, but more oft against the bigger and uglier tavern-goers.

          Garrett wasn't particularly large, but he was fast and deadly. He called Amina Quicksilver for the way she drew her knives. Garrett had been at her back in countless brawls. Maester Luwin gave Amina a curious look, but wrote down the name nonetheless. Robb stared pointedly at the tapestry on the wall. He had met Garrett once, and nearly gotten himself killed in the process. It was safe to say he wasn't a fan. Amina placed her hand over Robb's with a smirk.

          "I believe that is the last of the appointments," Luwin told them, folding up his papers. "We'll continue the matters of taxes after supper?" Amina have her best impersonation of an enthusiastic nod, but as soon as the maester was out of the room, she dropped her head to Robb's shoulder.

          "It's almost as if the days grow longer," she groaned. "Would that we had an endless supper instead."

          Robb laughed. "I've seen how much you eat. If we had an endless supper, you'd grow larger than the King." Amina jabbed her finger between his ribs, causing him to jump. He chuckled again, and slipped his arm around her shoulder. It had been a long while since they were alone together, just the two of them. Almost always they had Theon or Jon along as well.

            "You haven't gone to the Godswood since–"

           "I haven't," Amina confirmed, cutting him off before he could speak the words. "It feels lonely now, even the birds are quiet."

           "We could go tonight," he offered. "With candles like we used to." It had been there, under her favorite soldier pine, that she'd told Robb who her father was. He'd been the first one she'd run to, and he taken Amina straight to the Godswood, her favorite place. Robb knew all the right things to say, and he didn't mind her tears. But that was years ago, and so much had come between them since.

          Before she was forced to reply, the doors to the hall opened, and Theon came in. "Had enough of playing Lord and Lady for today?" He called, joining them at the table.

            "If only," Amina quipped, pushing herself from the bench and getting to her feet. "Are you off somewhere?"

          "The whores and the alehouses are calling my name." Theon told Amina, tossing his arm over her shoulder, and swaying her back and forth. "And you look as if you could use a good fight. Ride with me?"

          Amina ran her fingers across her knives. Since the attack on Bran and Catelyn, she'd taken to wearing a knife belt everywhere. "The Smoking Log is surely missing our coin," she reasoned. "And I should offer Garrett his position in person." Amina pursed her lips. "Alright, I've been convinced."

          Theon stepped away and grinned. "I'll ready the horses."

          Amina turned back to Robb, and offered a hand. "Come with us."

          He shook his head. "Someone has to go over taxes with Maester Luwin." Amina bit her lip, guilty that she was shirking responsibilities already. But she could use a night away from the castle, and an excuse to leave Robb's side. "Go. I'll tell Luwin you felt ill."

          Amina put a hand on Robb's cheek and gave him a soft smile. "Sleep in tomorrow, and I'll do twice the work." He nodded, though she knew he wouldn't. Robb would be by her side, bright and early, just as he always was.

          Before she could get out the door, he called after her. "Amina?" She turned, with a raised brow. "The Godswood?"

          "Soon," she promised. In truth, Amina was afraid the trees were tainted by too many memories made bitter by the year's events. What's more, she heard the implication beneath Robb's request, and her heart had not yet healed enough to let him in.

          In the yard, Theon waited with the horses. "You're good at this, you both are," he said when Amina joined him. She furrowed her brows. "The decisions, the delegating. Being Lord and Lady."

          "I wish I could agree with you," she muttered, reaching for her destrier's reins.

          "Give it time, you've only been at it for two moons," he reminded her. "In a year's time it will be easier, you won't need to give it a second thought."

          "Gods be good, Ned and Cat will be home long before then." Amina mounted her horse, the grey-white mare she'd named Myst. "Now, please, can we have one night without talk of business?"

          "What about conspiracies?"

          Amina frowned. It had been conspiracies that had taken Catelyn away from Winterfell, all on the word of a grief-stricken woman. "Until Cat returns, there's no use speculating. We cannot know anything for certain, and if word spreads, we'll incite panic from here to King's Landing."

          "My lady!" A servant called, as they neared the gates. Amina turned her horse to face the girl. "My lady, it's Bran." She took heavy, labored breaths. Clearly she'd just run halfway across the castle.

          Amina's stomach filled with dread. "Is he..."

          The servant girl smiled, "He's awake."

Chapter 8: Lyman

           It seemed that the entirety of Castle Darry had gathered in the great hall to gawk at the farce of a trial. The King himself had taken charge of the small holdfast while his party hunted down the Stark girl and her wolf. The members of oversized traveling party were unwelcome guests; the Darrys had once fought against the man after all. But there was nothing Raymun Darry could do but hope they would be gone shortly.

           He'd even sent Lyman, his only son, to hunt down the girl the day before but he'd had no luck. In the end, it was one of Stark's own men who brought her in, yet somehow she'd ended up in front of the King and Queen all alone.

          Lyman guided Sallei down the stairs, one hand holding hers, the other on the small of her back. "I may not be able to see my toes, but that does not make me an invalid," she grumbled, but still, she made no move to send her husband away. Her annoyance wasn't meant for him, it was meant for the royal family that was occupying their home.

          "Now that they've found the girl, they should be gone soon," Lyman assured her. He rubbed Sallei's back, and she sighed.

          Castle Darry was not built for hosting such a large party. Even if they had been given proper notice, which they hadn't, the staff would have struggled to cater to everyone. It did not help that the entire ordeal was ludicrous. Lyman had heard the eldest prince's story: the smallest Stark girl supposedly assaulted him, unprovoked, with the help of a commoner and a direwolf. Prince Joffrey had sniveled and whined his way through the story, and if Arya Stark had done as accused, Lyman couldn't find it in himself to blame her one bit.

          Lyman helped Sallei to a seat near the front of the room, where she'd be able to watch the proceedings in comfort. She cast a scalding glace at the royal family occupying Lord Darry's high seat, before leaning back and using her swollen belly as an armrest. Pregnancy had only succeeded in making Sallei sour. Not for the first time, Lyman wished that they had taken her father up on the offer to stay at Seagard.

          Eddard Stark burst through the doors of the hall looking stricken. He scooped up his crying daughter, and then started in on the King and his men for putting the poor girl in this situation. They heard the stories each child told, the girl's differing dramatically from the Prince's pitiful account.

          Only the King's younger brother, Renly Baratheon, appeared to be enjoying the proceedings. He had arrived to meet the King a few days prior along with the Lord Commander and the King's Justice, as well as his own personal sword. Lyman knew little of the other knight, save that he was from the Reach. But now, as Renly joked at his nephew's expense, the knight looked as if he wanted to be anywhere but in that room. Lyman understood the feeling immensely.

          It should have been a blessing when the ordeal finally came to an end, but the wailing of the two Stark girls made it impossible to feel relieved. One of their wolves would be put to death. Lyman had a brief wish that it was the spineless Prince facing the sword, before quickly remembering himself.

          "I believe we've seen enough," he whispered in Sallei's ear. The two of them slipped into the corridor and walked until they could hear the girls crying no longer.

          "That was horrid," Sallei said with a shudder. "And your father just stood there!"

          "He had little choice. Your father would have done no different, there is no arguing with a king," he told her levelly. "I'll just be glad to see them gone."

          "Good riddance," she muttered. Sallei looked out the window for a moment, her blue-grey eyes unfocused. "Some of the Queen's ladies spoke of him, Ser Caswell," she said suddenly. Lyman leaned forward to look at the man; it was Renly's companion. "A tragic story really. He gave up his lordship to marry a commoner, only to have her die of a pox a few years later. Supposedly a favorite bard in Highgarden wrote a pretty song about it."

           "You always did love the sad songs." Lyman put an arm around his wife's shoulder, and Sallei leaned into his chest. "Me? I prefer the bawdy ones."

          She laughed. "Of course you do."

Chapter 9: Theon

          Amina polished her knives carefully, one at a time, and replaced them in her knife belt. Then she did the same with the knives strapped to her saddle. Theon watched her, waiting for her to join the rest of the group. They were taking Bran out for his first ride since the fall. Tyrion Lannister had brought plans for an interesting saddle and the master of horse had spent the past weeks training a gelding to respond to the reins.

          But Theon had bet Amina that he could bring down a bigger deer with his arrows than she could with her knives, and she was never one to back down from a challenge. "Thinking about what horrible favor you'll owe me after I beat you?" Amina asked, when she noticed him staring.

          Theon laughed. "More like what you'll be owing me. Come on, everyone else has headed for the gate."

          Amina shot him a look, but turned her mare around to face him. "Always so eager to lose." She gave the horse a kick and headed for the gate without a second look. Theon followed behind, paying closer attention to his friend than where he was going, and earning a kick from Myst when he pulled his courser too close.

          The dark-haired girl watched Bran as if her force of will alone could protect him. Amina had always been intense, whether she was training in the yard or stealing rolls from the kitchen. But in the past months it had gotten worse. Occasionally there were moments when she was herself again, especially when Theon could convince her to accompany him to the Smoking Log, but those trips were few and far between. Even her weapons training had taken on an edge; there were no more smiles and jokes between bouts. She was training to kill.

          "Have you spoken with Garrett since he joined the guard?" Amina asked as the passed by the Winter town's alehouse. From her expression it was not the first thing she'd said to him.

          Theon nodded. "Last night. If I tell you just how happy he is to have this job, you may reconsider the decision. It appears he's become quite popular with the ladies of the Smoking Log."

          Amina smirked. "As long as they aren't too much of a distraction." She glanced toward Robb at the front of the party. "Garrett was the only appoint we disagreed upon."

          "Garrett was a good choice, don't second guess yourself."

          Amina shot him a scalding look. "I am not. Garrett was the perfect choice." Theon laughed, and rode ahead, forcing her to pick up the pace. If anyone in Winterfell could badger Amina into acting like herself, it would be him.

          "Are you coming?" He called, over his shoulder. "You have a bet to lose!"

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          Theon drew and arrow just as Amina reached for a knife. "I saw it before you," he hissed, earning another scalding look. They both watched the buck for a moment, neither loosing a weapon. "It's mine."

          Amina rolled her eyes, but replaced the knife in her belt. Theon loosed an arrow, and Amina turned her horse in a dramatic circle, crashing through a bush and causing such a ruckus the buck immediately darted for the darkest part of the woods. Theon's arrow lodged in a tree trunk. Theon turned to snap at Amina but she had already disappeared deeper into the trees.

          It was only a few moments before Theon spotted a turkey. Not quite the prize the buck would have been, but he would have to settle. He had just shot the bird down and tied it to his saddle when he heard Amina shout in the distance. He waved for the rest of the stragglers to follow him and rode through the forest toward the sound.

          When he found Amina, she was off her horse and swinging a sword. The man she was fighting had a knife protruding from his shoulder, but it hardly slowed him down. Behind them, Robb was fighting a woman, while Summer and Grey Wind took on two more. The last had Bran, who'd been cut down from his saddle. "Call them off or I slit his throat."

          Amina took the opportunity to stab her man through the gut, and he collapsed at her feet. She turned in Bran's direction, her hand hovering over her knife belt unsure whether or not she had the shot. Theon didn't give her the chance to decide, and loosed an arrow, hitting the man in the chest. A perfect shot. Amina dropped her sword and ran to Bran's side.

          "A dead enemy is a thing of beauty," Theon announced with a grin.

          Robb threw down his own sword and marched toward him, for a moment Theon thought Robb would actually grab him by the collar and shake him. "Jon always said you were an ass, Greyjoy. I ought to chain you up in the yard and let Bran take a few practice shots at you." Robb wasn't done, but the rest of his tirade fell on deaf ears.

          Amina left Bran with Maester Luwin and went to reclaim her weapons. She pulled her bloody knife from the man's shoulder and cleaned it on her cape before returning it to her belt. She joined Theon on the edge of the clearing. "Thank you. It was a good shot." Theon nodded once, though his pride had been wiped away the moment Robb had started in on him.

          That was the way it had always been. Robb Stark might claim to be his friend, but to him Theon would always be a Greyjoy. On the other hand, Amina knew what it was like to be on the outside. They could parade the girl through the North and pretend she was a Beldish Lady, but her blood would always mark her as other.

          Even as Robb continued to mutter that Theon's arrows "could have killed Bran," and that he was "reckless, always so reckless," Amina slipped a gloved hand through his. The blood of the Night's Watch deserter she'd killed speckled her grey riding cape. They stood by the little creek, watching Robb and his men tend to Bran and question the surviving wildling woman. "Good shot with the knife," Theon told her. Amina's eyes flashed, vivid purple for a moment in the pale light. "You were alright with your sword too."

          "Only alright?" She said, crossing her arms. "I killed him, didn't I?"

          "I could have done the same in half as many strokes." She hummed disapprovingly. Theon shook his head, draping an arm around her shoulder. "But it was good enough."

          "You're insufferable."

          "But you wouldn't trade me for the world." Amina rolled her eyes but leaned into him. No matter what trouble they were getting into, it was always like this between them. Amina was the sister he'd always wanted. He had one back on the Iron Islands, but he hardly remembered Asha and couldn't imagine she would be any better than the one he'd chosen for himself. The daring little dragon girl, and the kraken lordling.

          Amina eyed the dead wildlings they'd each taken down and looked up at him with a smirk. "I believe I win."

          Theon looked at her a moment, before remembering their bet. "That isn't a deer."

          She glanced toward the turkey thrown over his saddle and raised and eyebrow. "Neither is that."

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          Back inside the walls of Winterfell, Theon followed Amina to her rooms, still trying to weasel out whatever task she'd deem appropriate for her winnings. "I told you, I'll just have to save it for something important."

          "Alright, alright, I volunteer to ride to the Wall and drag Jon back by his ear." What Theon had meant as a joke wiped Amina's smile from her face.

          She turned her back and grabbed a large book off her desk. "I have matters to discuss with Maester Luwin. You should go do whatever it is you do when you aren't bothering me."

          Theon caught Amina's wrist as she grabbed for another tome and spun her around. Her face was unreadable, though her eyes glimmered with what he suspected were unshed tears. "Ever since they left, you've acted as if nothing was worth your time. Not me, not Robb, even the boys seem like an obligation. Just because Cersei Lannister is an Ice Queen, doesn't mean you have to follow her example. You can't be distraught over a bastard forever."

          Amina recoiled as if he'd hit her and pulled her wrist from his grasp with such force they both stumbled backward. "Distraught?" She repeated. "Is that what you think of me, that I am a pampered princess who cannot endure heartbreak?" Amina scoffed. "I am not distraught, I am terrified."

          Theon shook his head, not quite understanding. "Catelyn will be home soon, and surely this conspiracy with the Lannisters is just a misunderstanding. It will all be resolved and soon Lord Eddard will tell the King who you are. By this time next year you and Robb will be wed."

         Amina let the book slip out of her hand, and it landed on her desk with a thwack. "I know you mean for that to be reassuring, but it is not. Whether or not the Lannisters plotted to murder Bran, or Jon Arryn, or both, Catelyn's conspiracy is not the only thing that could get our family killed."

          Theon put his hands on Amina's arms, and she looked up at him. "Robert and Ned grew up together, he'd never–"

          "You're right, they're friends. But a secret like this could tear even the best of friends apart. I am a threat to everything Robert has built. Perhaps he would look the other way, for Ned. But what about Tywin Lannister or the Queen? If the Lannisters are who we think they are, they will do whatever it takes to maintain their hold on the Crown. What happens to Ned and the girls then?" Amina shook her head. "I've gone over every scenario a thousand times, and almost every one ends with the people I love dead."

          "If I were kinder I would leave, but I am not. I'm selfish. I can't leave the only family I've ever known. Where would I go, Beldain? The North believes that one day I'll rebuild Castle Corrigan and give it to my sons, but I won't. I can't set foot on that island and claim a birthright that doesn't belong to me. I will not live a lie forever. But the longer I lie the more terrifying the truth becomes."

           Amina leaned against his chest and let him fold her into his arms. If there were a way to reassure her, Theon couldn't find it. She didn't cry, just stayed in his arms, breathing heavy as if she'd just fought a battle. "You don't have to be alone," he promised her. "Wherever you go, I'll go with you."

Chapter 10: Robb

          "Sansa is just a girl," Amina chided. She slipped the letter out of Robb's hand before he could ball it into a fist or throw it on the fire. She was quiet as she read; the only sound was Robb's own footsteps as he paced in his father's study. "Clearly the Queen had a hand in this. Your sister must be frightened, imagine the state King's Landing is in. None of us was prepared for a war, least of all Sansa."

          Robb continued pacing. How Amina was keeping her head was beyond him. Perhaps it was just exhaustion, she'd been in the yard nearly all morning. More than a few Northern lords were skeptical of her joining them on the march, and she was only too eager to prove her skillset. "At least we have some news," she continued, flatting the letter out on the desk. "The King is dead, and Ned is accused of treason. It's more than we knew yesterday. I've had quite enough of the outlandish rumors from the south."

          "Is this any less incredible?" Robb countered. The very idea of his father committing treason was unthinkable, and it had been just a few short months since King Robert had been within these very walls. "And what of Arya? Sansa makes no mention of her, not even a word."

          Amina banged her fist on the table, loud enough that it startled Robb to a halt. "I am just as concerned about Arya as you, but we are a thousand leagues away. Fighting has already begun in the Riverlands. We are at war. Taking our frustrations out on a terrified child solves nothing."

          Robb collapsed into his father's chair, and ran his fingers through his hair. "What do you propose we do?"

          "What else can we do but persist?" Amina circled the desk and knelt before him. "You cannot be emotional. Not now. The worst decisions are made out of anger and fear. We will give the Riverlands our aid, and then we will decide what comes next."

          Amina turned her hands over, and waited for Robb to take them. "These men do not know you. They do not know if you can win this war, or if they can trust your leadership. But you are a Stark and if anyone can win this war it is you." She stood up, and tugged his hands insistently. "Now come, I cannot go into great hall without you. If I have to listen to one more second son tell me what great plans he has to rebuild Castle Corrigan, I may actually throw myself into the moat."

          Robb smiled softly, and gave Amina's hands a squeeze before rising to his feet. "Yesterday, Bran told me he was worried all the lords dim-witted. Why else would they parade their sons and daughters in front of you and I when it's obvious they stand no chance?"

          "The boy may have a point. Which is rather unfortunate, all things considered."

          Robb tucked a strand of hair, which had escaped from Amina's braid, behind her ear. "At least the ones who aren't trying to marry you are helping you train."

          "Oh, no, some of those men are also trying to marry me, they just prefer a bit more fire in their women. But at least they serve a purpose, I've become rather more confident with a sword these past weeks." Amina rolled her eyes, but he knew she was proud of it. For every fight she lost, she learned something new, and she was improving. Robb thought that the busy castle had served to raise Amina's spirits as well, she smiled more than she had since Bran's fall, and she'd settled into their new routine. If Robb were feeling especially bold, he might even say she was settling into life with him as well. "If one more lord insinuates that I would be better suited to life behind these walls with my cross-stitch, he will return to his castle with a cross-stitch needle in his eye."

          "It may be your best work yet," he teased. "I've seen your cross-stich, it's awful." Amina brought her foot down hard on his boot. "After your showing at supper last week, I doubt anyone could say you'd be better off with cross-stitch."

          Amina huffed. "You all act as if I impaled the man. I threw my knife at a roast duck, some might call that helpful, it did need to be carved."

          "Lord Hornwood nearly died from fright," Robb reprimanded.

          "It's his own fault for allowing his soldiers to argue like common sellswords. I could hardly hear myself think. Someone needed to shut them up."

          "You've spent too much time at the Smoking Log."

          Amina scoffed. "There is no such thing."

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          It had been a long day. The Karstarks had arrived, and with them the last of the twelve thousand men who would march south. Tomorrow they would all take their leave of Winterfell. In preparation, they had been up half the night in war council, yet sleep still eluded him. It was not nerves that kept Robb awake, though there were plenty of those as well. It was the look on Amina's face when he'd asked her to stay.

          After supper she'd bid a goodnight to the lords, leaving them to their tactics and strategies. Though she was as good a fighter as any man, war was not something she had ever prepared for. But there were other things she knew better than any of them. Her mind was like a repository for stories, and Hoster Tully had told her plenty. Amina had been the only one willing to sit in his study and look at old maps and be regaled with stories from past wars and Gods knew what else.

          It was easy to overlook the importance of history when the realm was falling into chaos around them. But each Lord had listened to Amina's descriptions of campaigns from Robert's Rebellion and beyond, some more willingly than others. A particular inspiration had been the story of Cregan Stark's Winter Wolves, who had taken down hosts much larger than themselves in the Dance of the Dragons.

          Robb had always known Amina to be smart, she spent almost as much time with books as she did with weapons, though no one ever noticed that, if only because books made less noise. It had seemed only natural to ask for Amina's advice; she was riding south with them after all. But when Robb had suggested it, she had looked at him as if she were seeing him for the first time. Every so often, as she told her stories, she'd look over at him with glimmer in her eyes, like she could draw them both inside the story she was weaving. It was infectious.

          There was a knock on his door, so quiet that it took him a moment to realize where the sound had come from. Then there was a louder knock, followed by Amina's soft voice calling his name. He crossed the room to let her in.

          Amina stood in the doorway, her hair loose around her shoulders. She was wearing her nightdress with boots and a heavy cloak. In her hand she held a bedside candle. "I couldn't sleep."

          "Neither could I," he admitted.

          She was quiet for a moment. The wax dripped down the candle and onto the little metal plate. "Let's go to the Godswood." The words were hardly out of her mouth before he was grabbing his own cloak. A soft smile played on Amina's lips as she intertwined her fingers with his and pulled him into the hall. In that moment he would have followed her anywhere, but she took him to the Godswood, just as she'd said.

          At the gate, Amina stopped, and Robb worried that she would change her mind. This was a step forward for her, he knew, even if she wouldn't admit it. She had run here with Jon, it was here that he'd caught them years ago, the reason he was cautions around her. She loved his brother, and he would always be her second choice.

          She stepped through the gate, moving the candle before her to light the way. She drank in the trees like she was dying from thirst. Months she'd gone without the Godswood, and he knew how she felt about the trees. If not the Gods themselves, the trees were her home. She stopped in front of a solider pine. Amina's favorite, if he remembered correctly, it had been under this very tree she'd cried on his shoulder so many years ago and told him she was a dragon.

          Robb sat and leaned against the pine, and Amina sat facing him with her knees folded under her. "Our last night in Winterfell," she whispered.

          "We'll be home before you know it," he promised. Amina bit her lip. "It's all right to be scared. Gods know I am."

          "Is it that obvious?" She asked.

          "No, it isn't. You're better at this than I am, you always know the right thing to say. Helman Tallhart called you clever, Greatjon Umber says you're bold, Roose Bolton believes you to be calculating. Every lord thinks you're the embodiment of the thing they value most, even I'm not sure what you are and aren't anymore."

          "I have no idea what I'm doing either," she admitted. "I'm just a better liar than you. I've learned to give people what they want, while polishing a knife behind my back. The best show is one in which you can't see the costumes."

          Robb knew she had her secrets and plenty of reason for keeping them, but still. "Isn't it exhausting, to always be something you aren't?"

          "It's the only way I know."

          Robb took her hands and covered them with his. "You don't have to pretend with me."

          Amina smiled softly, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Maybe not." After a moment she pulled her hands away and stretched. She leaned on one hand, across his legs, caging him in against the tree. They were so close Robb could feel her breath on his skin. With her free hand, Amina brushed the hair from his eyes.

          "I wish you'd stay," he whispered.

          Amina played with his hair, but she pursed her lips together and shook her head. "You know I won't. A ruler's place is among her people."

          Robb sighed, but caught her hand in his and pressed it to his cheek. "I wish you'd stay," he repeated. "But I'm glad you'll be with me. You're the strongest person I know."

          Amina looked at him, searching his eyes for something he couldn't guess. It was the same look she'd had when he asked her to stay in the war council. Robb held still, barely breathing. She leaned toward him, and slid her hand from his cheek to the back of his neck. He remained frozen; afraid if he closed the distance between them it would break the spell. Amina pressed her lips to his and lingered just for a moment, then she was gone and Robb was left with the ghost of a feeling.

          Years had passed since Amina had last kissed him, and though it wasn't much, Robb hoped it was a sign. There would be time later to figure out what it meant. "We should go back," he whispered. "We have a long day ahead of us." 

Chapter 11: Amina

          She used another hairpin to fasten the note to the leather map. It was already covered with similar annotations in her own handwriting. Notes about natural advantages and disadvantages, nearby holdfasts and villages that could offer much needed supplies, and clearings in which they could make camp.

          Amina may have weaseled her way into lessons with knives and swords, but never had she imagined she would march with an army. She was no war strategist, but that wouldn’t stop her from helping in every way she could. Hoster Tully had taught her the maps when she was a child, and Amina remembered every story. She was determined to learn the rest of it, but it would have to be as they went.

          Already she had picked up bits and pieces from the lords bannermen. Each of them had a unique perspective on the war and how Robb should lead the troops. While Amina couldn’t advise from a military standpoint, she’d come to know each of the lords well. Greatjon Umber was fierce and fearless, the kind of man who ought to be on the front lines rallying the troops. Whereas Roose Bolton was secretive and cunning, he made Amina’s skin crawl but she would trust him to devise a particularly nasty trap.

          Those were the notes she gave Robb in private, when the lords had gone. He knew who she trusted and who she feared might turn craven and run, which man’s soldiers spent too much time in their cups, and which were likely to steal from the stores. Amina was no mistress of whisperers but she knew how to blend in. Soldiers found her a good drinking companion, and she was always eager to spar even if she ended up face down in the mud more oft than not. Lords were impressed by her knowledge of history, but she’d grown up with boys and had a casual air about her that put them at ease. When men as transparent as windowpane surrounded her, Amina’s job was easy.

          Grey Wind sat his head on her knees and whined. Amina tried in vain to shoo him away. He looked up her with yellow eyes. “Oh, you’re just as bad as Robb.” She relented and scratched the wolf between the ears.

          “Sometimes I think that wolf might be Robb,” Theon said from the doorway.

          Amina smiled at Grey Wind. “You’ve heard too many of Old Nan’s stories.” She looked up at her friend and patted the empty spot beside her. “If you’re looking for Robb, he’s with his mother. Catelyn’s just arrived from the Eyrie.”

          Theon joined her, looking over her maps. “I saw. The Blackfish is down with the men.” She grinned. It had been too long since she’d seen Cat’s uncle; his duties in the Vale kept him too busy to visit as often as they all would have liked. “He’s the only one, Lysa kept the rest of her knights around her.”

          Amina let out a long sigh, though she’d feared as much. Other than Catelyn, it seemed to her as if all the Tullys worth had been confined to the older generations. “Gods be good we won’t need them.”

          “No, you’ll singlehandedly plot out the war for us,” Theon teased. She gave him a shove, but then linked her arm through his. “Are you coming into camp tonight? Garrett’s challenged one of Umber’s men, it should be a good show.”

          “Perhaps, but I should speak with Cat first, and look for Brynden.” Before she had a chance to do either of those things, the door opened again. Amina recognized the man immediately, and nearly leapt over the bench to get across the room. “Brynden!” She crashed into him, and hugged him tight as she could.

          “That’s uncle Brynden to you,” he replied, gruffly, but picked her up so her feet dangled above the ground. “You aren’t so grown that you can forget that.” Though he wasn’t her uncle by any relation, he’d told her she ought to call him that if Robb and the girls were going to. He would have no tiny lady calling him Ser.

          “I’ve missed you, uncle,” she said with a grin. “Lysa may have kept all her other knights, but she let us have the best.” Brynden laughed, and mussed her hair. For a moment, she felt like a girl again, the maps and battle plans left forgotten on the table. But only for a moment.

          Robb and his mother emerged from the other room. Catelyn looked worried, but Amina thought she saw pride in her eyes as well. Robb motioned for the others to gather around the table. “We’ll split the host below the Neck, the foot will continue down the Kingsroad and our horsemen can cross at the Twins.” Amina pursed her lips, thinking of the stories she’d heard of Walder Frey’s stubbornness, but he was still Hoster Tully’s bannerman, surely he wouldn’t be too much of a hindrance.

          “Lord Tywin will march for our main host, leaving the riders free to hurry down to Riverrun,” Robb continued.

          “It’s a risk to split our army with a river,” Brynden warned. “But, we’d keep Jaime and Tywin separated as well. It just might be worth it.” Robb nodded, as if he’d rehearsed this plan in his head a hundred times.

          “Roose Bolton will command the foot.” The Greatjon was far too easy to provoke, and Tywin would know that. It would be best to keep Lord Umber with them in that event that they met Jaime Lannister in the field.

          “And we’ll be with the riders,” Amina finished. It was where Ned would be, and therefore Robb would want to be there too. As for her, she’d go wherever Robb went. “Catelyn, will you return to Winterfell?”

          Catelyn sighed. “My father is dying and my brother is surrounded by foes. As much as I would love to return to Bran and Rickon, I must go to Riverrun.”

          “Call the bannermen back,” Amina told Theon. “And tell Garrett you’ll be missing his fight.”

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          With each day they drew closer to the Twins, and with each day Amina grew more anxious. They had little choice but to cross the river, it would take twice as long to reach Riverrun should they need to keep their host together and take the Kingsroad, to say nothing of the Lannister army they would face along the way. But Jaime’s army was tearing apart the Riverlands, Brynden’s outriders brought back new tales every night. The army would take Riverrun in days, if not sooner. Edmure’s host was no match for the Lannisters.

          “Lord Frey would be a fool to stand in our way,” Theon said with his usual confidence. Typically, Amina would take comfort in that, but today she was on edge.

          “Walder Frey is an ancient man with a well placed castle, no siege would work here,” Amina reminded them. “His men would just flee to the far tower and escape. We’re at a disadvantage.”

          “Damn the man,” Robb swore. “I’ll pull the Twins down around his ears if I have to, we’ll see how well he likes that!”

          “You sound like a sulky boy, Robb,” Catelyn said sharply. “A child sees an obstacle, and his first thought is to run around it or knock it down. A lord must learn that sometimes words can accomplish what swords cannot.”

          Robb looked away sheepishly, embarrassed to be berated by his mother in front of his friends. Amina and Catelyn shared a long look. “Give me a moment to change out of my riding clothes and brush my hair.” This was what she was good at, learning what people desired and using that knowledge to get her way.

          By the time the host reached the gates of the Twins, Amina was dressed in a gown with her hair pulled back like Catelyn’s. She chose her dress carefully, too shabby and she would offend the prickly Lord Frey, too fanciful and she wouldn’t be taken seriously. After months of dealing with Northern lords, Amina had honed the art. If the maesters had a link for clothing, she would surely have one forged.

          A plank bridge slid across the moat, the portcullis was raised, and a small host of Freys rode out to meet them. The leader of the group introduced himself as Ser Stevron, Lord Walder’s heir. “My lord father would be most honored if you would share meat and mead with him in the castle and explain your purpose here.”

          The lords bannermen did not appreciate the invitation and made their distrust of the Frey’s known to Robb, much to Ser Stevron’s discomfort. Amina smiled at the Frey. He was surely old enough to have grandchildren of his own, but relegated to second place until his lord father saw fit to die. It must be a tiring position. “Lady Catelyn and I will go,” she offered. “As it appears we’re the only ones with any grace.”

          Lord Manderly protested loudly, but Catelyn silenced him with a look. “Lord Walder is my father’s bannerman, I have known him since I was a girl. He would never offer us any harm.”

          “I am certain my lord father would be pleased to speak to the Lady Catelyn and,” Ser Stevron paused and looked to Amina.

          “Lady Amina Corrigan,” she supplied. Ser Stevron nodded. They left one of Lord Frey’s other sons behind as an assurance of their good intentions. Amina gave Robb a smile over her shoulder as they rode toward the castle.

          In the great hall, so many Freys greeted them that Amina felt she might have been shrunk down and thrown into some mouse hole. It didn’t help that the Freys all had a weasely look about them. Lord Frey himself looked old enough to have lived in the age of Aegon’s Conquest. Though, if he had, Aegon might have met his match in Walder Frey’s stubbornness.

          “What am I to do with you?” Lord Frey asked, looking between them. He narrowed his eyes at Amina. “I don’t even know you.”

          “Lady Corrigan, father,” Ser Stevron supplied.

          “A Corrigan, heh?” The old man leered at her. “I haven’t seen a Beldish wench in a generation at least. Let me get a look at you.” Lord Frey didn’t wait for her consent, just grabbed Amina’s wrist and tugged her toward him. He eyed her closely for a moment and then let her go. “No, not as pretty as I remember. A shame.”

          Amina thanked the Gods that the North had given her a thick skin, elsewise this negotiation might have proved to be a challenge.

          “We’re here to ask you to open your gates, my lord,” Catelyn continued, steering them back to their goal. “My sons and his lords bannermen are most anxious to cross the river and be on their way.”

         “You want to know why my men linger here, heh?” Lord Frey asked. “We meant to march to Riverrun – or my sons did, I’m well past marching – as soon as we amassed our strength. It isn’t our fault your brother lost his battle before we could leave. Why should my sons be eager to march to their deaths I ask?”

          “All the more reason for us to be on our way as soon as possible,” Catelyn said, politely. “Is there anywhere we can talk?”

          “We’re talking now,” he complained. Lord Frey glanced around the room at his brood. “Well, what are you waiting for? The ladies want to talk to me in private, heh.” It took several minutes, and more prodding from Lord Frey, for the room to clear. “Now what do you want to say?”

          “We want to cross,” Amina told him.

          He turned his attention on her. “That’s bold of you. Why should I let you?”

          “If you haven’t noticed, there is a war outside your gates. No one is forcing you to fight it, but the Lannisters will come either way. They know no difference between those who are impartial and those who fight for the good of the Seven Kingdoms.”

          “Pretty words from a pretty mouth, but as I see it, Joffrey Baratheon sits the throne and you Northern lot are nothing but rebels.”

          Amina was undeterred. “Robert Baratheon was a rebel too. If you have so much disdain for us, why haven’t you pledged your swords to Tywin Lannister?”

          “Lord Tywin the proud and splendid, Warden of the West, Hand of the King. Him and his gold this and gold that and lions here and lions there. I’ll wager you, he eats too many beans, he breaks wind just like me, but you’ll never here him admit it,” Walder Frey ranted. “If Lord Tywin wants my help he can blood well ask for it.” And just like that, Amina knew they had won.

          “We are asking for your help, my lord,” Catelyn said humbly. “And my father and my brother and my lord husband and my sons are asking with our voices.”

          Lord Frey looked at them with little warmth. “The Tullys have always pissed on me, don’t deny it, don’t lie, you know it’s true. Years ago I suggested a match between Edmure and my daughter. Why not? I had one in mind, but if he didn’t warm to her there were plenty of others to choose from. But no, Lord Hoster gave me sweet words and excuses. But what I wanted was to get rid of a daughter.”

          Amina and Catelyn waited patiently as he went on. Walder Frey talked a lot, and with every word made it well and clear what he wanted. “Lysa is near as bad. It was a year ago, I went to the city to see my sons ride in the tourney. I proposed she and Lord Arryn foster two of my grandsons at court but Jon Arryn wouldn’t have them and I blame Lysa for that.” He paused for breath. “You say you want to cross the river? Well you can’t. Not unless I allow it, and why should I? The Tullys and the Starks have never been friends of mine.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms looking pleased with himself.

         “How old are your grandsons?” Amina asked after a moment. “The ones you meant to foster with Lysa.”

          Lord Frey took so long to answer Amina thought he might have died right there. “Eight. Or seven. One’s one and one’s the other.”

          “Oh, Bran is eight now too,” Amina said, looking to Catelyn as if a thought was just occurring to her. “Winterfell must feel empty with the family in the south, perhaps the boys could be fostered there. Bran would enjoy the company.”

          Walder grunted, but nodded once. “Freys aren’t meant for the North, too bloody cold. But it’ll do them good, let ‘em see how good they have it here.” Amina had seen the squat, ugly castle the Frey’s called home, inside and out. But if insulting Winterfell made Walder Frey more inclined to open his gates, so be it.

         “Robb could use a squire,” Catelyn suggested to Amina, as if they weren’t haggling with Lord Frey. Amina nodded, and Cat turned back to Lord Frey. “Maybe you have a younger son who’d like the honor?” It was the kind of honor no one could refuse, and besides it wouldn’t hurt for Robb to have more help. He had plenty of other things to worry about.

          “It’s about time Olyvar gets himself knighted, he’s my nineteenth son, or is it eighteenth? I can never remember. Either way, he’d make a good squire.” They all nodded, but it was clear they would need to give more to appease Lord Frey. “My youngest boy, Elmar, he’ll need a wife when he’s of age. Don’t you have a girl or two running around, Lady Stark?”

          “Sansa is betrothed to Joffrey Lannister. But Arya…” When Arya found out, she was going to be livid, but she wasn’t here. Maybe she wasn’t in King’s Landing either. The thought filled Amina with dread. If Arya was dead or missing…But, either way, they had to make the deal, so Amina kept her mouth shut while Catelyn agreed to the match.

          Walder Frey looked pleased with this development, but he eyed Amina curiously. “I don’t suppose you’re looking for a husband, Lady Corrigan.”

          Amina smiled politely. “I’m not a Stark,” she reminded him. “And I have no castle, only burnt land.” Walder Frey grunted but didn’t press the matter.

          “Are we settled then?” Catelyn asked. “We’ll foster your grandsons, take your son as a squire, and marry Arya to Elmar, and you’ll allow us to cross your bridge.”

          Lord Frey nodded slowly. “One last thing,” he said. “Your boy, the eldest, I want him to marry one of my daughters.”

          In a very uncharacteristic expression of emotion, Amina choked as if she’d swallowed a rabbit whole. Walder Frey hardly gave her a second look; he was looking so intently at Catelyn, waiting to call her bluff. Amina had the sudden urge to leave the castle, fetch Myst, and take Robb to Beldain. Curse the Corrigans and curse the war, the ghosts and the Lannisters would just have to move on. The Gods had taken too much, Robb was hers.

          “He can choose whichever one he wants, I’ve got skinny ones and fat ones, virgins and widows. Roslin’s a pretty one, he might like her.”

          Amina took a long slow breath through her nose. She was behaving like a child, seeing problems as something to crash through or run from, just as Cat had chided Robb for. There were ways out of betrothals, and when the war was won they’d have more than enough time to get around it. But at present they had no time to circumnavigate anything. They needed a way across the bridge now. Promises were just words, after all, and words were wind. “I suppose we have a deal.”

Chapter 12: Aylward

          He hadn't realized how much he missed Highgarden until Renly's party had passed through the gates. They'd been in King's Landing far too long. The colors and the smells and flowers brought back memories of better days. Aylward Caswell had spent more time here than he ever had at Bitterbridge, or perhaps it only felt that way. At the least, he'd made better memories in Highgarden than he ever had in his father's home.

          This wedding feast ought to have been one of them. It was extravagant in a way only the Tyrells could be, with guests from every house small and large from the Arbor to Shipbreaker's Bay. But Renly had been too busy fielding congratulations on his marriage, and shouting his own praises to anyone who would listen, to pay much mind to anyone but himself.

          The other knights in Renly's personal guard were dancing, or stuffing themselves on fancy dishes, or had disappeared with some Lady's handmaiden to a distant bedchamber. Aylward looked across the room searching for a familiar face. He found Lady Margaery in the midst of the crowd. Queen Margaery now, he would have to remember. Aylward had practically watched the girl grow up, and now she was his queen.

          At the moment, she did not look particularly regal. Some minor lordling whom Aylward did not recognize had her in his arms, and nearly dragged the Queen across the room in his drunken attempts at a dance. The lordling stumbled, letting Margaery go for a moment, and Aylward took the opportunity to slip between them. "Forgive me, my lord. May I cut in?"

          Margaery flashed him a grateful smile, and they spun away from the lordling before he could protest. It seemed that Aylward was always rescuing the young Tyrell from one thing or another; a dance partner insistent on stepping on her toes, a dreadfully boring conversation with an elderly lord from a vassal house, even Loras and Renly's own joking that often got out of hand.

          "Are you enjoying yourself, your grace?" He asked, remembering the proper honorific. They shared a smile, a silent joke between two people who had known each other for ages and suddenly had their world turned upside down. "Highgarden certainly knows how to host a celebration."

          Margaery nodded, though he thought her smile seemed a bit strained. He had attended plenty of these gatherings, though they'd grown less desirable over the years. He had little interest in forced courtesies and unneeded extravagance, but with Renly as a friend, he'd grown accustomed to it. "If you ever need anything, you can ask me," he reminded her, voice low enough they couldn't be heard over the music and laughter.

          "They're all staring at me," she whispered.

          Aylward knew the feeling well, though the eyes on him were always filled with pity, not the admiration or lust that came with being a Lady of House Tyrell. "I would think by now you'd become used to their stares."

          "It isn't the same. I'm their Queen," Margaery said, as if he needed reminding. "I didn't ask for this crown or the responsibilities that came with it. No one asked me if I wanted it." She broke off, and again Aylward just how young she was. She was just a girl who always had a smile for everyone and flowers in her hair. But this was their world; this was what it meant to be a lady of a great house. "How do I do this?"

          "The same way you do everything else, with grace." He had never been good with comforting words, and his skill at building morale came only on the battlefield. But he had no doubt that Margaery would be a great Queen, perhaps a better Queen than Renly would be King. "Believe in yourself, your grace. I do."

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          Aylward had expected they would depart shortly following the wedding celebrations, if not the very next day. Renly, however, seemed content to dally as if Highgarden was his own royal pleasure palace and there wasn't a war to wage half a continent away. But after several years in King's Landing, in Renly's personal guard, Aylward had grown used to his new king's taste for luxury.

          That wasn't to say Aylward disapproved, for it wasn't his place to judge. He merely found himself rather bored in Renly's company. The King was a great conversationalist if you liked court gossip and making mockery of the royal family. However, Aylward's interests lay in military strategy and histories. But still, they found common ground through their Tyrell friends, and Aylward had been honored to take a top spot amongst Renly's guard.

          Though he missed Highgarden and the friends he made there, the position had been too good to pass up. Serving the King's brother was more than a disowned knight from a vassal house could to aspire to, save from an appointment to the Kingsguard. Besides, the capital was further away from his former home. In the Red Keep, he was safe from unpleasant reminders. It had been a good life, if a bit unfulfilling. But with Renly's coronation, life had become more uncertain.

          "A King must have a guard of the highest caliber," Renly addressed the small gathering. He had a way of speaking in a haughty tone when he thought he'd had an especially good idea. When they were younger, Garlan and Aylward had teased him for it. "But Kingsguard is overused." He waved forward servants who carried new cloaks in an array of colors. From what Aylward could see, they looked expertly made, more like court clothing that battle garb. "You men are among the finest knights in Westeros, and have served me faithfully for years. I hope you will all accept these cloaks and a position in my Rainbow Guard."

          Cloaks were distributed and vows were taken. Loras Tyrell was unsurprisingly named Lord Commander. He took his vows first, followed by Ser Guyard Morrigen, deemed Guyard the Green. Then Ser Emmon Cuy the Yellow, and Ser Parmen Crane the Purple. Aylward took his vows last, and accepted the titled Aylward the Orange.

          The remaining two cloaks would be held in reserve. For now, five knights were enough. It wasn't as if they intended to fight battles any time soon. There were still troops to gather and plans to make, and a continent to cross before they reached the walls of King's Landing. The rainbow cloaks, despite their gaudiness, drew them together. Aylward felt as if these men were united in common cause. Even with insurmountable odds before them, they were eager to pledge their lives to their new King. Together they could do the impossible, as Robert had done before them, and unseat a King.

 

Chapter 13: Robb

          Amina walked with Smalljon Umber and several of his men. One of them whispered in her ear and she laughed, an infectious sound that cut off the moment she noticed Robb watching her. “I was asking about the battle,” she told him, with a soft smile. She’d wrapped herself in someone’s cloak, as if she were cold, but the fabric bulged in all the wrong places. Even if Robb hadn’t noticed the way she curved her arm to make her shield appear as part of her body, or the sword hilt that jabbed tellingly from her hip, he would have known.

          Robb had seen her. Amina was eye-catching; a man would have to be blind to miss her. Even in the midst of battle, disguised in mismatched armor, with her hair pulled back and hidden under a half-helm, he had seen her. Robb had nearly missed his chance to capture Jaime Lannister because he could hardly look away. Not out of fear for her, but out of awe. Amina was a Northerner, it was clear, all stone and ice. She fought with a strength her frame seemed too small to possess.

          He held out a hand to her, as the Umbers dropped away to their own tents. “Come and I’ll tell you about capturing Jaime Lannister.” She smiled, but dodged his hand, surely if he got that close he’d notice her hidden armor.

          “Sounds heroic,” she teased. “Let me find a proper blanket and I’ll come by your tent in a moment.” Amina walked away, flipping the red cloak with the Umber’s chained sigil around as she went. No, he wouldn’t tell her that he knew. He’d let her believe she had another secret. It was a wonder the weight of her secrets didn’t bury her alive.

          When Amina did finally make it to his tent, she was dressed in a gown that seemed too delicate for a war camp. She had a large fur blanket wound around her shoulders, and she dropped onto his bed with a thump. “Now, what’s this about Jaime Lannister?” She said it as if word hadn’t spread through camp hours ago. Amina had always been an excellent liar, but this was only a jest.

          Robb shook his head with a soft smile. “I’m sure you heard about it from the Umbers already.” She shrugged one shoulder, but didn’t deny it. Whispering Wood had been a victory. There’d been loses, most notably Lord Karstark’s eldest sons, but he couldn’t think about that anymore. If he dwelled on it, he would only drag himself down. “Enough about war, that’s all we ever talk about.”

          “We are on the front lines,” she reminded him. “It’s rather hard to avoid the subject.”

          “I can think of a few distractions.” The battle had emboldened him, and Robb leaned toward Amina, pressing his lips to hers. Despite her clean clothes, he could still smell battle on her skin, the tang of metal and blood and sweat. It only made him want her more.

          Amina pushed him back with a raised eyebrow. “Need I remind you of your betrothal?”

         "When the war is over, we’ll give the Freys something else.” When Catelyn and Amina had returned from the Twins with a marriage pact – among other things – he’d been angry. It had been a poorly kept secret that his father planned to tell the King where Amina came from, and then she and Robb would be wed. Their children would have married Robert’s grandchildren, giving his line more Targaryen blood to strengthen his claim. But Robert was gone, and Eddard Stark was a prisoner.

          “Edmure?” Amina asked with an amused smirk. She’d never gotten along with his uncle. “Old Walder Frey will love that. He complained endlessly that Hoster refused to even consider a match between Edmure and one of his girls.”

          Robb gave Amina’s arm a tug and pulled her down next to him. She stretched out on the bed, her head resting on his chest. Robb watched her for a while. It was rare to see her like this, so at peace. He could almost imagine they were safe at Winterfell, the war was over and they were home. But the spell couldn’t last forever. “Amina? What happened?” Her whole body froze, but she didn’t speak. “What happened to us? When we were children, we were best friends.”

          With an exasperated sigh, Amina rolled away from him and pushed herself up on her elbows. “We still are.”

          Robb shook his head, ignoring her pointed look. “But, things have changed. There used to be a time when our wedding day was what you talked about in the Godswood. Then one day you stopped. Believe me, I know you never felt for me as I did for you, but you used to care.”

          Amina’s eyes flashed lilac; sharp and sparkling like a bolt of lightning. He’d made her angry, but he had her in a corner and he couldn’t back down. Maybe she’d tell the truth for once. “Of all the things you could accuse me of, you think I don’t care?”

          That hadn’t been exactly what he meant. He knew she cared, but about his family and about him, but not about them. “You used to talk to me, Amina. Remember when Ned told you–”

          “Of course I remember,” she snapped. “I used to be able to talk to you. You used to treat me like–” She broke off and turned toward the pillow, staring intently at the embroidery.

          Robb caught her chin in his hand and turned her face back toward him. Whatever she’d been about to say, it wasn’t the secret he wanted to hear. “If I ever did anything to push you away, I’m sorry.”

          “You never did anything wrong.” The way she said it made it clear there were things he hadn’t done right either. “It isn’t you. Any girl would be lucky to be loved by you. I’m lucky, it’s just that I–”

          Say it, Robb wanted to yell. Just say you love him.

          “I was worried Ned was wrong, that Robert wouldn’t understand. I wasn’t worried about myself; I always knew I might have to run. But what would happen to the rest of you when I was gone?” She said it so convincingly Robb almost believed it. And maybe it was true, but there was more. He knew there was more.

          But her shoulder’s slumped, and tears welled up in her eyes. Robb couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen Amina truly cry, her tears had always been saved for Catelyn when she wanted to get her way. But this was not a show. “I’m sorry I said you didn’t care. I know you do.” Robb pulled Amina to his chest. She pressed her forehead against him, and wrapped her arms around his neck. “What I meant is–” Robb stopped himself. He’d pushed her far enough for one night. He could try again tomorrow. Or never. If she said it, it would all be over. And Robb couldn’t lose her just yet; he’d lost too much already.

Chapter 14: Amina

          Robb was in the woods, crumbled against a tree that bore at least a dozen slashes. His head buried in the crook of his elbow, and he looked up as Amina approached. She stepped over his ruined sword and sat beside him. "Are you all right?"

          "No," Robb said, his voice barely a whisper. They received word from King's Landing just hours ago: Ned had been executed by order of Joffrey Baratheon. No one in camp knew how to take the news, some were angry, while others were distraught. When Robb had disappeared into the woods, Amina had felt somewhere in between.

          "Neither am I." Amina pulled him toward her, resting his head on her shoulder. Ned had been the closest thing to a father she'd ever had. He'd protected her, when a lesser man might have slit her throat. He'd raised her and taught her everything she knew. Now he was gone. "I wish we could go back to the way things were before. I want our family together, I want to go home."

          "It's my fault," Robb said quietly. "If I hadn't marched us south, the Lannisters might have let him go. We might be home, safe, not worried about what dark news will come tomorrow. What if Sansa is next?"

          Her anger flared, making her cheeks flush. It wasn't fair that Robb had lost his father, that Catelyn lost her husband. Whatever lies the Queen and her Lannister family spread, they all knew: Eddard Stark had done nothing wrong. The only person to blame for Ned's death had golden hair and a fierce grasp on the throne. "You can't blame yourself, you had no choice. War was coming whether we fought or not. If we'd stayed in Winterfell, Tywin Lannister would have destroyed the Riverlands, and when he was done they may have still killed your father."

          "And Sansa will not be next," Amina promised. "We will end this, you will end this." She wished there were more words she could say, but nothing could ease this pain. So instead she just held him, and hoped it would help them both.

          After a long while, Robb pulled away and looked at her. They both had red-rimmed eyes, and puffy cheeks. "There are times I wish you were in Winterfell, safe. But there are others when I know that I wouldn't survive this if you weren't with me."

          Amina put her hands on his cheeks, and ensured he was looking into her eyes. "I will always be with you. Always." She believed it, and not only that, she wanted it. She wanted to end this war and return to Winterfell with him, to find some other way to appease the Freys and keep Robb to herself. Though a part of her would always mourn the life she could have had with Jon, she knew it was gone. Robb was more than a second choice, and with time Amina would grow to love him the way Catelyn had Ned.

          She kissed him, softly, and then pulled away. "The men are ready to ride for Riverrun. I'll tell them you need a bit more time."

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          The great hall of Riverrun felt overbearing. The lords and ladies of the North and the Riverlands argued and debated, but their voices had grown muffled. Amina wanted nothing more than to return to her chambers and cry herself to sleep. Ned was gone, and Hoster Tully would be the next to die, and the only thing this bloody room cared about was which King they should support.

          She was sure Catelyn felt the same, but they'd been seated at opposite ends of the table. For appearances sake, Amina couldn't even hold Robb's hand. She tried to listen, to learn the names and faces of the Riverlords, to be useful. Renly Baratheon had crowned himself king, much to the surprise of the realm. There'd been no word from Stannis yet.

          Not that Amina wanted to support either Baratheon. Renly had no right to the throne and Stannis was nothing special if the talk was to be believed. But on the other hand, there was Joffrey, Robert's son, the true King. At Winterfell, the boy had been entitled and rude, and in the months since had proved to be more like the Mad King come again than his father's son. There was no good choice.

          "Why not peace?" Catelyn asked.

          The lords looked toward her, and Robb shook his head as he unsheathed his sword and laid it on the table. "My lady, they murdered my lord father, your husband. This is the only peace I have for Lannisters."

          Amina had to agree. This war would not end just because they willed it so. There was too much pain now; the realm could never be as it had been. "Could Ned have made peace with Aerys after Brandon and Rickard's deaths?" Amina asked, speaking for the first time. "Even if we bent the knee, this distrust and anger and bitterness will not go away. Why make peace today if we have to pick up our swords again tomorrow?" Brynden voiced his agreement and many other lords followed.

          "Then what would you do?" Catelyn asked her. The look in her eyes made Amina sit quietly for a moment, to think about her answer. If she were more than just a Corrigan, if she was the Princess she'd been born to be, what would she do?

          "I would not bow to a Lannister," Amina stated. "Baratheon or not, Joffrey is his mother's son, and the Lannisters cannot be trusted or forgiven. They must face justice."

          "I agree," Lyman Darry spoke up. He was Lord Darry now that his father had died fighting the Lannisters. He had a newborn son and a humble castle, a life he wanted to protect, things worth fighting for. "Whether we win or lose, we have no choice but to fight. To bow to the Lannisters is to spit on the graves of those they have killed."

          "Would you bow to Renly?" Robb asked, looking at Amina. He waited for her answer like his own decision would hinge on hers, like they were the only people in the room. She thought again of Beldain, of running away and taking Robb with her. But nowhere was safe, nowhere was far enough to escape the Lannister threat. Like Lord Darry, Amina had things she wished to fight for as well.

          "No, I would not. Nor Stannis, neither." Amina drew one of her knives and looked at herself in the reflection on the blade. "We are Northerners. We are made of ice. When has winter ever stopped for anyone?"

          Greatjon Umber banged his fist on the table so loudly every head snapped in his direction. "Lady Corrigan is right. What do Southorn kings know of the Wall or the wolfswood or the barrows of the First Men? Even their gods are wrong." The man unsheathed his greatsword. "Why shouldn't we rule ourselves again? It was the dragons we married, and the dragons are all dead!" Lord Umber pointed the sword at Robb. "There sits the only king I mean to bow my knee to, m'lords. The King in the North!"

          Lord Umber knelt and placed his sword at Robb's feet, Lord Karstark followed, then Maege Mormont. Even the Riverlords joined in. Lyman Darry and Jason Mallister, the ever-feuding Blackwoods and Brackens.

          Amina looked at Robb and she was sure there was dragonfire in her eyes, the kind that could burn down kingdoms and forge new ones in their place. Amina turned her knife toward the table and thrust it down so it stuck up out of the wood. She smiled and added her voice to all the others, "The King in the North!"

Chapter 15: Jaime

          Nine days had passed since he’d been thrown into the cells of Riverrun. At least he thought it had been nine days. He lost count after the first night. Jaime was almost certain they were bringing his meals at odd hours to disorient him. But still, all things considered, he was fine.

          War was tedious; this was a well-deserved break. He would be back on his horse fighting soon enough. His father would ransom him for the Stark girls any day now, and he would be back between Cersei’s legs where he belonged.

          At least, that is what Jaime wanted to believe. But one could only imagine fantasies of returning to King’s Landing and a hero’s welcome for so long before they began to crumple. In truth, Tywin Lannister was too smart and too stubborn to trade his Stark hostages for his son, even if Jaime was his favorite son.

          When the door cracked open, he expected to see his gaoler bringing a meal of stale bread and thin broth. Instead it was a girl. Though she did have a bowl in one hand, and a cup of in the other. “What, no bread?”

          The raven-haired girl looked down at the bowl, then back at him with a raised eyebrow. “This is better than you deserve. The cells of Riverrun spoil their prisoners.” She offered him the bowl and cup. Jaime reached, but the chains were short and she was just out of reach. He suspected she knew that.

          She smirked, and her eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief. That was when he realized whom he was dealing with. “Ah, if it isn’t the Queen in the North herself.” Amina shook her head. The last time Jaime had seen her, she was dressed in a fine gown and hanging onto his arm. They’d traded japes about King Robert. She even made him laugh. He did not feel much like laughing at the present. “I forget, have you married him yet? I suppose not, otherwise you’d have a pretty little crown.” She made a gesture that suggested she would have crossed her arms if her hands weren’t full. “Now I remember. You aren’t betrothed to him, because you aren’t anyone. Isn’t that right?”

          To Amina’s credit, she didn’t so much as squirm. Impressive, Jaime thought, either she doesn’t know, or she’s just a very good liar. His bet was on the latter. “Do you want to eat or not?” She asked, waving the bowl and looking bored.

          “By all means…” Amina took a half step closer, just enough to let him take the bowl and cup from her hands. As soon as her hands were free, she stepped back out of reach and crossed her arms with a frown. “I do wonder though, what was Eddard Stark planning to do with you? He was too honorable to ship you off as some liege lord’s bride. No, that wouldn’t be fitting for a princess, not even a exiled princess.”

          Her eyes flashed vivid lilac for the briefest moment. Amina rolled her shoulders back, with a look of defiance, but she was silent. “But the heir to the North is a much more suitable match. Though, if you ask me, Robb Stark is still far below your station. Perhaps a second daughter could settle for the North, but-”

          “But, I didn’t ask you,” she said.

          Jaime’s words died on his lips. He smirked instead. “No, I suppose you didn’t.” He lifted the bowl to his lips and took a sip. The broth had grown tepid, but it was chilly soup or hunger, and he needed his strength. “Ah, well, love is such a precious thing, and it’s clear the Young Wolf adores you. I would wager a wedding is on the horizon, though how he’ll explain it to his lords, I don’t know.”

          “Even if I wanted to be wed in the midst of war, he’s betrothed to another,” Amina said flatly. “And what would you know of love?”

          “More than you might think, little queen.” She raised an eyebrow but kept her lips pressed together. She must think very little of him if she believed his heart so cold he was incapable of love. How far they had fallen since Winterfell’s great hall. “You must not love him, elsewise you’d be rushing to crown yourself.” He hummed, thinking. “There must be another. But who? Not the Greyjoy boy, he inherited his father’s charms. You wouldn’t be the type to fall for some commoner or lesser lord, no. That only leaves the bastard, noble-blooded and mysterious.” She squared her jaw and Jaime laughed. “Right on the first guess!”

          “This was pointless,” the princess muttered, she started for the door.

          “A thousand men would die for the chance to wed a dragon, even now,” Jaime said. Amina stopped in her tracks, turning slowly. “Kings are springing up left and right, wouldn’t it be interesting if there was a Queen?”

          There was a question on her lips. It was obvious Amina wanted to ask how he knew so much, but she would never speak the words. Robert hadn’t known, Eddard was smart enough to keep that piece of information to himself. Jaime supposed there was a plan to reveal her to the crown eventually, along with a promise she’d marry into the North and never threaten Robert’s rule. It couldn’t even be said for certain that Tywin Lannister knew. Jaime certainly hadn’t told him, and there weren’t many others alive who knew of the girl. But Jaime had been in King’s Landing when Aerys summoned his infant daughter. The Mad King thought together they would be reborn amongst fire as dragons. Jaime had put a stop to that.

          “You aren’t the only one, you know,” Jaime said. She froze, in the low lighting of the cell her eyes looked dark as a stormy sky. Amina looked at him for a long moment, and then finally she whirled around and disappeared through the door as quickly as she came.

          The monotony resumed. Jaime expected Amina’s curiosity would draw her back, but day after day went by – at least he thought they were days – and she never returned. 

Chapter 16: Lyman

          More than two moons had past since Raymun Darry had died fighting the Lannisters. It had been a battle he hadn't meant to be in. He had gone to King's Landing to demand justice for the towns in the Riverlands, pillaged by Gregor Clegane. But there'd been no justice, only a group of Robert's men sent by Eddard Stark to kill the Mountain. Raymun had joined them, and died at the hands of the man he'd set out kill.

          In those months since, Lyman had assumed his father's title, but had only just returned to Castle Darry a fortnight ago. It seemed so empty now, devoid of his father's humor and surrounded by burned villages. But still, he was glad to be home.

          It wasn't all bad, Sallei had given birth to a boy. She'd named him Willem after Raymun's uncle, once master-of-arms at the Red Keep. It was Willem and Sallei who kept Lyman sane. To face insurmountable odds without loved ones by your side was not a life he envied.

          "What are you looking at?" Sallei asked, joining him at the window. From there, he could see nearly all the Darry lands. The rolling green hills were so familiar to him, and though the holdings were small, he loved every inch.

          "Everything," he said, shaking his head. "How ever little of it we have left." The nearest village had been burned and rebuilt, and the castle had been taken and reclaimed. Many of his smallfolk had died, or relocated. But he was determined to rebuild what they had lost. These lands were his son's future.

          "Amos says the farmers are preparing to plant the spring crops," Sallei offered. As soon as the castle had been reclaimed, Lyman had sent his knights into the surrounding villages. Ser Amos Trane had a small knightly castle, on a piece of good farming land. His holdings supplied much of the closest village as well as Castle Darry. "And Ser Spirre is supervising the rebuildings."

          Lyman nodded absently, though both pieces of news were welcome. It seemed as if there was too much to do, too many people looking to him for assistance. He wondered how his father had balanced it all.

          Sallei looped her arm through Lyman's and pressed her forehead against his shoulder. "You shouldn't worry so much, my love," she murmured. "We will survive this war. When Robb Stark wins you may even receive some of those lands your family lost before." Lyman huffed. It found that unlikely, but it was only because he lived in an age where the Darry lands had been chipped a way bit by bit. Wars had come and gone, and it seemed that House Darry had the misfortune of always choosing the losing side.

          He was considering what lands they might hope to regain when he noticed the smoke on the horizon. After months of fighting battles with the Northmen, he would recognize the black smoke anywhere. The village was burning. Again. "Sallei, get Willem. Have Jared take both of you to the cellar." She looked from Lyman, to the smoke, and back. Her eyes were more angry than scared. She nodded once.

          Lyman headed for the ramparts, but was cut off by Ser Hosteen Bryne, commander of the household guard. "You must join your family in the cellar, my lord," the knight advised.

          "I will not run," Lyman told him. "We cannot lose this castle."

          "I'm afraid we must," Ser Bryne told him. "We are short on men, and the ones we do have are injured and exhausted. They cannot stand another battle, they will fall, and you must not be here when they do." Lyman opened his mouth to argue, but Hosteen cut him off. "I served your father for many years, I pride myself in keeping him alive for most of them. Had I been with him at Mummer's Ford, it would have been me fell, not him. Now, it is my duty to keep you alive, Lyman. You must let me."

          Lyman looked at the man for a moment, considering his options. Ser Bryne was correct. They lacked the manpower to successfully hold back the raiders. The Mountain's men were well rested, well fed, and well armored. With the state of his villages, the Darry men were none of those things. "They will die, holding these walls," he realized.

          "But they will live long enough to see your family to safety," Bryne told him. "That is their duty. One day you will return, you will reclaim this castle and your lands. You will raise House Darry up with the King's men at your side. But you can only do those things if you are alive. Your son needs a father, Lyman. Go."

          Though he was reluctant to abandon his men, his castle, his father's legacy, Lyman knew he had little choice. One day the war would end, and only then would Lyman be able to find peace. He nodded once, and allowed the knight to lead him to the cellar.

          Sallei was already waiting there. She had Willem clutched to her breast, bouncing him and whispering soothing words into his ear. Two guards, Jared and Theo, flanked her. "You should have left without me," Lyman chastised. Sallei shot him a look.

          "They've breached the walls!" Someone shouted from above.

          "You must go, now," Hosteen commanded. Jared and Theo went for the barrels hiding the tunnel. It had been built many years ago, during the Dance of the Dragons, not as an escape but as a way to covertly send messages. The Darrys had supported the Blacks, though the Tullys had backed the Greens. The tunnel had been built so Lord Darry could hold covert meetings with Black soldiers. In the end, their efforts had not mattered. They were found out. The Greens prevailed, and the Tullys gifted much of the Darry holdings to more loyal Lords.

          Jared took Willem from Sallei's arms and ushered her into the tunnel, he followed behind with the infant. Lyman waited until they were out of sight before turning back to Ser Bryne. He could hear the footsteps above, heavy and commanding. There were shouts, then screams. "He will find us," Lyman said. "I will stay and fight with you. Jared will get Sallei to her father."

          "You will not," Hosteen told him. "I can hold him back long enough for you to escape, but only if you go now. He must not find the tunnel."

          Lyman looked at the knight for a long moment. Ser Bryne had served House Darry near as long as Lyman could remember. He had once been beloved by every lady in the household, but now he was an old man. Though Hosteen's skills with a sword had never waned, he did not have the strength he once possessed. He would stand no chance against the Mountain. Lyman pulled the man into a hug, and then nodded. "May the Stranger protect you."

          Ser Bryne nodded once, and then drew his sword. Theo ushered Lyman into the tunnel, and followed behind him. The barrels had barely scraped back into place when the door was kicked open. Lyman lingered for a moment, listening to the sound of steel against steel. Theo pushed Lyman on, and after a moment, he began crawling into the blackness.

          For a while, the sound of sword fighting could be heard. Then it stopped. The silence that followed was worse.

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          Lyman emerged in the ruins of a fortress, on a hill, a short distance from Castle Darry. The black smoke rising from the village was thicker now. Sallei nearly tackled him as soon as he was on his feet. "I was so worried you'd stayed behind."

          "No," he whispered. "But Ser Bryne did." Sallei paled. Lyman took in the small gathering on the hill. Several knights, a few women. "I came as soon as I saw the smoke," Ser Trane said, shaking his head. It appeared he'd brought every man from his keep, and the women too. Maybe forty bodies in total. "That's it then, isn't it? We've lost."

          "The village is burned," Ser Spirre confirmed. "I barely escaped with who I could find. Many of the villagers scattered, but the Mountain's men were chasing them down. It's unlikely we'll see many of them again."

          Lyman shook his head. He turned toward his guardsmen. "Escort my wife and son to Seagard, take a few men with you, and all the women. Lord Mallister will protect them until such a time we can return."

          Sallei looked none to pleased with the idea. "And where will you go?"

          "To Riverrun," he said with a sigh. "This war is not done with me, and King Robb is the only hope we have left." Sallei rolled back her shoulders. To anyone else she surely looked proud and determined. She was exactly the sort of woman Jason Mallister had raised. But Lyman could see the tears in her eyes. He pulled her into his arms and pressed a kiss to her temple. "We will see each other again, my love, I swear it." Then he let her go, and the two parties went their separate ways.

Chapter 17: Theon

         He watched Amina adjust Robb's crown with a soft smile on her face. The new king had shifted it back and forth half a dozen times, searching in vain for the most comfortable way to wear it. Amina must have had the magic touch, for Robb didn't move it again until the show was over and the crown was sent back to his chambers. "Should I remind you that he's to marry a Frey girl?" Theon whispered in Amina's ear later, when Cleos Frey had been dispatched with Robb's peace offer and the great hall was empty.

          "No need, I arranged the match myself," she bristled. "Besides, betrothals have been broken before."

          "Not without consequences."

          "There was a time in which you all but dragged me to Robb's side, and now you wish to scare me away," she muttered. "I do wish you would make up your mind."

          "You know I'm only looking out for you."

          "If you were worried about me, you wouldn't be setting off to Pyke and leaving me behind," she snapped, with more than a little venom in her words. They both looked at each other for a moment. Finally, Amina sighed. "I don't want to fight. Not when you're leaving so soon. I just wish you weren't going."

          "I'm the only one who can treat with my father, make him join the cause." Theon hoped that was true, but it had been ten years since he'd seen Balon Greyjoy. "But I wish I weren't leaving you." Amina threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. "You could come with me."

          Amina smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I think Robb needs me with him more than you do. But one day, I'll take you up on the offer. I'd like to try that axe throwing game you're always joking about."

          "If anyone could beat the odds at the finger dance, it's you." He laughed. They hardly ever had to say goodbye to each other for any length of time, so neither of them knew the best way to go about it. Each time Amina would hug him and be prepared to send him on his way, Theon would think of something to say to put off leaving for a few moments more.

          When Amina hugged him for the fourth or fifth time, Theon almost changed his mind. She hugged him so tight her arms nearly choked the life out of him. Though he'd never been at home in Winterfell, he'd always felt at home with Amina. She'd taken him under her wing, despite being several years younger than him, and always reminded him he was more than just the son of a failed rebel.

          Now it was time for Theon to return to the Iron Island, to the home of his childhood, and he couldn't take Amina with him. He'd told her once that she ought to have been Ironborn. Women on the Islands could captain ships and fight in battles. They might never be Ladies or Queens in their own right, but it was said every man was a King on his own ship. The same was true of their women.

          Theon joked that if she'd been Ironborn, he would have chosen her for his rock wife. He'd almost continued that she could still be his salt wife, but he knew Amina would have hit him, and she never pulled her punches. He considered reminding her of that now, but he'd delayed his departure long enough. It was time to leave.

          Theon would miss Amina more than he would miss anyone. She'd been the best friend he'd ever known, and a sister too. My fearless dragon girl. He kissed her on the forehead and wriggled his way out of her arms. "Try not to get into too much trouble without me."

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          If Theon had been a child who couldn't recall the day he'd left Pyke in vivid detail, he might have said Seagard had the same look. But Seagard was large, and fortified with curtain walls that rivaled those of Winterfell. The only real similarity was the way the castle stretched out over sea stacks, into the water. But the stone bridges connecting the buildings made it all appear a bit more permanent. Meanwhile, Pyke only looked the way it did because half the towers had crumbled into the sea.

          "Considering a good jump, are we?" The woman who'd joined him, had red hair, a shade somewhere between Sansa's and Catelyn's. She was slight of frame, but her dress had been laced tight to show the curves she did have. "I used to cliff dive, when I was a child. If only we kept that fearlessness our whole lives."

          "You're Lord Mallister's daughter," he realized. "He didn't tell me you were so beautiful." Surely Jason Mallister had told Theon her name, but he couldn't remember it. "Sera?"

          "Sallei," she corrected with a raised eyebrow. "That's flattering, but I'm married." Theon shrugged one shoulder. It wouldn't be the first time a married woman had caught his eye. She added, "I have a baby." Theon remained undeterred.

          Sallei laughed. "Oh, you're exactly as Lyman said you'd be."

          "Your husband is Lyman Darry?" Theon asked incredulously. He'd fought alongside the man, Lyman wasn't half bad in a battle. Clearly his men loved him; there was no other reason for them to cast their lot with a minor lord from a disgraced House. But he was just that, a minor lord.

          In the Riverlands, the Mallisters were second only to the Tullys, and Jason Mallister had only two children. It wasn't outlandish to say Sallei Mallister could have married a Tyrell, or even Renly Baratheon before he proclaimed himself King. But instead, she'd married a lordling who was hardly more than a landed knight.

          Sallei looked at Theon as if she could read his mind, and simply shrugged. "My father said you were expecting a Ironborn ship to meet you here. I'm not surprised they didn't come. You know my father killed your brother here."

          She said it casually, which made it sting all the more. "I hold no enmity toward your father or any Mallister for what happened to Rodrik." He had no love for his eldest brother, and in truth, could count his memories of Rodrik on one hand. "Has your father not warned you away from me?"

          "Oh, he tried," Sallei said with a laugh. She and her brother, Patrek, had the same bright smile. "But he never tries very hard. He knows I won't listen."

          From one conversation with Jason Mallister, it was clear he would have given his daughter the world on a silver platter if she'd asked for it. Perhaps that was why Sallei been permitted to marry a Darry.

          "I only came to tell you Patrek found a ship," Sallei said after a pause. "It's a trading cog, terrible thing if you ask me, there's been far nicer ships in our ports. But this one was easy to convince, and as you may expect, my father wasn't eager to find you a better option."

          Theon scoffed at the obvious slight. But still, he was glad to hear he'd soon be on his way. The sooner he made it to Pyke, the sooner he would become a prince. Things would all fall into place just as they were meant to.

         Sallei looked back toward the keep as if she'd heard someone call out. "Ah, well. I must be going. It was...lovely to meet you." She smirked as if she'd made a joke. "If you see my husband before I do, tell him not to die or I'll have the Stranger curse him." And with that, Sallei Mallister marched back into Seagard with purpose.

          Theon was left standing on the ramparts, overlooking the sea, alone.

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

           Theon's return to Pyke had gone poorly, to say the least. His father behaved as if a third cousin had returned for a visit, instead of his own son and heir. And that was another issue. If his uncle Aeron were to be believed, Balon was considering Asha as his successor. Theon's sister. With Balon's reaction to Robb's offer of alliance, and his disdain for Theon's appearance, Theon could only assume that Aeron the right of it.

          But that would change; Theon would make sure of it. He was a prince now that Balon had proclaimed himself King. Theon would ensure he became his father's heir, by whatever means necessary. If his Balon wanted all Robb's secrets, Theon would give them willingly as long as it secured a place at his father's side.

          Then there was the matter of Amina. She would curse Theon when she learned he wasn't coming back. But his dragon girl had trusted him with her life, and he wouldn't betray her, even now. Her secrets he would hold close to his heart. Her secrets would mean her life. I won't speak word about her, not even her name, Theon vowed. King Balon could do what he wanted with the Northerners, but Theon would protect Amina until his last breath. He owed her that much at least.

          Not everything was bad. He'd acquired a new horse, too temperamental for most Ironborn to handle. But Smiler was perfect for Theon, who'd been riding horses in Winterfell for ten years. And now he had a woman to warm his bed. Esgred wasn't beautiful per se, but she was spirited and that was enough for him.

            They talked as they climbed the hill to Pyke. Theon found himself telling the woman more than he should, but she was easy to talk too. He pulled back just before he mentioned Amina. Better not to chance it, even with a shipwright's wife.

          As they neared the gate, he discovered a woman was waiting for them. She smirked when she saw him, and gave a wave. She had dark hair and brown eyes. She was dressed more like a tavern wench than a sailor, but her sun-kissed skin and the freckles across her nose proved she spent plenty of time in the sun. "Asha! They told me you weren't expected for days."

          The woman raised an eyebrow, and shared a look with Theon's travel companion. Esgred just shook her head, which earned a laugh out of the woman he presumed was his sister. "You truly don't remember us at all," she said. "A pity."

          Esgred shrugged Theon's arm off her shoulder and, much to Theon's horror, went immediately to hug his sister. "You look like a whore, Thyra," Esgred said with a grin. Not his sister then, but his cousin. Upon second inspection, he should have known. Asha had always had a vulture's beak of a nose.

          He remembered Thyra as a child; she'd been raised on Pyke while her father, Victarion, was on his longship. She'd been closer with his brothers than him. At twelve she'd already been promised a place on the crew of Maron's longship. But that had been just before the Rebellion, and she had never gotten the chance.

          "I ought to have your eye for that," Thyra said, but she grinned. "Perhaps I have been away too long. I may have actually missed you, Asha." Still processing the appearance of his cousin, who'd been at sea for half a year, it took Theon more than a few moments to register what she'd said. Asha. Impossible. This woman could not be Asha.

          Thyra gave Theon a once-over, and from the tilt of her head, he knew he'd been weighed and found lacking. "In Theon's mind we are still little girls playing at being reavers," Asha said in a mock whisper.

          "Speak for yourself, cousin. I was never playing at anything." There was steel in Thyra's tone, but Asha's smirk showed she was more than used to it. If anything, Thyra seemed more like Balon's daughter than Asha, at least in demeanor. Then again, she had been raised by him.

          "Come, I'll need you to help me into my..." Asha trailed off and looked to Theon. "What was it again, my chainmail gown and boiled leather smallclothes?"

           Thyra bared her teeth in a humorless grin. "A chainmail gown? Do you happen to have another?" She cast one more disinterested glance in Theon's direction, before heading toward the keep.

          "Why didn't you tell me?" Theon demanded, mortified.

          "I wanted to know what sort of man you were. Now I know." Asha shook her head and followed after Thyra. She paused a few feet away. "A word of warning, little brother? Be careful, not all Greyjoys are as friendly as me."

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          Theon sulked into the great hall, which was crowded with his father's lords and captains. Nearly every House in the Iron Islands was represented amongst the attendees, save for a few from Old Wyk who were on their way. Ale was flowing and a few men played the finger dance, no one paid him any mind.

          On the dais, his father sat in the Seastone Chair, with Asha at his right in the place of honor. Thyra looked to be engaged in a serious discussion with her father. Neither of them acknowledged Theon's presence until Balon reprimanded him for being late. His cousin met his gaze with one raised eyebrow before returning her attention to Victarion.

          He choked his way through supper and gulped down several cups of wine, wishing he could be anywhere but in that room. Asha spoke to him as if entirely unaware of his black mood, or else purposely trying to make him feel worse.

          Finally, Balon stood and addressed his companions on the dais. "Have done with your drink and come to my solar. We have plans to lay." Victarion and Aeron were the first to follow after him. Thyra stood, but had a thrall refill her drinking horn. She took the Seastone Chair, and kicked her legs over the arms as if it were a chaise.

          "It suits you, cousin," Asha teased.

          "I'll tell Uncle Balon I want it moved to the Kraken's Kiss," she retorted with a smirk. "I hope the Stark boy didn't ruin your supper."

          Asha grinned. "I believe it was the other way around."

          Theon stared at his cousin in the Seastone Chair. No one else seemed the least bit phased that she would take it so casually, as if it were any seat at any table. "Would you sit the Iron Throne like that," he blurted before he had the moment to think.

          Thyra raised an eyebrow. "No, not if I wanted to keep my limbs. They say those swords are still sharp enough to cut flesh."

          Asha leaned toward their cousin, and said in a mock whisper, "He's only upset because he supposes that will be his chair one day."

          Thyra laughed, one harsh bark. She stood, and finished her ale in one gulp. "I have a better chance of taking the Seastone Chair, and I don't even want the bloody thing." The woman turned and headed for Balon's solar without another word.

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          Theon made it across the slippery, swaying bridge to the solar, with some effort. His uncles were sitting on either side of Balon in front of the brazier. Thyra sat next to her father, picking at her nails with her dirk.

          Balon waved Victarion silent when Theon walked it. "I have made my plans. It is time you heard them." Thyra glanced up, and looked between them, as if she knew something Theon did not. "If the god grants us good winds, we will sail when the Drumms and Stonehouses arrive...or you will. I mean for you to strike the first blow, Theon. You shall take eight longships north—"

          "Eight?" Theon repeated incredulously. It was hardly more than he might take to Harlaw if he were to visit his mother at Ten Towers.

          "You are to harry the Stony Shore, raiding the fishing villages and sinking any ships you chance to meet. It may be that you will draw some of the northern lords out from behind their stone walls. Aeron will accompany you, and Dagmer Cleftjaw."

          Thyra was looking at him, waiting for his reaction. Theon knew he was red in the face, and he stammered looking for his words. She nodded as if he'd confirmed her suspicions and then went back to her nails.

          Asha was given thirty longships to take Deepwood Motte. Victarion, the task of setting up an Ironborn base at Moat Cailin. The Neck was the only piece of land that offered passage between the North and all the continent below it. By blocking it off, Robb's troops would be unable to return home, leaving the North for the taking.

          "Thyra, you'll sail with your father to take Moat Cailin," Balon continued. "When the Neck is secure, take your command up to Torrhen's Square. Be prepared for Winterfell to send reinforcements, however little they may be able to muster." His cousin grinned, though to Theon it looked more like a sneer. And with that, they were dismissed, and Theon's hopes of finding a place at his father's side went away with them. 

Chapter 18: Aylward

          Bitterbridge was the sort of castle which was often overlooked. It was small, though not plain. The Caswells of old had spared no expense in the stonework. But it wasn't the castle's beauty that made it special. It was its location. Situated at the point where the Roseroad crossed the Mander, Bitterbridge had the unique privilege of controlling what went into and out of the Reach. Certainly, there were other ways to travel. But no route was as quick and straightforward as the bitter bridge.

          Long ago the bridge was simply known as the stone bridge, as it was one of a kind that far north on the Mander. That had changed when Maegor the Cruel had clashed on the bridge with the Faith Militant. The water had run red for twenty leagues after, or at least that was what the stories said. But that was not the only incident that made the bridge bitter. It was on that same bridge that the infant Prince Maelor was torn apart by a mob during the Dance of the Dragons. And it was on that bridge that Aylward Caswell had last seen his father, the day he'd been banished from his home for falling in love with a bastard.

          Many years had passed since Aylward had left Bitterbridge, and still the sight of it lived up to his name. He could find no better word to describe the feeling of seeing his father's castle – no, it was his brother's now – rise along the horizon.

          Much had changed since he'd left. Aylward was hardly the same lovesick lordling who'd thrown away his father's dream to forge his own path. Life had seen to it that his naivete had been well and truly wiped away. He had duties now, not those of a lord or a husband, but duty to his King, and now to his Queen.

          "This must be uncomfortable for you," Loras murmured beside him. It was rare that the young knight was not at Renly's side. But, the King had bannermen to entertain, and Loras had fallen a few strides behind. "But we'll be on our way shortly."

          Aylward raised an eyebrow. They both knew shortly was a frame of time which Renly had not yet grasped. At the pace they'd been traveling through the Reach, a fortnight at Bitterbridge would be quick. More like, they would be there for two. Maybe longer if Lord Caswell wished to put on a show. Knowing his little brother, Lorent would put on a spectacle.

          "The King is going in," Loras pointed out. Aylward had been watching like a hawk the moment Lorent Caswell had greeted the King at the gate. "Are you coming?"

          "Go without me," Aylward murmured. At Loras's disapproving look, the older knight shook his head. "I'll only be a moment."

          Aylward walked to the railing of the bridge and overlooked the water below. The water was calm here, pleasant. As a child, he'd played in these very waters with his little brother, but that was before the war. Before their elder brothers had been killed at the Tower of Joy, before Aylward and Lorent's lives had changed irreparably.

          At the far end of the bridge, the King and his party had disappeared into the keep. Aylward walked toward it slowly. Trying not to linger on the memory of his father coming down into the courtyard that day. With a grave expression he'd called Aylward over, and calmly informed him his brothers were dead. It was their fault. King Robert had sent Eddard Stark to free the Lady Lyanna from the Prince, but Cleyton Caswell had it in his head that he could do it himself. And wherever Cleyton went, Armond followed.

          At the time, Aylward had taken it in stride. His brothers were older, distant. Preoccupied with women and wars. They had little time for younger siblings. It was only in the days after that he began to realize why his father had told him first. Why he'd left Lorent to play in the river. Aylward Caswell was heir to Bitterbridge, and in that moment his life had ceased to be his own.

          But that was a lifetime ago. His father was dead, his brother was lord, and Aylward Caswell was a banished knight who served a king. The knight took the remaining steps toward the door and crossed the threshold into his old home. Under his breath, Aylward whispered a prayer to the Seven that Renly would tire of Lorent Caswell quickly.

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          A fortnight came and went, and still Renly showed no interest in leaving Bitterbridge. Their lands had little to offer, but Lord Caswell would bleed his stores dry if it meant earning his King's favor. Lorent had always been a lickspittle.

          On this night a large feast had been arranged, complete with music and even dancing. Aylward felt the urge to remind everyone that they were in the midst of a war, but choked it down along with a swig of ale.

          The knight swept his eyes across the room, taking in the revelry. There was something so exhausting about it all, the near constant movement. They weren't fighting, they were barely training – save for the tournaments Renly was fond of. But still, he was tired. Tired of the court politics that had become a part of his life since leaving for King's Landing. Tired of pretending that he cared, that he didn't notice every look of pity cast his way.

          Aylward's gaze fell on Lorent. His brother was looking back. The Lord turned back to his companion, and after a brief exchange, abandoned the girl at the fringes of the dancers. Aylward knew what he was in for before Lorent even began to move in his direction.

          The knight searched in vain for someone, anyone. Ser Emmon was dancing, and Ser Parmen was attempting to out drink a younger knight. Loras and Renly were absorbed in conversation on the dais. Even Queen Margaery looked to be amused by her conversation with a cousin, leaving Aylward no opportunity to stage a rescue.

          The hand that clapped him on the shoulder made him freeze. "They said you'd gone with Renly to the capital but I hardly believed it." Aylward turned to look at his little brother. Lorent had a crow's beak of a nose, and dull hair the color of sawdust. He looked like their father, without the muscle. It gave him the look of a child playing dress up.

           "It was years ago," Aylward muttered. "Not that I'd expect you to check in on me, little brother."

          "Oh, come now. Isn't that all water under the bridge?" Lorent asked. From his tone, he seemed to genuinely believe it. As if Aylward could just forget his father giving him an ultimatum, love or family. "Father is dead. In case you weren't aware." Aylward raised an eyebrow. "Well, you weren't at the funeral, and King's Landing is so far away."

          "Not so far that I haven't heard stories about you," the knight said with a sigh. "I'm surprised you declared for Renly at all. We both know you never had much love for the Tyrells." As they'd grown older, Aylward had grown close to their liege lords. His father pressured him to make connections; the Tyrells, the Hightowers, the Oakhearts. But all Lorent saw was a line of lordlings between himself and his brother. He only saw himself being left behind.

          "Yes, well, we Lords must do what's right for our subjects," Lorent said. As if Aylward couldn't possibly understand what pressures his brother was under. As if he hadn't nearly stood in Lorent's shoes. "And what's best is allowing Renly Baratheon to cross this bridge."

          "And tomorrow, if the tide turns against our King..." Aylward trailed off. "I suppose you'd spare no thought to throwing your support behind another."

          To Lorent's credit, he didn't deny it. "Aylward, I am sorry. You may not believe me, and I'd understand if you didn't. But not a day goes by that I don't remember what I did to you, that Wylla..."

          He trailed off, but not before her name stung Aylward like a knife to the heart. Lorent let out a slow breath, realizing his mistake. "Wylla is dead because our father prevented Lord Crane from sending help." The knight's voice came out stilted. "All because the request was signed with my name."

          "If Lady Oakheart–"

          "Arwyn Oakheart was dying," Aylward reminded him. "So was her eldest son, and half of Old Oak, and her bastard granddaughter, my wife. What if the maester from Highgarden hadn't arrived in time? What if Lady Oakheart had died?"

          "Father didn't know," Lorent said quietly. The brothers looked at each other in silence before Lord Caswell spoke again. "I burnt the letter. I was still a boy, still so foolish and naïve. I thought...I thought that if the Oakhearts died, you would come home. You would have to come home."

          "You burned my letter," Aylward repeated incredulously.

          "Wylla was never meant to die." Desperation had seeped into Lorent's tone, but Aylward wasn't listening. "I thought she'd come home with you. Father would have to allow it. Where else would you go? I was wrong, and I will never forgive myself for it."

          Lorent put out a hand, as if to reach for Aylward. But the knight shrunk away, disgusted. "Neither will I."

Chapter 19: Catelyn

          Catelyn caught Amina leaving Robb's chambers, as she knew she would. In the months since Ned's death the two had spent more time together than apart. Since Theon departed for Pyke, it had only gotten worse. "There you are, Amina." The girl had the decency to look guilty. "How have you been, since Theon left?"

          Amina looked down at the floor for a moment. "I miss him. There's less to smile about now, he always found some way to make me laugh even if everything else was awful." Catelyn had never cared for Theon; he was too smug and too self-assured. But he and Amina had been inseparable since they were children, and though the girl had admirers and allies, she had a severe lack of friends.

          "Perhaps it would be best for you to ride south with me, to take your mind off Theon." Catelyn would be leaving at first light with twenty of Robb's best men and five lordlings. They hoped to find an ally against the Lannisters in Renly. It would be good for Amina to travel; she'd done so little of it outside the North.

          There were other reasons it would be best to remove Amina from Riverrun as well. With every passing day, Amina and Robb grew closer. Some had begun to note that Amina was Queen in all but name. Catelyn knew at the end of this war the two would scheme up some way to end Robb's betrothal, but the end was not yet in sight. Their Frey companions grew increasingly uncomfortable with Amina's presence. Cat worried there would be consequences. "Besides, you are better suited to treating with Renly than I am. You'll put him at ease."

          The girl grimaced, and Catelyn wondered if Amina was also growing weary of the war and her role in it. Amina had always been skilled at getting her way and weaseling out secrets. But, playing that game in Winterfell was very different than the show she was expected to put on each day for Robb's troops. "You might like the Reach, it's beautiful. There are more flowers than you've seen in your entire life."

          Amina smiled softly, and nodded. "I suppose I would like to go, and I suppose I would also be useful there." More than she had been here, while Robb's army bided their time waiting for their plans to fall into place. Amina smiled again, her momentary discomfort gone or at least hidden behind a mask.

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          Renly's outriders overtook them half a day's ride from Bitterbridge. The men led the Northern party to the small castle where their king was staying for the moment. Amina's face lit up as they walked among the pavilions. After Robb's somber Northern war camp, Renly's seemed more vibrant than King's Landing. Though when they reached the tourney grounds, her brows furrowed. "I seem to have been under the impression we were going to war," Amina said quietly, leaning toward Catelyn. "But it appears we were meant to be celebrating."

          Though the girl made it clear she thought the tourney a southron folly, she took in the gathering with hungry eyes as Ser Colen led them to the dais. Amina had always loved extravagant things, if only because they drew an interesting crowd. Catelyn could almost hear Amina naming each house's banner as they passed and rattling off every detail she knew of them. She had been to few tournaments; they weren't common north of the Neck. But, it had been at a tourney at the Twins that Amina had been given her first throwing knife.

          They waited, watching, while the melee finished. Ser Loras Tyrell was unhorsed and beaten by a tall knight in cobalt blue armor. The crowd was less than thrilled with the result, Renly only laughed and beckoned the knight forward. "Well fought, I've seen Ser Loras unhorsed once or twice, but never in quite that fashion." Renly addressed the crowd. "I present your victor, Lady Brienne of Tarth."

          The words shocked Catelyn near as much as they shocked Amina, who looked on wide-eyed as the knight removed her helm. Lady Brienne was not a beauty, by any stretch of the term, but she had proven herself to be a fierce warrior. Still, Catelyn couldn't help but pity her, there was no creature as unfortunate as an ugly woman.

          They were presented to the King in the South, though Catelyn refused to grant him the honorific of your grace. Amina curtsied to Renly as she was introduced, and Cat could almost see the lords soften toward her. It was hard to dislike the girl upon first meeting; she wielded her courtesies as flawlessly as her knives. It was only later, after one learned just how troublesome Amina could be, could one's opinion be changed. But by then, if Amina had done her job well, one would have accepted her warts and all.

          She'd been right to bring Amina along. Cat had been in the North far too long to play along with these Southerners and their games.

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          They were housed in Renly's own pavilion, a massive silk tent larger than the common room of many inns. It was so well stocked; it was as if Renly had packed every possession from his chambers in Storm's End. Amina went straight for the wine, and poured them each a full cup. "I have never been so disrespected in my life," she said, after gulping down nearly half the goblet.

          Catelyn was surprised to hear the words out of the girl's mouth. Amina had smiled and exchanged pleasantries with Renly's lords. She'd laughed off their slights against Robb's crown. Sometimes it startled Catelyn just how well Amina hid her feelings.

          "I suppose it should be expected. All my life I've been Eddard Stark's ward, the Lady of an island everyone wants. Who would disrespect me? But here that doesn't matter." She shook her head. "But it isn't even that. It's that they so clearly expected me to be some Northern brute, as if we're all Wildlings. It's that Robb's crown means nothing to them, he means nothing to them."

          Amina paced as she spoke, taking large sips from her cup between sentences. "Ned's death is only some distant tragedy, nothing for them to be concerned with. Renly had the audacity to say he'd send you Cersei's head. All the while they live like this." She threw her arms out, spinning around the pavilion. "War is not a tournament, war is death. They would know that if they'd been fighting with us. If they'd had the blood of a friend spatter across their faces. Most of these soldiers are children, they've never killed a man, they've never watched someone die. How can they expect to win?"

          She spoke as if she'd aged decades in the last year, and maybe she had. Maybe Catelyn was still holding on to versions of her children that no longer existed. "You shouldn't know what those things are like either," she said quietly. "Neither should Robb. But I can't change that now, we can only move forward."

          Catelyn took a small sip of her wine. "They're as naïve as you once were." At Amina's raised eyebrow, Catelyn amended, "Well, perhaps a little more. They will learn, eventually. But can you really wish it on them, the things you've seen?"

          Amina let out a short breath. "Of course not. If I could snap my fingers and make every soldier lay down their arms, I would do it. But to be so idealistic...That's how people die."

          They were both silent for a long time, until finally Amina lay down her glass. "Will you braid my hair for the feast?"

          Catelyn smiled softly. "Of course, Amina."

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          On the dais, Amina was nestled between a broad-shouldered knight with a rainbow cloak, and the Queen herself. Queen Margaery was a tiny thing, of an age with Amina, but much more delicate. Looking at them, Catelyn could tell they would be very different sorts of queens. But to watch the way they talked like old friends, you wouldn't know it.

          Between Renly's pavilion and Bitterbridge's great hall, Amina's solemn demeanor had eased a bit. It reminded Cat that Amina was just a girl, despite what she said to the contrary. Amina tasted every food and laughed as the young queen tried to goad the knight into smiling. Of the group at the table, only he looked as uncomfortable with the proceedings as Catelyn felt.

          But the pair's laughter was interrupted when Lord Willum's eldest son banged a hand on the table. "Lady Corrigan," Josua said, and then repeated himself as if it was possible for anyone to have missed it.

          Amina turned toward him slowly, a mask of serenity set firmly over her features. "Ser Josua?"

          He looked slightly taken aback that she'd remembered his name, but quickly recovered. "Tell us, how does this feast compare to the ones among your camp?"

          "It was a lovely meal," she said diplomatically. Turning to Lorent Caswell she added, "Thank you Lord Caswell for hosting us, it has been a long journey."

          The skinny lord smiled proudly. "Please, Lady Corrigan, it is my pleasure." Beside Amina, Ser Caswell was staring pointedly at his plate. "Perhaps now that you've seen all the South has to offer, you may venture back one day."

          Amina gave him a polite smile, but Catelyn could see it strained the edges of her composure. Cat had heard all about the endless line of Northern suitors and seen the men of the Riverlands behave the same. Beldain had enough natural resources to build Bitterbridge sevenfold. Men could be exhausting when they had riches in their sights.

          "Must be awful up there," Ser Josua cut in. He took a long drink from his goblet that left a dribble of red down his chin. "A rose isn't meant for the cold and the dark."

          "Not the roses of Highgarden, no," Amina said calmly. "But the blue winter roses of the North thrive, and many say they're the most beautiful rose of all."

          "I believe my brother spoke of those a time or two," Renly said, joining the conversation. "He always did have a fondness for the North."

          Ser Willum was not prepared to back down, not even for the King. "But to be fighting a losing battle...That must be the worst of it. To know that your king," he said the word like a curse, "will return home defeated, if he even returns at all."

          Amina put her hand out abruptly toward her goblet. Catelyn was not sure if she meant to drink the wine in one go, or to throw it in the knight's face. But the girl did neither. Instead Amina rested her hand on the stem. After a tense moment, she pulled her hand away and returned it to her lap. No one seemed to notice Amina's momentary lapse of composure, save for Catelyn. "But we will fight to the last."

          "Quite right!" Renly exclaimed, silencing further comment from the young knight. "The commitment of the Northmen is admirable. In fact, I believe it is time the three of us spoke, don't you?" His eyes flicked between Amina and Catelyn. "Let's take a walk."

Chapter 20: Amina

          The garden was more beautiful than anything Amina had ever seen. The plants were every color of the rainbow, with flowers that looked like jewels. Even the stonework was glorious with carvings of animals and dancing women. She felt as if she’d awoken in the realm of the Gods. Amina pinched the skin on her wrist, and still she was not shaken from the dream.

          Across the garden silks blew in the wind, and when they parted for a moment, revealed a large room beyond. Amina pushed the curtains aside and stepped into the chamber. The walls were covered with tapestries, which depicted scenes both familiar and fantastical. The floors were made of green marble that shined like nothing she had seen before.

          A quiet gasp pulled Amina’s attention, and she turned to see a girl sitting in the bath. Her arms were crossed over her chest and silver blonde hair fell over her shoulders. She looked like the water nymphs depicted on the walls. “I seem to have taken a wrong turn,” Amina said, uncertainly. Though, in truth, she felt as if she’d been mean to find this room and this girl.

          “Are you one of Xaro’s guests?” The girl asked, stretching toward a table for her robe. Her fingers couldn’t quite reach. Amina handed the girl the silk robe, finer than anything she’d seen, even in Renly’s frivolous summer war camp. “You look so familiar.”

          “No, I–” Amina broke off and sighed. “Well, I suppose I have no idea where I am. This is a rather elaborate dream. But you, who are you?”

          The girl laughed. “I ought to be asking you that question. But I’ve been hounded by Qartheen who wish to see me, it’s refreshing to meet someone who doesn’t.” Once she’d slipped into a robe, she extended her hand. “Daenerys Stormborn, of House Targaryen.”

          Amina stared at the girl’s hand for a moment, and then at her face. Daenerys dropped her hand to her side. “That’s impossible. House Targaryen is gone.” All of them but me. But the longer Amina looked, the more she found the similarities. Eyes a light shade of purple, and hair the color Amina imagined hers ought to have been if it weren’t for the dye. Daenerys had softer features, and they made her look young, but not so different that Amina couldn’t see herself in them. She remembered Jaime Lannister’s words: you aren’t the only one.

          “Who are you?” The other girl asked finally, clearly growing nervous with Amina’s silence. “You are not Qartheen.”

          “In the Seven Kingdoms they know me as Amina Corrigan, but it is a lie. My father was Aerys Targaryen, and my mother died on Dragonstone. I think I may be your sister.”

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          Amina fought awareness, even as the dream slipped away like water through her fingers. She kept her eyes shut tight, hoping that if she didn’t let the light in that other world would return. But the sounds and smells of Renly’s camp cut through her dream and brought her back to the present. Catelyn was standing over her, looking rather concerned. “Are you ill?”

          The raven-haired girl pushed herself up onto her elbows, taking in Renly’s pavilion as if she could will it away. “No, I’m alright,” she murmured when it was clear the dream was not returning. “My dream was so…real.”

          Catelyn sat on the edge of the bed. She was already dressed, Amina had overslept. “Tell me about it.”

          “There was a palace, it was unlike anything I’ve ever seen.” Amina could almost smell the sweet and spicy scent on the air. If she strained, she thought she could still make out the birds in the distance. It had all been so vivid, as if she were really there. “But the strangest thing was the girl in the bath.”

          Catelyn raised an eyebrow. “She looked like me,” Amina continued. “A little. She was thinner, her hair was silver, and her eyes…” She trailed off remembering the other girl’s eyes, violet, a few shades darker than Amina’s own. “She said her name was Daenerys Targaryen.”

          The expression on Catelyn’s face changed in an instant. Her eyes flicked toward the tent flap as if someone would be summoned just by hearing the word. “You must never speak that name.”

          Amina looked at Catelyn blankly for a moment. “Why? Do you know who she is?” After a pause she added, “Is she real?”

          Cat was silent for a long time. She pressed her fingers over her eyes and sighed. She looked tired, the kind of tired that ran bone deep. The kind of tired Amina felt as well. War sucked all the living out of you.

          “She is real,” Cat said quietly. It was all she said at first, and the thoughts began to swim in Amina’s head. How had she dreamed about that girl? Where was she? And then another thought: How did Catelyn know her?

          “You knew there were more?” Amina whispered, trying her hardest to keep her voice even.

          Catelyn reached for Amina’s hands, but Amina dodged them. Cat looked resigned. “I didn’t until the King came to Winterfell. Before then we thought you were all that was left, but Robert had news.” She paused for a moment before continuing. “You know that Aerys had a second son?” Amina didn’t bother to nod; Catelyn knew she did. “He escaped before Robert’s army could reach Dragonstone, but he did not leave alone. Robert learned that Viserys and his infant sister reached Essos unharmed. He sent spies to find them, kill them.”

          “I have a sister,” Amina whispered.

          “Many knew Rhaella was pregnant when she left King’s Landing, but most believed the baby was lost. We knew better, of course, but Ned always thought you were the only one, until Robert…” Catelyn was desperate to be believed, and Amina did believe her. But in the end, she’d still kept the secret.

          “Why didn’t you tell me?” Amina asked. “When you found out, why didn’t you tell me?”

          “Robert wanted her dead, he sent assassins to find her,” Cat explained. “Ned was worried if we told you he’d receive news of her death soon after. We thought it was best to keep it secret. We wanted to save you that pain. We never imagined…”

          Amina laughed humorlessly. “Never imagined I would dream my way into the girl’s bathing room? Me neither. But I did. Somehow.”

          “They call them dragon dreams,” Cat said quietly. “I know little about them. But we all know the story of the girl who dreamed the destruction of Valyria and brought her family West.”

          Amina shook her head; she couldn’t think about that now. Couldn’t wonder about Valyrian magic and whether or not it was in her blood. That was a question for another day. Today all she could think was that Catelyn had kept this secret for a year. This monumental secret that even Jaime Lannister had tried to tell her.

          “I’ll be riding to Storm’s End to meet with Stannis,” Catelyn said softly, after a moment of Amina’s silence. “We’ll leave as soon as you’re dressed.”

          “I’m not coming with you,” Amina said after a pause. “I’ll remain here with Margaery until you return.”

          For a moment Catelyn looked as if she wanted to argue, but she didn’t. Finally, she nodded, and rose from the bed. “I’m sure Lady Margaery will appreciate the company. I’ll return as soon as I’m able.”

          Amina said nothing, only stayed on the bed with her knees drawn up into her chest, thinking about the girl in the bath. Daenerys Targaryen. Her sister.

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          Amina sank her knives into the target one after another. The familiar thwack soothed her. When her belt was empty, she walked to the target, collected her knives, and began again. The rhythm felt like her heartbeat. Like she became a part of the knives, and when they landed in the wood, they took a little bit of her with them. The confusion and betrayal that had been threatening to bury her dissipated with each throw.

          “Well done, Lady Corrigan.” The voice broke Amina’s concentration and her next knife found itself stuck upright in the dirt. She turned toward the voice and scowled. The knight held his hands up in surrender. “My apologies. Your skill is impressive. Are you that good with a sword? Bow and arrow?”

          Amina shook her head. “I train with both, but my affinity is for knives.”

          She looked at the man for a moment. It was the knight she’d been sat next to the night they’d arrived, Ser Aylward Caswell. He was the brother of the current Lord Caswell, but from the way they spoke–or rather, didn’t speak–they weren’t close. “Lady Stark left for Storm’s End. We were surprised to hear you weren’t going with her.”

          “We had a falling out,” Amina said simply.

          “Ah.” The knight paused and shifted uncomfortably. “Well, families can be difficult.”

          Amina raised an eyebrow. “I suppose you would know.” He winced. She felt a bit bad about saying it. It wasn’t Ser Caswell she was upset with. “Did you only come to tell me Catelyn left?”

          “Also, that Queen Margaery asked for you,” the knight added. “With so many going with the King to Storm’s End, she’s having rooms made up for you in the castle.”

          Amina thought it strange a knight of the Rainbow Guard would be playing messenger for the Queen, but kept her mouth shut. Better not to offend the knight twice in one conversation. “Are you going with Renly as well?”

          “We’re leaving at first light,” he confirmed. “Lady Stark rode ahead to arrive on her own.”

          Amina nodded. For a moment she stayed quiet, and the knight began to leave. “Ser Caswell,” she called. The knight stopped. “Will you look after her? Catelyn.” They both knew that Catelyn had her own men to do that. But they also both knew that wasn’t why Amina was asking. Aylward nodded once. “Thank you.”

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          Amina lay draped across a cushioned couch. Her hair hung loose over the edge, nearly touching the floor. Margaery was buried in her wardrobe tossing dresses out of it into a pile at her feet. Her ladies would have a mess to clean up after the Queen finished her search. “I don’t need to wear the dress,” Amina told her for the third or fourth time. “I have my own.”

          “But this one will be perfect, Mina,” Margaery promised. “And besides, we’re celebrating.”

          “My nameday was a fortnight ago,” Amina reminded her.

          “And you told no one,” the Queen said, reprimanding her. “So, we celebrate tonight.”

          Amina propped herself up on her elbows to look at her friend. There was more to this than Margaery was saying. She was distracting herself from something by treating Amina like her doll. 

          “Margaery, sit down,” Amina said. The Queen did nothing of the sort. Amina tried again, this time firmer, “Margaery, sit.”

          The Queen looked over and let out a short breath. “Is it that obvious?”

          “You’re positively frantic,” Amina said matter-of-factly. Margaery joined her on the couch, and Amina swung herself up, so they were face to face. “Are you worried about Renly?”

          Margaery nodded. “And my brothers, and Ser Caswell, and all the others.” She shook her head. “How do you do it? Your people are fighting in the Riverlands and you are so far away. Does it not scare you?”

          “Of course, it scares me,” Amina said softly. It was true, though she’d tried not to think about it. “I’m just better at controlling it. We’ve been fighting longer; I’ve had more time.”

          Margaery turned toward her. “Does that make it easier, the time?”

          “Some, but mostly it only makes it easier to pretend,” Amina admitted. “You don’t have to be strong, but you have to pretend that you are. There are so many eyes on you, and they’re all just as scared as you are. But you are their Queen, and they must know that you believe in your King, in his army. If you can’t show them that, if they can’t see that faith…there isn’t any point to it. Without faith we fall apart.”

          Margaery’s shoulders shook, and a moment later she was crying in Amina’s arms. The raven-haired girl stroked the Queen’s back, the way Catelyn used to do to comfort her. “I never asked for any of this,” Margaery whispered. “I never wanted to be their Queen. I don’t know if I can do this.”

          “You can,” Amina whispered. “I believe in you.”

          “Aylward said the same thing,” Margaery said quietly, pulling away from Amina. “But it’s easy to believe in someone else’s strength when you have so much of your own. I’ve never been that person, the one that people relied on or the one who needed to rely on themselves. I always had others to be strong for me.”

          Amina remembered when she was a girl, young and naïve. The years when she believed she that she really was Amina Corrigan. When Eddard and Catelyn had been her world. And then her world had changed, and she couldn’t rely on them anymore. Not because she couldn’t trust them, but because relying on them put them at risk. She had to rely on herself.

          “Relying on yourself might sound like independence, but it’s just another word for fear,” Amina whispered. “You wish you’d been able to choose your path, but none of us can choose. Fate is out of our control, only sometimes it’s a little more obvious who’s pulling your strings.”

          Margaery dried her tears with her sleeve and tried to smile. “At least you can choose who to marry.”

          “Oh, Gods,” Amina groaned. “I thought I’d finally escaped the suitors when I left the North, but no, I’ve just found a whole new batch of them.”

          The Queen giggled softly. “It could all be over; all you have to do is choose.” Amina raised her eyebrows. “You should meet my brother, Willas. He’s home in Highgarden. He’s very kind, and very smart.”

          “I could never marry a Southerner,” Amina assured her. “The North wouldn’t stand for it. Beldain’s history goes back to the First Men. We’d start another war.”

          Margaery laughed again; her tears forgotten. “Is it really as bad as all that?” Amina nodded gravely. “What’s it like? Beldain I mean.”

          Amina shrugged. “I don’t know, I’ve…I don’t remember it.” She’d almost said she’d never been, but Amina Corrigan had been born on the island. “I’ve been told it’s beautiful. That it’s shaped like a sea star, with great mountains in the center. There’re deep forests of Ironwood and in the mountains they mine for precious gems. But, if you get past all that, there’s a lake. They say the water is so clear you can see the whole world reflected in it.”

          “It sounds beautiful,” Margaery said wistfully.

          “It does,” Amina agreed. Not for the first time she thought about running away. Becoming the girl they all believed her to be. Rebuilding Castle Corrigan on the cliffs and building a new home amongst the ghosts.

          But she couldn’t. Just like Margaery, there were people watching her, relying on her. Amina would not let them down. She had to see this war through, to walk out the other side into the new world. No matter what that world looked like, she could not run from it. It was inevitable.

 

 

 

Chapter 21: Aylward

          Though night had descended over their camp, there would be no sleep had tonight. At daybreak Renly would lead his troops into battle against his brother, and Aylward was meant to command a van. He’d left the others back in Renly’s pavilion, bickering and playing their games. As if who dealt the first blow, or who led the most men mattered. They were going to war, and none of them were prepared.

          Few of Renly’s men had fought in Robert’s Rebellion, or even the Greyjoy’s short-lived uprising. Aylward was just as green as the rest of them. But still, he remembered his brothers leaving, searching for glory. Their bones had returned, but their souls were lost. There was no glory to be found in war, only death.

          But yet he had pledged his life to a King and Aylward would follow him into battle, as his vows demanded of him. They would win, he had little doubt. Even with half their host remaining at Bitterbridge, their army still outnumbered Stannis Baratheon’s meager host ten to one. He did not fear his bones returning to his brother, he feared for his soul. For all their souls. What must the Gods think of them? These men who would tear out each other’s throats instead of forming a peace. Instead of uniting against the greater enemy.

          A blood-curdling scream interrupted his thoughts. Voices shouted in the distance, and soon others were joining them, until the words arrived at his ears. “The King is dead!” Aylward broke into a run.

          He approached the tent from the back and if he hadn’t stopped when he did, he would have collided with Lady Brienne. The girl looked stricken, her eyes hollow and skin pale.

          Lady Stark griped his arm with fierceness, and Aylward pulled his eyes away from his fellow guard. “It was Stannis,” she whispered. Her voice was brittle. “I don’t know how, but I swear to you.” They both looked to Brienne, the girl was silent, staring into the distance. “They’ll kill her. We have to leave.”

          There was an unspoken request, and Aylward remembered what Amina had asked of him. He nodded once and steered the women toward the edge of camp. No one looked at them as they walked. Everyone was consumed with their own panic, or grief, or confusion.

          The three reached the horses where Lady Stark’s men were waiting. They were all eager to ask questions, but Catelyn turned toward Aylward. “You must bring Amina to safety, ser. Please.”

          Even as she started away from him, toward her men and escape, Aylward could see the fear in her eyes. He thought of the girl in Bitterbridge with Queen Margaery. If Stannis got to her, Amina would be a hostage; he would use her to bring Robb Stark to heel. Or at least he would try. Aylward had a sinking feeling the girl would turn a knife on herself before she allowed anyone to use her as a chess piece in their game. Aylward gave a single nod.

          Without another word, he parted from the group. He gathered the things that he required and departed for Bitterbridge with haste. There was nothing left behind him but chaos. The lords would tear each other apart searching for answers. Their loyalties would be divided. Many would join with Stannis; others would leave for King’s Landing. Aylward would do neither.

          He didn’t know where he would go after, but for now it was the promise he’d made that kept him moving forward. Tomorrow would be another question, but today all he could do was save a girl’s life.

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          Aylward’s familial lands felt empty now. Half a hundred pavilions still remained, but most of the men had scattered. Nearly a moon had passed since Renly’s death, and by now word had spread far and wide. He could not blame the men for abandoning the cause. There was little for them now but uncertainty.

          The gates of Bitterbridge opened for him, but he saw few servants as he made his way up the tower to the Queen’s chambers. When he reached Margaery’s door, he knocked twice. Inside he heard voices speak in hushed whispers. “Your grace, it’s me,” Aylward called out.

          “Let him in,” Margaery said, just loud enough for him to hear. There was a scraping behind the door, and then a metallic clinking as the lock was undone. When the door opened it revealed Amina Corrigan standing next to a large chair with a knife. Aylward held up his hands in surrender. Amina looked over his shoulder at the empty hall. After a moment she nodded and stepped out of his path.

          Margaery darted around the dark-haired girl and threw her arms around Aylward’s neck. “Oh, it is so good to see you. I was so worried.” She looked toward the door, which Amina had closed behind him. “Where is my brother?”

          Aylward hesitated for a moment before speaking. “I can’t say with certainty, your grace. On his way surely.”

          “But didn’t he come with you?”

          “No, I left before the others.” Aylward glanced over to Amina, who still looked ready to jump at any moment. “Lady Stark asked me to bring Lady Corrigan to safety.”

          “They aren’t coming back.” Amina did not phrase it as a question, but Aylward nodded, nonetheless. “We should wait for the others, for Margaery’s sake.” She looked to Margaery, who had moved to the window overlooking the courtyard.

          Aylward didn’t want to leave Margaery alone either, but they had no choice. Loras Tyrell was as likely to take Amina hostage as Stannis was. Arguably, if the Tyrells joined the Lannisters, it would be worse for her. Not that Aylward expected she would live that long. “My lady, my apologies, but I do not think you have the luxury to wait.”

          Lady Corrigan looked at him for a long time. She gripped the knife tightly in her hand, and he knew that his assessment had been correct. Amina Corrigan would never let herself become someone’s hostage.

          “Mina, you have to go.” Margaery’s voice turned both of their attentions. The Dowager Queen walked toward them and laid a hand on Amina’s shoulder. “I will be alright. You heard Ser Caswell, Loras is on his way.”

          Amina took a moment to answer, but finally nodded. To Aylward she said, “Robb is in the Westerlands, north of Oxcross. I need to see him.”

          “Then that’s where we’ll go.”

          With his assurances, Amina turned back to Margaery. The girls embraced each other tightly. “We’ll see each other again,” Amina promised her. “Someday when this is all over.”

          “I hope so,” Margaery said quietly. The girls broke apart and it was Aylward’s turn to say his goodbyes. The young queen looked up at him with a soft smile. “This isn’t goodbye, Ser Caswell. Our paths always cross again.”

          Historically speaking, it was true. Even when Aylward’s path had led him away from Highgarden and to King’s Landing, Renly brought him back in the end. But this was another journey, and the realm was at war. Nothing was certain. Even still, he wanted to believe her.

          “Until next time then,” he said quietly.

          Margaery turned away from him and joined Lady Corrigan in ensuring Amina’s bag was full to bursting. “I’ll write when my brother arrives,” Margaery assured them both. “Be safe.”

          Amina pointed at the chair that had presumably been blocking the door before he came in. “Barricade the door when we’re gone,” she instructed Margaery. “Let no one in until Loras comes.” The brunette looked a bit exasperated with Lady Corrigan’s fussing, but nodded. “Goodbye, Margaery.”

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          A fortnight had passed since they’d left Bitterbridge. They were in the farmlands somewhere between Goldengrove and Old Oak. Aylward had gotten them a room at an inn for the night, they needed the hot meal and the soft bed.

          Lady Corrigan lay asleep, curled in on herself. Aylward paced by the door, as she turned fitfully. She whispered again. The words were foreign to his ears, though he’d heard enough High Valyrian to recognize the language.

          Aylward had dozed off on watch. When he woke, he thought Amina was speaking to him, ready to reprimand him for falling asleep. But Lady Corrigan was unconscious. He listened in vain waiting for her words to make sense. And then he heard the name, “Daenerys.”

          In King’s Landing, Robert had urged his High Council to send assassins after a girl he deemed a threat. Renly had thought the whole idea preposterous. King Robert was relying on the word of spies half a world away, surely the girl could not be who they thought she was. More like she was just a silver-haired girl from Lys.

          It was only in Highgarden that Aylward had learned the girl was, in fact, the very thing Robert feared. The last Targaryen. If the merchants’ gossip along the pier was to be believed, she was more than just that. Daenerys Targaryen had married a Dothraki, survived countless assassins, and hatched dragon eggs.

          Aylward had believed it to be only gossip, stories which had grown larger than life with each mile across the sea. But now, Amina Corrigan was tossing and turning in the midst of some dream. Whatever she was seeing had something to do with that girl Robert had been so afraid of.

          Perhaps it was nothing. Perhaps the rumors had may their way to Riverrun and to Amina’s ears. Perhaps she was only dreaming of a princess far away from this war-torn world that she, herself, lived in.

          But Aylward had never believed in coincidences, and too many pieces of Amina’s story didn’t add up. House Corrigan had resources, true. Beldain was full of natural riches. But any lord could have taken Amina in. Yet, somehow, she’d made it to Winterfell. She was close enough to the Starks to consider them family. They provided her with all the luxuries and privileges owed a Lady of a great house. But House Corrigan was only a vassal, and a ruined one at that.

          The girl stirred, and finally woke. She looked over at him with tired eyes. “I can take watch,” she murmured. Amina turned and slid out of bed.

          “You speak Valyrian in your sleep,” Aylward said to her back. Amina froze. At her side, her fingers twitched as if searching for the knife belt that wasn’t there.

          “Years of lessons I suppose,” she said, turning around. “Maester Luwin would be proud to know I’m dreaming in Valyrian.”

          “You said a name as well,” he continued. “Daenerys.”

          To her credit, Amina didn’t flinch. She looked at him for a moment, as if she could read his mind. “Go ahead, say it. Pass your sentence.”

          “You know her,” he said. “The Targaryen across the Narrow Sea. The one they say hatched a dragon egg.”

          “Three,” she said quietly. “She hatched three.” Aylward looked at her, silent. He couldn’t say it, it seemed too absurd. Amina said it for him, “Daenerys Targaryen is my sister.”

         For a while they were both quiet. Amina sat on the edge of the bed, smoothing out the riding dress she’d fallen asleep in. “I understand if you want to leave. Myst and I can make it to Oxcross on our own.”

          They both knew that was unlikely. The ocean road ran through Lannisport and Casterly Rock before it reached Oxcross. Amina would be throwing herself into enemy territory with nothing more than a dozen or so knives to protect her. Aylward was sure she could hold her own in a fight, but she was a lady of a noble house, she’d never been alone in her life.

          “I promised Lady Stark I would take you to safety,” Aylward said finally. “I will keep my word.” He didn’t miss the relief that crossed her face, though she hid it quickly behind a blank expression. “Go back to sleep. You’ll need your rest for the road ahead.” 

 

Chapter 22: The Kraken's Kiss

          They were not so far upriver that the air had lost its briny scent. Thyra took a deep breath, inhaling the comforting smell of ocean and salt. With it came a metallic tang as her crew sharpened their weapons in preparation for the battle ahead.

          If she squinted, Thyra could just make out the Iron Victory leading the pack. Her father’s longship was imposing with large sails baring the black and gold arms of House Greyjoy. They were not unlike those upon Kraken’s Kiss, only Thyra’s had been lined with an extra trim of gold at Victarion’s request. When they were in battle, her sails would stand out amongst the rest.

          If they were at sea, she would have brought her ship alongside her father’s, ready to dart ahead at a moment’s notice. The Kraken’s Kiss was amongst the fastest in the Iron Fleet after all. But the Fever River was too narrow for any proper formations, and so she hung back.

          A willowy redhead joined Thyra at the prow. “The water grows shallow, we’ll need to beach the ships soon,” Brenna said. Thyra glanced down at the water. She couldn’t see the riverbed yet, but Brenna was never wrong about these things. She was a Farwynd, and as Aeron liked to say, the Farwynds were a queer sort of folk. If his stories were to be believed the Farwynds descended from selkies. Even now they could commune with the creatures of the sea.

          More like they were just strange due to their isolation at Lonely Light. Their tower, and the islands that surrounded it, were eight days ride from Ironman’s Bay. Before she joined Thyra’s crew, Brenna had never gone further than Great Wyk.

          It wasn’t long before Iron Victory signaled that they would soon beach. Thyra called the order back to her crew, who passed it along to the ships that followed behind them. She watched as they worked, her little group of Ironborn. Kromm Goodbrother called out orders from the aft, keeping the newer recruits in line. “He’ll be leaving soon,” Thyra said with a sigh.

          Brenna raised an eyebrow. “Not until your father allows him to join the Iron Fleet as a captain. Kromm won’t go home and join his father’s ranks, he’s too proud.”

          Thyra shook her head. “Victarion will never let a green captain join the Iron Fleet, not unless I give him a ship.” The idea had crossed the mind before. Every lord on the Iron Islands commanded a fleet, as well as captaining their own flagship. Even Asha had a small fleet of her own.

          Captaining a single ship came with freedom that commanding a fleet did not. A single ship could go anywhere, anytime. But, commanding her own fleet meant Thyra was one step closer to following in her father’s footsteps.

          “Something to consider,” Brenna hummed. It would have to wait after she took Torrhen’s Square. They had Moat Cailin to attack first, and then several days sail before they reached the other castle. There was no time for Kromm’s ego just yet.

          Ahead the other ships had begun to go ashore. Thyra left Brenna and made her way across the ship, checking that things were ready. She gathered her own weapons. First, she slung a crossbow across her back. Then she inspected her falchion and strapped its scabbard to her belt.

          Thyra felt a thrum of excitement as the ship went ashore. She looked over her crew one last time before calling them forward. “We’ve gone over this all before. You know who you’re fighting with.” Across the deck Brenna had found her cousin, Halleck. Thyra found her own companion, Steffarion Weaver, who nodded at her once. “We’ll stick together as much as possible. If you are separated, we’ll meet at the Gatehouse Tower when the fighting is done.”

          Thyra swept her eyes over her crew again. She could sense their anticipation and it only served to fuel her fire. This was what the Ironborn had been dreaming of for eleven years. This was their chance at redemption, at showing the men of the green lands what they were made of. “Let’s go take the North!” She called out, and as they leapt onto dry land, her crew let out a war cry to shake the earth.

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          Victarion Greyjoy summoned his daughter to his chambers in the Gatehouse Tower. It was a dreary tower, like the others. The walls were built of black basalt and covered in green moss and slimy ropes of ghostskin. Moat Cailin made Pyke look positively cheerful.

          Thyra would be glad to be back on Kraken’s Kiss in a few days’ time. The majority of the Iron Fleet were settled now, it was time for her to go. Victarion had chosen fifty ships to accompany Thyra to Torrhen’s Square. The crews were prepared to sail.

          “You asked for me?” She said, as she stepped into the room. A large table carved of stone sat in the middle, and that was where Victarion stood, looking over the maps.

          For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t speak. She had taken her time crossing from the Children’s Tower, where her crew was bedding down. Steffarion and Kromm had been arguing again, and she’d needed to calm them down. They were her two best men, but they had little love for each other.

          The Goodbrothers were a prestigious house, and though Kromm was of a cadet branch, he carried that pride with him. The Weavers were a young house and thus commanded little respect. It was the reason Steffarion had sought out Thyra and her crew. It was also the reason Kromm distrusted him. In his mind, Steff was nothing but a ladder climber. He was only using the Greyjoy name and the Iron Fleet connection to build House Weaver’s reputation. Perhaps Kromm was correct. But Steff had sworn he would fight for Thyra ‘til the day his father died, and he was duty bound to command his own fleet. She believed him.

          Brenna was right, Thyra needed to seriously consider giving Kromm his own ship. They were like to have a full-blown fight on their hands if she didn’t.

          Victarion brought Thyra back to the present by pushing a piece of paper across the table. Thyra stepped forward and picked up the curling note.

          She read the words once. Then again. Her eyes flicked up to her father, who was watching her as if her reaction was some sort of test. “Is this a joke?” Thyra said finally. Victarion shook his head once.

          “The fool has sailed for Torrhen’s Square,” Thyra cursed, slapping the letter down to the table. “With two longships. Not even Cleftjaw is enough to storm that castle. Balon gave me that task. What is in that head of his? I know it isn’t a brain.”

          “You’re as quarrelsome as Balon,” Victarion noted. Thyra wanted to snap that if she were like his eldest brother, it was his own fault. He’d been the reason her uncle raised her. But she kept her mouth shut, so as not to prove his point. “The boy thinks himself brave. He wishes to prove himself. You and Asha were ordered to storm castles, he was ordered to raid fishing villages.”

          “Yes, we were all there to note the slight, father,” she said dryly. “If the Drowned God is good, perhaps Theon will die at the hands of the Northmen and all our suspicions will be confirmed. My cousin is a soft boy, more of the green lands than the Islands. Asha deserves to sit the Seastone Chair, not her brother.”

          Victarion grunted. “Her day may well come, but if the Drowned God is good, he will grant Theon victory. He may be Stark raised, but he has salt in his blood. Same as you. The boy was brave.”

          “Bravery and stupidity are two sides of the same sword,” Thyra muttered. Her father shrugged. “I will not go to his rescue. He can find his own way out of this one.” She turned on her heels and stomped toward the door.

          “Thyra,” Victarion called. It pained her to stop, but she did so. “Since you’ll be staying at Moat Cailin, take charge of the garrison at the Children’s Tower. I don’t trust the Sparr to do it.” Thyra let out a short breath and pushed open the door into the dark and mossy hall.

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          The raven from Deepwood Motte had arrived the morning before. By time the sun rose again, the crew of Kraken’s Kiss was packed and ready to set off for Winterfell. Thyra’s men were eager to move. Nearly a moon had passed since they’d arrived in Moat Cailin, and they were never meant to stay so long.

          Thyra was far more eager to give her halfwit of a cousin a good punch in the gut. First, he’d gone and stolen her castle. Well, stolen implied he’d actually succeeded in taking it. He hadn’t. Instead he’d abandoned Dagmer Cleftjaw to the wrath of the North. Then he’d marched on Winterfell. Theon had succeeded there at least, but for what gain? Winterfell was a landlocked castle surrounded by rolling hills instead of waves. It was no place for an Ironborn.

          When Theon had written to Asha, asking for reinforcements, Asha had written to Thyra. Though she was less than thrilled to be moving further inland, if Asha wanted her there, Thyra would go.

          The motley pack of Ironborn made their way north on the Kingsroad. They had a few horses between them, taken from the fallen at Moat Cailin. But those they had were mostly used to carry supplies. Like most Ironborn, Thyra had never been much for riding. There was nowhere to ride on the Islands, and why bother trying when you could sail instead?

          When they settled down to camp, Thyra’s favorites joined her around the fire. Brenna leaned against Kromm. The redhead looked exhausted, though been traveling for a just few days. Thyra understood, it was the water. The closest rivers were days away and the sea even further. Their ship was ashore on the banks of the Fever. They were far from home.

          Steffarion was discussing the maps with Urrathon Marrick, as if they could get lost while following the road. Urri was an excellent seaman, but he would never captain his own ship. His father was a bowyer on Pyke, and though he made a good living it would never be enough to buy his son a ship. Not that he would ever do such a thing, even if he could. He’d been wroth when Urrathon abandoned the family trade for the Kraken’s Kiss. But Thyra was glad to have him.

          Halleck Farwynd had convinced Gwyn to play the finger dance. She ducked or jumped more often than not, which made Halleck cackle. His laughter filled the camp and calmed Thyra’s nerves. At least someone was at ease.

          “No more, Hal,” Gwyn said, holding up her hands in surrender. She joined the others by the fire, panting. Her long blonde hair had come out of its braid and fell around her shoulders like a blanket. “What’s for supper?” Steffarion launched a piece of dried cod at Gwyn’s head. Unlike the axe, she caught it. “Lovely.”

          Thyra offered the blonde a piece of bread. When Gwyn arrived on Pyke, the largest adjustment had been the food. Everything else she’d taken in stride. But she complained endlessly about the Ironborn’s cooking. Occasionally, if she were in a nostalgic mood, Gwyn would tell them about the rich meals of the Westerlands. Typically, those conversations would end when someone teased her about returning. After that her mood would darken and she’d finish her meal in silence.

          Across the circle, Halleck sat next to Dalton Pyke, who was absorbed in a book he’d found at Moat Cailin. Of them all, it was Dalton, not Gwyn, that seemed the least Ironborn. His mother had been a Northerner of noble birth. Her family had been all but wiped out by Ironborn raids during Robert’s Rebellion. Thyra hadn’t known her but thought it likely Dalton took after his mother.

          Halleck dropped a few pieces of dried cod on top of the pages and Dalton scowled up at him. “You lug that thing all the way from the Neck?” He asked.

          “It’s very interesting,” Dalton defended. “I couldn’t put it down.”

          “You’ll finish it before we get to Winterfell,” Thyra reprimanded. “Then what, you’ll just carry it there and back?”

          “Perhaps I could trade for one there?” Dalton asked, sheepish. Thyra shook her head but smiled, nonetheless. He was just a boy, nearly a decade her junior. But he was smarter than half her crew combined.

          “What will we do at Winterfell?” Urri asked, after a silence. “The Northmen will come back for it, there are plenty who didn’t follow the Young Wolf south. We can’t hold that castle, not even with Asha’s crew.”

          Thyra sighed, a long stream of breath that she could see in the cold air. “We know that, so does Asha. But Theon…He’ll have to learn it for himself.”

          “Then why bother going at all?” Gwyn asked. She didn’t say it, but she was cold. They all were. Autumn had fallen hard.

          It was a good question. There was nothing they could do. But still, Thyra remembered the day Maron had died in the collapse of the old south tower during Robert’s siege. She had hidden with Asha and Aunt Alannys until the fighting was over and they’d all been brought before the King. They’d watched Lord Stark take Theon, and Alannys had squeezed both girls’ hands. To this day Thyra didn’t know if she’d done it to keep them from running, or herself.

          Thyra gave a small shrug. “They’re family."

 

Chapter 23: Aylward

          Old Oak was the same as Aylward remembered it. The castle was far larger than Bitterbridge. Attention had been paid to every detail making it almost as beautiful as Highgarden. But still, the sight of the keep, flanked by its namesake oaken forest, was bittersweet.

          The last time Aylward had been here, it was winter and a fever had torn through the surrounding villages. Wylla had been among the first to catch it, but no one noticed until it was too late. It started with a red flush, easily mistaken for exposure to the frosty air outside. Then the fever came. By then, half the castle had it.

          Aylward had recovered, as had Lady Oakheart and her eldest son, Wylla’s father. Arwyn’s third son, as well as Wylla, had not been so lucky. The maester had been the first to die, and after he was gone no help was sent to Old Oak for weeks. And it was all because Lorent Caswell had burnt his brother’s letter.

          The knight was escorted into the great hall of Old Oak, with Amina trailing behind him. Aylward was sure they both looked harried and unkempt from the fortnight they’d spent traveling. He felt out of place amongst the fine furnishing and the beautifully inlaid walls depicting scenes from the Age of Heroes.

          Lady Arwyn Oakheart came to meet the haggard duo. She dismissed their escort with a wave of her hand over Aylward’s shoulder, then greeted Amina first. “Ah, Lady Corrigan, so you made it out of Bitterbridge in one piece. Where is Lady Stark?”

          “She left from Storm’s End,” Aylward answered.

          Arwyn clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “The impertinence of Renly to cart that poor woman across the country to witness his exhausting blood feud.” She gave no sign that she regretted speaking ill of the dead. “I left Bitterbridge when word came of his death. We will see what the Tyrells decide, but until then there is no point leading my men on a jaunt around the country.” Amina pressed her lips together in an attempt to hide a smirk.

          “Now, where are you two off to?” Arwyn asked. “Riverrun?”

          “Oxcross,” Amina told her. “The King in the North is fighting near there; I hope to find him.”

          Arwyn nodded. “A raven came from Red Lake with word of fighting at Sarsfield. I believe your king was expected to continue north from there.”

          Amina nodded, though Aylward could see the exhaustion on her face. Sarsfield was another day’s ride north of Oxcross. Beyond there, the mountains would make travel more difficult.

          “We’ll rest for the night and change horses in the morning before we set off,” Aylward told Lady Oakheart.

          Before Arwyn could agree, Amina interrupted her. “I won’t leave Myst.” Aylward glanced over at her. She’d spoken more since they’d walk through the gates of Old Oak than she had in the three days since they’d left the inn. “She was a gift from Eddard Stark. I won’t trade her.”

          Aylward looked back to Arwyn, who nodded. She’d lost family as well; she knew that pain. “Then you’ll stay two nights, and I’ll see that your horse is treated like royalty.” Then she turned to Aylward and continued. “And you will join me in my solar as soon as you’re settled.”

          From the tone of Arwyn’s voice, he knew it was not a request. Despite everything, Aylward found himself biting back a laugh. Bitterbridge and Highgarden and King’s Landing were all places he had lived. But Old Oak was home, and he’d been away far too long.

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          From Lady Oakheart’s solar, the Sunset Sea could just be seen in the distance. The sun reflected off the water and gave the illusion that the world ended past Old Oak’s borders. A part of Aylward wished that were true.

          “Wylla used to dream of worlds far across the Sunset Sea,” Arwyn said, coming up to join him. “Arthur use to tease her for it. She believed those who never returned found somewhere wonderful. He would tell her they’d drowned.”

          Aylward smiled to himself. Of all Arwyn’s sons, Wylla had been the closest to Arthur. Armen was too surly, Arys was too young, and her father was far too busy being an heir. But Arthur had made Wylla feel like the belonged there, no matter who her mother was or what last name she bore. She was an Oakheart. After Aylward had married Wylla, Arthur had done the same for him. And then, they had both died of the winter fever.

          “I wish they were still here,” Aylward said quietly.

          Arwyn laid a hand on the knight’s shoulder and gave him a sad smile. “As do I. But at least you’ve come home.”

          He shook his head. “I should not have stayed away so long. I should not have left at all.” When the sickness had passed, Aylward hardly stayed long enough for the bodies to be buried. He could not bear to stay in the castle haunted by so many memories. He’d thrown himself into work and into the role of a stoic knight to avoid his grief.

          “My dear boy, you did what you had to. If I could have sailed into the Sunset Sea to find those lands Wylla dreamed of, I would have.” Arwyn motioned toward a chair and poured them each a glass of Arbor gold. “She would have been proud of you. You made a name for yourself without the help of your father, without even my own assistance.”

          “For whatever that’s worth,” Aylward muttered. He’d spent years serving at Renly’s side, and now Renly was dead. He’d failed at his only responsibility.

          Lady Oakheart gave him a look that he’d seen her give to her sons countless times. “You could have gone to Stannis. Despite what we all implied when we took up arms for his brother, he does have the best claim.” Aylward took a sip of wine so he did not need to voice his own opinion of Stannis Baratheon. “You could have followed the Tyrells to King’s Landing.”

          Aylward’s face must have betrayed his surprise. Arwyn clarified, “Oh, nothing has been decided for certain. Though there’s been plenty of talk that Margaery will marry the Lannister boy.” She clicked her tongue twice. “That poor girl. She’s far too soft for the capitol. It is a shame there’s so little of her grandmother in her.”

          Maybe he had made a mistake, leaving so quickly and abandoning Margaery to the Lannisters. He’d come to know the family and their city in his years there, and to distrust them both. King’s Landing may be headed by a Baratheon in name, but it was the Lannisters who held the reins.

          “Had it not been for Lady Stark, I would have remained with the Tyrells. But she begged me to help Amina, and I could not refuse her.”

          “Will you rejoin the Tyrells after?” Arwyn asked. Aylward had the feeling she wished him to say no, though he could not say why. She looked at him for a moment. “It seems Lady Corrigan is in a unique position of power, all things considered. Perhaps she could use friends.”

          “Surely there’s a Northerner more suited,” Aylward argued. Though he doubted it, even as the words left his mouth. Beyond the Starks, who else knew her secret? Very few, he had to assume. Perhaps Arywn was righter than she realized.

          Lady Oakheart gave a small shrug as she lifted her wine to her lips. “The choice is yours of course, but even I can see you have no desire to return to the lion’s den.” She replaced the glass on the table. “Now, do tell me what you’ve gotten up to these past years. I’ve missed so much.”

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          Aylward and Amina were a day’s ride from Lannisport. The journey would have been shorter had they kept to the road. But after crossing into the Westerlands, they had decided it would be safer to keep to the woods. Aylward waited in their makeshift camp alone. Amina had gone further into the trees to relieve herself before they left.

          The sound of rustling leaves and breaking twigs did not startle him at first. It was the silence that followed which made him look up. He found a sword pressed against his throat. “Stay still and we might just leave you alive,” the man said.

          There were five of them. Their uniforms marked them as soldiers. One or two could have even been landless knights. From the state of their clothing, they’d abandoned their fight and their honor for gold. With the turn the war had taken, Aylward almost couldn’t blame them.

          Two of the men kept an eye on him, while the others searched through their things. “Where’s the other one?” One of the men asked. He was tall, but not broad. In a fight, Aylward would win. But that would require fighting off the two men holding him at sword point.

          “Hobb asked you a question,” one of his captors said, jabbing his sword into Aylward’s armor to make his point.

          “Gone,” Aylward said calmly. It was true, and if Amina returned to this, he hoped she would slip away before the men found her too. They were so close to her army now, even without him she would surely make it to safety.

          The man who’d threatened him once already, looked prepared to do it again, but the man called Hobb held up a hand. “Forget it. Move quickly, keep an eye open.”

          The men continued to plunder their belongings. As Amina’s things went into their bags, Aylward noticed her knife belt was not among them. Good, she’d have protection. She might need it.

          The men were almost done, and then they would go. Surely, they knew better than to leave a knight alive. He could hunt them down or warn those in Lannisport of brigands in the woods. He found that even knowing Amina’s secret, he was glad she would live. To survive so much only to die at the hands of common criminals seemed a cruel fate.

          Hobb stood, slinging his pack full of stolen goods over his shoulder. The other two looters talked amongst themselves as they looked over the horses. Myst would fetch a good price. “Oh.” Hobb said. He fell to his knees. The other men stopped talking and looked. He hit the ground, face first. Protruding out of his back was a knife.

          Aylward’s guards turned away, searching the woods for the unseen assailant. Aylward took the opportunity to disarm one and impale the other. In the meantime, Amina had flown out of the woods, her own sword drawn. The man she fought stumbled against her onslaught. Despite his soldier’s garb, he was clearly unskilled. He’d probably been a peasant, his only training a few days with the Lannister army before they’d flown into battle. Amina had spent years training with Winterfell’s master-at-arms. She was no knight, but she had more skill than a common soldier.

          The remaining two men descended on Aylward, sensing him to be the bigger threat of the two. One of them was a knight; it was obvious from the way he carried himself that’d he trained longer than the others. Aylward dispatched him first.

          Before he could turn on the other, the man stopped. Blood bubbled from his mouth. As he fell forward, Amina pulled the knife from his neck. Her hair had fallen from its braid, and her dress was torn. But save for a few scratches on her hands—from a fall no doubt—and a cut across her upper arm, she seemed to be unharmed.

          “You saved my life,” Aylward said a bit dumbly. She looked at him, breathing heavily. “You should have gone, saved yourself.” Amina narrowed her eyes in a way that told him the thought had never crossed her mind. The cross of her arms said she was offended that he’d even considered it had. “Thank you.”

          Amina shrugged once. “I would’ve done it for anyone.”

          Aylward believed that. “I was wrong about you,” he said finally. “You are more than your blood.”

          She looked at him for a moment, then nodded once. “Oxcross is but a few days ride, I can make it on my own. Robb’s outriders will find me.” Amina began moving to gather her things from the would-be robbers. “You are free to go, Ser Caswell. I cannot ask you to stay in my service.”

          “You do not have to ask,” he said quietly. Amina stopped, but did not turn back toward him. “Since that day, I have looked for the madness they say Targaryen’s possess. I have looked for some confirmation of what I wanted to believe. But I have not seen it.” She turned then, watching him with a curious gaze. “Instead I’ve seen loyalty, and bravery, and a fierce love for family. In your heart, you are a wolf. But your blood makes you the rightful Queen.”

          Aylward knelt before her and placed his sword at her feet. She looked down at it as if in a daze. “I pledge my sword to you. I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for you. I swear it by the old gods and the new.”

          The Princess continued staring. Aylward thought she might refuse him. And where will I go if she does? His king was dead, his friends had scattered, and his brother…well there was no choice. She must take him.

          Finally Amina nodded. “Then I vow you shall always have a place by my hearth and meat and mead at my table, and pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you into dishonor.” Her words were stilted but she said them with familiarity. Between Eddard Stark and the King in the North she’d surely heard them plenty. “I swear it by the old gods and the new. Arise.”

 

Chapter 24: Robb

          It took all Robb's willpower not to run through the halls of Ashemark on his way to Amina. His outriders had found her near Sarsfield and brought her to the hilltop castle he'd captured. Robb had been afield, and it had taken nearly a day for word to reach him. He'd returned as soon as he'd been able.

          When Robb opened the door to the rooms he'd claimed for himself, Amina was sitting in the window. She was dressed in green. Her hair was freshly dyed and fell loose around her shoulders. Briefly he wondered who she'd trusted enough to procure the dye, with his mother so far away in Riverrun. But then Amina turned, and he ceased to think of anything else.

          She'd been crying, and as she stood, she all but stumbled into his arms. "Amina," Robb whispered into her hair. He'd gotten taller, and she fit more easily under his chin. "Mother sent a letter from Riverrun, she said you weren't with her. We all thought–"

          "We argued, I stayed in Bitterbridge when she went to Storm's End." She looked up at him and he could see the exhaustion and fear of the past few weeks reflected in her eyes. "Renly's dead. He was so confident, so sure. And no one knows who killed him. One moment he was alive, and then..."

          Robb pressed a kiss to Amina's forehead. She melted against his chest. "It made me realize how easily you could have been in his place." Amina put her hands on either side of his face and looked into his eyes. "If anything happened to you–" He didn't allow her to finish the sentence, cutting her off by pressing his lips against hers.

          Amina froze, and for a moment Robb worried he'd overstepped. But then she kissed him back fiercely. Her hands found the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. Robb reached for the laces on her gown, and she laughed softly as he struggled to pull them free. Finally, he won the battle, and she shrugged the dress from her shoulders.

          They looked at each other for a moment, both half-dressed. Robb ran a finger across Amina's face from one cheek to the other. "You have freckles." His men had told him of the state Amina had arrived in. She'd been sleeping in the woods for weeks and spending hours under the sun. He wished she hadn't gone, that she would never go away again. That he could have her by his side for the rest of his life.

          Amina put her hand on his bare chest and ran her fingers up to his neck. Robb scooped her up, and she let out a squeak as her arm went around his neck to hold on. He placed her delicately on the bed. Amina bit her lip as she looked up at him, and he couldn't help himself from kissing her again.

          Amina tangled her fingers in his hair as he explored his body with his hands. She let out a soft moan as he left her lips to press kisses along her neck. "Marry me," he whispered with his lips against her skin. Amina shivered. "Be my queen." She hooked her thumb under his chin and pushed him back. Robb looked at her, the knowledge that she loved another pushed into his thoughts. She was quiet as she ran her hands over his shoulders and rested them on his neck.

          So many battles that he'd already lost count, yet none had scared him more than the prospect that Amina might say no. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she bobbed her chin once in a tiny nod. Robb didn't trust himself to speak. Amina bit her lip and then whispered, "Yes, Robb, I'll marry you."

          Robb kissed her with fervor, and Amina laughed softly against his lips. "I love you," he whispered. She knotted her fingers in his hair, but didn't repeat his words. It was all right, she was his and there would be time.

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          The Crag had fallen easier than expected. Smalljon Umber and Black Walder had scaled the walls with their men, while Robb had broken through the main gate. Ser Caswell, Amina's new sworn sword, had fought alongside him. The man was skilled, that was certain. But throughout the battle, Robb's mind was only on one thing. When the weapons were down and the castle was surrendered, he'd met Amina in the Godswood.

          It was a pitiful thing, the Godswood of the Crag. The stump of a heart tree was all that remained of the First Men's legacy. But it was located in a garden overlooking the sea, and the clear skies bathed them in moonlight. Amina's grey and silver gown seemed to glow as they said the old words with Ser Caswell and his uncle Brynden as witness.

          Then he'd placed the crown on her head. A tiara of bronze with iron spikes in the shape of longswords, a smaller version of his own crown. It sat on her forehead as if it were meant to be there. Before the gods, he'd proclaimed her Queen.

          Amina stood in their rooms, in the Crag, holding that crown in her hands. She ran her fingers gently over the swords. "I had it forged with mine and held onto it," he told her. "Just in case."

          "You wouldn't have given it to that Frey girl?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. They hadn't spoken of it yet, that he'd broken a promise to Walder Frey. They would have to find a way to appease the old man, but he was sure Amina would think of something. But Robb couldn't bring himself to worry about them now, they would have to wait.

          She sat the crown back on the table and joined him in bed. "We should keep it to ourselves until I return. It wouldn't do to send the men running while I'm unable to do anything about it." Robb sighed, but he knew better than to argue. Amina was returning to Winterfell, to confront Theon who'd seized the castle.

          They both knew it was useless, talking sense into Theon Greyjoy. They'd known him far too long to hope he'd listen. But they both knew that Amina had to try. Neither of them would forgive themselves if she didn't. And then there was the matter of Bran and Rickon, prisoners in their own home.

          Despite all that, Robb still wished she didn't have to go. He'd only just gotten her back. But Amina was decided. She would leave with Ser Caswell in the morning on a trading galley bound for Torrhen's Square.

          Amina reached out a hand and intertwined her fingers with his. "I'll be back before you know it. I should think the war will keep you busy in the meantime."

          Robb pulled her toward him and kissed her softly. She rested beside him and put her head on his chest. "My wife," he whispered. Amina smiled up at him. He still couldn't believe it was true. At any moment he expected to be shaken from the dream and brought back into real life.

          "I'm sorry that I pushed you away," Amina said. She didn't look him as she spoke, just drew shapes on his chest with her finger. "I wanted it to be easy, you and I. But one day, you stopped being my friend and started being my betrothed. I wished you wouldn't try so hard. You didn't need to; we were best friends."

          Amina paused and Robb thought back to that day. He knew the day she meant, but he'd never thought about it that way. Robb had woken up, gone down to the training yard, and found Amina throwing her knives. He'd never felt nervous around her before, but that day he had. They had both always known his father meant for them be wed one day. But she was a princess, and who was he? A lordling who only had her due to circumstance?

          "I'm sorry," Robb told her. "I only ever wanted to give you everything."

          Her lips parted for a moment, and then she smiled. He thought there might be tears in her eyes. "You get your heart from your mother. Cat means well, but sometimes she loves so much it's hard to breathe." Amina squeezed his hand. "I was wrong to want this to be easy. Perhaps some things aren't meant to be, perhaps the best things take time and effort."

          She still wasn't saying everything, there was still the secret that loomed. But it was far more than Robb had ever gotten from her before. It was a good omen, a sign that their new life ahead would be a good one.

          "I love you, Amina Stark," Robb whispered. She ducked her head to hide the smile that bloomed over her face. Though she didn't say it back, Amina pressed her lips to his, and for him that was enough. 

Chapter 25: Amina

          Daenerys threaded her fingers through Amina’s, and gave her sister a reassuring smile. In the months since their first visit, the two had spoken often. It was impossible to make up for the lost years, but they had tried their best. Dany had told stories of her childhood in the Free Cities and their brother, Viserys. He had died at the hand of the Dothraki Khal who’d been Dany’s husband. Amina weaved stories about Winterfell, the Godswood, and the Starks. Her boys, and her knives, and the war.

          Daenerys preferred to tell stories, not to hear them. Amina couldn’t blame her sister; she’d been raised on tales of Robert’s “evil” deeds and Eddard’s part in them. Changing the very foundation Dany’s life had been built upon would be a long process. Still, it had warmed Amina’s heart to see her sister smile at news of her wedding. “And now I’m Queen in the North, I have a crown.”

          “You were always a queen,” Daenerys said, dismissively. “But it’s true men make the crowns. I’m sure you will wear it well.”

          Now they stood in front of a ruined tower called the House of the Undying. It was a grim place, and Amina felt no magic radiating from the walls. She looked at the strange man, an unspoken question on her face. Pyat Pree was a pale, skinny man, with blue lips. Amina trusted him even less than the merchant prince, Xaro Xhoan Daxos, who’d greeted her with sickly sweet words each time she’d visited his manse.

          These people were not Amina’s people. She did not understand them the way she knew the men and women of the Seven Kingdoms, and that put her at a disadvantage. Even her sister, with her pretty silver hair and trio of dragons, did little to put her at ease. Daenerys had become Khaleesi to a Dothraki Khalasar, and her sworn sword was a Mormont who had once been banished by Eddard Stark for slaving. Perhaps Amina’s own foundations were just as firmly built as her sister’s.

          “Remember,” Pyat Pree said, “always take the first door on your right, never go down, and enter no room till the audience chamber.” The twins nodded again. Amina wondered if Daenerys was truly confident in this journey, or if she had just learned to hide her feelings as well. “Drink this. It will unstop your ears and dissolve the caul from your eyes, so that you may hear and see the truths that will be laid before you.”

          Amina accepted the shade-of-the-evening warily, but Daenerys put it immediately to her lips. Shoving her own worries out of her mind, Amina drank the glass empty in one sip. It tasted the way rotten leaves smelt, and she nearly gagged. But then it hit her, the feeling of warmth, like fire spreading through her veins. The aftertaste was sweet, like honey cakes, and spicy, like the Highgarden hippocras she’d had with Margaery. It reminded her of Robb’s lips, though she couldn’t say why, and the way the Godswood smelt after a fresh snow. Then it was gone.

          Disconcerted, Amina all but slammed the empty glass back onto the tray. Pyat Pree smiled. “Now you may enter.” Dany grabbed her sister’s hand, and the two stepped through the door. The first three chambers were the same; empty rooms save for four doors. As instructed, they took the door to their right each time. Then they came to a hall, seemingly unending, but all the doors were to the left.

          Rhaegal, the small green dragon, reminded Amina of his presence by digging his sharp claws into her shoulder and hissing in her ear. The dragon had taken to her, and she it, in a way she had never felt connected to any of the Stark’s direwolves. She reached an absent hand up to scratch behind Rhaegal’s ear.

          Daenerys tugged insistently on Amina’s hand and they moved quickly past the doors. Finally, alone, Amina realized her sister was just as frightened as she. There was a fierce banging on a closed door, as if something was trying to break free. Dany jumped, and Amina squeezed her hand tightly. She tried to stay focused on the path ahead, the dragon on her shoulder, and her sister’s hand in hers. But curiosity got the better of her. At the next open door, Amina peeked. 

          The vision through the door was one of Old Nan’s stories come to life. It was if she was experiencing every terrible tale at once. The shadows formed into terrifying shapes. Amina could hardly make out one before it shifted into something entirely different. All she knew was the deep chill in her bones. My kingdom is dying. She turned away quickly, avoiding the sight; it was her turn to pull her sister along.

          The second door held a scene more unsettling than the first. A feast of corpses amid a room strikingly familiar, though Amina couldn’t place it. The bodies were black and purple, swollen with rot. The stench of death blending with the sickly-sweet smell of rotting fruits and old wine. Chairs and tables were overturned. Swords and arrows lay discarded in the slaughter.

          At the head of the room, upon a carved wooden throne, was a figure that sucked the breath right out her lungs. Grey Wind’s head, large and grey and matted with sticky blood. Though she couldn’t say if the blood was his own or if it belonged to the human body it had been poorly attached to. It was all Amina could do to keep herself from screaming. Her Robb, her dear sweet Robb. Dany’s fingers dug into Amina’s wrist, nails nearly breaking skin. “It isn’t real,” her sister whispered. They fled to the next open door.

          The gleaming white snow caught her attention first. Gods, it had been too long since she’d touched snow. Without thinking, her hand flew through the doorway, to catch a few flakes on her fingertips. As they melted away onto her skin, Amina realized what she was seeing. The Godswood of Winterfell, the Heart Tree in the middle with its carved face and blood-red sap tears. The sight made her chest tighten.

          “There you are, Ami.” A tiny sob caught in her throat as Jon walked toward her, hand outstretched. “I’ve been looking for you.” His black curls were longer than she remembered, and she longed to run her fingers through them. But his cloak was wrong. Not the grey of Winterfell, or the black of the Night’s Watch. He was clad in sheepskin that meant to be white, but had been matted and dirtied by snowmelt. “Come on, Ami. They’re looking for you.” It broke her heart to turn away, but it wasn’t Jon. Not really.

          The sisters ran down the hall, their dragons urging them on, and still the doors went on. Some open, some closed, each door different than the last. Amina refused to look, she’d seen too much already. She thought she would never scrub that image of Robb’s body, defiled and displayed, from her mind.

          Finally they stopped, Dany’s heavy breathing the only sound. Large bronze doors stood closed to their left, and Amina felt as if she should know them. As if they’d been waiting for her, they opened. Inside was the largest hall she’d ever seen. The Great Hall of Winterfell seemed like a child’s bedchamber in comparison.

          It should have been the throne that drew her in, a towering mass of steel gleaming in the dim light. Instead, it was the Seven-Pointed Star, formed of colored glass in the window, that caught her eye. It seemed so foreign to her, though there’d been a small sept at Winterfell built for Catelyn. The Seven had been the Gods of Amina’s ancestors, but to her they were just some Southron folly.

          “Let him be king over charred bones and cooked meat.” The sharp voice drew her attention back to the throne. It was an old man, with grey hair. No, it’s silver, like Dany’s. He wore a dragon crown, with jewels that seemed to eat the light instead of reflecting it. She knew that crown from the histories, Aegon the Unworthy’s crown. But the man upon the throne with the waist long hair and wild eyes was not any Aegon. It was her father. “Let him be the king of ashes. We will rise again, fire cannot kill the dragon.” Drogon shrieked on Dany’s shoulder, but their father did not hear, and so they moved on.

          The man’s braided silver hair and indigo eyes gave him away as another Targaryen, only this man was much younger than the last. He stood above a small woman with long dark hair and olive skin. The woman nursed a babe at her breast. “Aegon,” the man said. “What better name for a king?” He looks straight out of the songs, Amina thought wistfully. She could see herself in Rhaegar. They shared a sharp jaw and nose, whereas Dany’s features were softer, more delicate.

          Elia’s dark eyes were full of adoration as she looked between her son and her husband. “Will you make a song for him?”

          “He has a song,” Rhaegar replied. “He is the prince that was promised, and his is the song of ice and fire.” He looked up when he said it, as if he could see his sisters standing in the doorway arm in arm. “The dragon has three heads.” Rhaegar turned suddenly, going to the window seat and picking up his harp. He ran his fingers lightly over its silvery strings. His sweet, sad music played as the scene faded away.

          Amina had heard the stories of her eldest brother. Rhaegar had stolen Lyanna Stark away and sent the realm into a bloody war. He had fought bravely and valiantly, but he was the reason so many had died. But still, seeing his face had felt like home, the sadness of a family she would never know. A niece and a nephew who’d been butchered, while Amina had been saved. What would the realm be if Rhaegar had sat the Iron Throne instead of Robert?

          The hall ended with stairs that went down, and they turned, searching the walls for a door that they had missed. Back the way they came, the torches flickered out, one by one. Soon they would be blanketed in darkness. Then Dany grabbed the last door they passed, which was now on their right, and went through. Another chamber with four doors, and another, and another, and another. It felt as if they were running in circles. Finally they reached more stairs, but these went up. So they climbed.

          Finally, they reached the audience chamber. It was dark and dank, lit only by a glowing blue heart, which hung, unsuspended in the air. Beneath it was a long table, and the Undying sat before them, waiting.

          The famed Undying were sad, withering things. Old and wrinkled with skin so thin it was nearly translucent. “We have come for the gift of truth.” The quiver in Daenerys’ voice betrayed her confusion. “In the long hall, the things we saw…were they true visions or lies? Past things, or things to come? What did they mean?”

          Their replies came as whispers, a cacophony of ghostly voices all at once. …the shape of shadows…morrows not yet made…drink from the cup of ice…drink from the cup of fire…mother of dragons…and bringer of light…so different yet so much the same…fates intertwined and the trials you’ll face…three heads has the dragon…

          The voices seemed to be in Amina’s head. The bodies in front of her seemed dead and gone, but still their words lived on inside her skull. …three fires must you light…one for life and one for death and one to love… Amina tried to understand, to remember. The voices continued to swirl in her head, and endless stream. …three mounts must you ride…one to bed and one to dread and one to love… The voices were growing louder, Amina realized. All the while her breathing grew shallower. …three treasons will you know…once for blood and once for gold and once for love…

          If it weren’t for Rhaegal, Amina might have lost herself in their words and the visions they assaulted her with. But the dragon flew toward the Undying with Drogon beside him. They tore at the blue heart and the Undying screamed, a terrible awful sound. By the time the sisters had made it to the door, the room was smoking behind them.

          They emerged into the light of day, still holding hands. Amina felt herself being pulled back across the Narrow Sea. When she awoke, in her makeshift bed under the trees, Aylward looked at her with concern. Her sister’s violet eyes, so confused, were burned into her memory, but the visions she’d seen seemed far way. “I have the terrible feeling I’ve forgotten something I must remember, and if I don’t it could spell the end for us all.”

 

Chapter 26: Theon

          There was a commotion outside, which pulled Theon from his uneasy sleep. He pushed Kyra aside, and went to the window. A flash of silver and a shout as one of the Ironmen fell to the ground, and then Amina was riding into the yard. Even from here he could see the expression on her face, one he'd never seen before. A knight rode behind her, cutting down another of Theon's men.

          Theon cursed and dressed as quickly as he could. By the time he made it outside, Amina and the knight were surrounded. She looked calm as her fingers glided over her knife belt. She wore a grey gown with a shirt of mail over top, and a fine fur cloak. Perched in her hair was a diadem, a small wolf framed by iron spikes in the shape of longswords. The wolf had rubies for eyes.

          "Stand down!" Theon shouted, before anyone could attack. The Ironborn looked at him incredulously, but he crossed to Amina and offered her a hand. She dismounted on her own, brushing past him as if he wasn't there. "We should talk inside," he said to her back.

          Amina walked into the deserted great hall, and for a moment he thought she would go straight for the high seat. But she turned, and fixed him with an icy stare. She looks every inch a queen, he thought.

          "How could you?" Amina's voice was low, but the quiet fury that radiated from her was more terrifying than if she had raised her voice. Theon opened his mouth to speak, but she didn't give him the chance. "They were boys, Theon. Boys." She'd seen the heads then, tarred and displayed above the gate. He wanted to confess, he wanted her to smile or to hug him like she used to. He was so tired.

          "I came to talk sense into you, to bring you back. But there is no returning from this." Amina shook her head. The ruby eyes on her crown gleamed as if reflecting her anger. She wore the crown easier than Robb, much easier than Theon himself. "You were my brother, I loved you."

          Amina spoke about him as if he was already dead to her, and it drove the knife into his heart. "You shouldn't have come, Amina. You should be with Robb."

          "You're right, I should be. This was a mistake. But I could not believe what they said, this isn't who you are." Her eyes softened and he thought he saw the threat of tears in her eyes, real tears not the kind she put on for show. "Come back with me, leave Winterfell. Face the consequences of your actions. Maybe..." She could pull a knife on him now, end it here, but she didn't. Despite everything, Amina still did not want him dead.

          "You know I can't."

          "I miss you, come home." Theon knew she didn't mean this castle, the place they'd grown up. Amina meant to her, his sister, the only person who'd loved him for ten years. Maybe the only person who still did. "As your queen, I ask you."

          "I have no queen," he reminded her. "But I have a sister."

          Amina was quiet for a moment; the tears that had threatened to spill over had dried. Theon watched her pull back into herself, the way she always did. But only with other people, never with him. "I hope she loves you," Amina said. "Maybe you'll let her save you." Then she turned away, and Theon felt as if a light had gone out of his life.

          Theon wanted to shout out to her, tell her she was the only sister he'd ever wanted. That if she just asked him to come with her as his sister, he would have had no choice. He would have given up everything for her. If Theon just told her that Bran and Rickon lived, he could have kept his head. Perhaps even gained back her trust one day. But Amina was already gone.

          Theon started into the yard after her. Amina joined the knight and they went to their horses. The Ironborn looked to Theon for orders. He should hold Amina and her knight. His men would expect it. The Queen in the North would fetch a large ransom. With her as his hostage, Theon could end the war in one moment. But he could not bring himself to stop her. "Let them pass," Theon called toward the gate. "No one touches her."

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          Theon's nightmares had been interrupted by news that Asha had finally deigned to visit. He found her in the great hall, where she had seated herself in the high seat of the Starks. At her right hand was Thyra, who was grinning at a dark-haired man by her side. Theon could not remember seeing a smile so genuine on his cousin's face. That she could look so gleeful while Theon himself felt so low only deepened his disdain for her.

          As Theon approached the table, Thyra's grin morphed into a sneer. She leaned back in her seat with a horn of ale and pressed her lips together. "I did not ask for your aid, cousin," he noted.

          She raised an eyebrow. "Nor will you be getting it."

          Theon's impatience got the better of him. He looked toward Asha. "I took this castle with thirty men, and you bring me twenty to hold it?"

          Asha glanced up from her plate. "Ten," she corrected. His jaw dropped ever so slightly. "The other ten return with me. It is a long road back to Deepwood Motte, you wouldn't want your dear sister traveling alone, now would you?"

          "And what of hers?" He asked, gesturing toward Thyra.

          "Thyra must return to the Stoney Shore to clean up your messes, brother," Asha said around a bite of capon. "The Cleftjaw is gathering survivors there." He swallowed around the lump in his throat. Theon hadn't expected Dagmer to hold Torrhen's Square, not really. But the news of the lost battle had still stung.

          "Speaking of your thirty men," Thyra said, leaning forward to prop her elbows on the table. "Where are they all now?" She scanned the room, doing the mental math.

          "There are casualties in any war," Theon said tersely. He did not mention that several of the deaths had come at the hands of the Queen in the North. Or that the deaths had gone unpunished. Theon hoped his men knew to keep their own mouths shut. It would not do to have word of that misstep reaching his father.

          Asha tossed down the remainder of her capon and stood. "Come, let us go somewhere we can speak more privily."

          Like a sulking child, Theon led his sister toward Eddard Stark's solar. He scowled to convey Thyra's presence was not welcome, but she followed, nonetheless. He should have summoned them here in the first place, somewhere quiet and far away from the prying eyes of their crews. Once again, Theon found himself making another misstep.

          "There are reports Lord Manderly has sent a fleet of barges upriver," he informed Asha, trying his best to ignore Thyra's presence. "The Umbers are gathering as well, and Leobald Tallhart has had the confidence to leave his walls. Those are just the reports we've gathered. By the moon's turn, there could be an army at my gate."

          "You had a clever plan brother," Asha commended him. "If only you'd burned the castle and taken the boys back to Pyke when you had the chance. You have backed yourself into a corner, and there is no one to blame but yourself. Return with me to Deepwood Motte, save yourself."

          Over Asha's shoulder, Thyra inspected the room. She ran her fingers over the spines of the books, seemingly oblivious to the conversation.

          "Winterfell is the heart of the North," Theon pointed out. "What use is Deepwood Motte? If you'd turn your attentions here, we could win this war. We could take the North for good and all."

          "We are fighting two different wars, cousin," Thyra said, turning her attention toward him. "What use is Winterfell? We are Ironborn." She waved a hand toward the window. "I see no oceans here. I see no rivers. You would condemn our people to a life surrounded by nothing but rolling hills. What sort of life is that for a man with salt in his blood?"

          Theon shook his head. "People can change."

          For a moment, he thought there was sadness in his cousin's eyes. But it was gone before he could say for certain. "Yes, you've proved that very well."

          "You have enough men to give us a chance," Theon told her.

          "My crew belong to the Iron Fleet," she reminded him. "We do not answer to the likes of you." Thyra's attention returned to the shelves, where she selected a book. She shook her head and smiled slightly to herself. "We have a long journey ahead of us."

          Asha agreed, the two stepped toward the hallway, already speaking of future plans. Thyra paused at the doorway and glanced back at him. "May the Drowned God take pity on you, cousin."

Chapter 27: Amina

          When Amina returned to the Crag, she felt hollow. She had lost her oldest friend, and now she feared she would lose Robb as well. The Undying had promised it. Those sights she'd seen, and the words spoken to her, haunted her dreams in fragments. But she could not bring herself to speak of it. To say it out loud would make it real.

          She stood in her nightdress by the window, twisting her crown about her hands. Her eyes stared out over the sea, but she saw nothing but those visions. An arm snaked around Amina's waist, and she let out a small breath. "I heard you get out of bed," Robb whispered in her ear.

          "We can still change our minds," Amina said quietly. She turned to face Robb slowly, before continuing. "Only Aylward and Brynden were there, and they will take our secrets to the grave. We can set this aside until the war is won, until the Freys are appeased." Robb's arm dropped from her waist, but she pushed on. "We were rash, and emotional. Renly was dead, and you suspected I was as well. The Gods cannot fault us for our mistakes."

          "Is that what we are, a mistake?" Robb asked. He was hurt, she knew, but it was best that way. The timing was wrong, there was too much at stake. Amina could not bear to be the reason they lost it all. "Tell me this is what you want, and I will take back the crown," he told her. "I will do my duty and marry a Frey girl. I will let you go, and you can sail across the Narrow Sea, or run to the Wall, or throw yourself onto the front lines of war."

          Robb's words took her by surprise. My sister, Jon, the battles. Does he know it all? There were so many secrets she'd kept over the years, and in that moment, Amina wanted to share them all with him. She wanted to tell him about Qarth, the dragons, and the things she'd seen. Like his death. Whether it was real or one of the Undying's lies, it had shaken her. The visions from behind the doors were blurry and unclear, but she remembered the way she'd felt. It had been as if her heart was torn from her chest.

          "Tell me you don't love me, and I will walk away," he said.

          Amina opened her mouth to say the words, but the lie wouldn't come. It hadn't with Theon either, though she'd found a way around it. I'm your sister, come home. It was all she needed to say, and he would have left Winterfell. But she couldn't ask him to walk to his death, so instead she'd been the one to walk away. She had walked away from her castle, her brother, and the only home she'd ever known. Amina shook her head. "I can't."

         Robb put his hands on either side of her face, and she looked into his eyes. They were so blue and full of love, and all she could give him was her fear. "Then trust in us, trust that we will find a way, trust that the Gods are good."

          "I want to," she whispered. As Robb pulled her toward him, the crown fell from her fingers. She pressed her face against his chest, and the tears came as they never had before. But the tears could not take her fear with them.

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          Amina had never felt so nervous in all her years. But she stood on the dais as Robb congratulated the men and tried not to meet Catelyn's eyes in the crowd. She was so focused on not looking at Cat, she hardly noticed Robb come up beside her. "Are you ready?"

          "Not at all," she whispered. Robb gave her hand a squeeze, and for a moment Amina's nerves were wiped away. Then Catelyn was before them. Of all the lords, Karstark was the most wroth with the Kingslayer's escape. He railed at Catelyn before Robb put a stop to it.

          "If I could wish the Kingslayer back in chains I would. You freed him without my knowledge or consent...but what you did, I know you did for love. For Arya and Sansa, and out of grief for Bran and Rickon. Love's not always wise, I've learned. It can lead us to great folly, but we follow our hearts...wherever they take us."

          Folly, that was what it was, she knew. They both knew. The Freys had ridden for the Twins the moment they'd heard the news. A thousand men gone, and an enemy made, for love. They were no fools, but love had spoiled their judgment. He had given her a chance to run, a chance to save him, but it had sounded more like heartbreak. Amina could break Robb's heart no more than she could have broken her own. She had never been selfless.

          Robb turned back to look at Amina and offered her a hand. As she took it, Catelyn looked her way for the first time. Her worry over gaining her son's forgiveness had distracted her at first, but now she saw it. The crown perched in Amina's hair. Amina watched the emotions on Cat's face as they played out clear as day. Confusion, disbelief, devastation.

          But Catelyn took Amina's hands and offered her a smile. Amina wondered if Cat could see the guilt in her eyes, the fear. For once in her life, she felt as if her emotions were painted on her face. "I have considered you my daughter since you were a girl," Catelyn said softly, squeezing Amina's hands. "And now it is official in the eyes of the gods."

          They retired to Lord Hoster's audience chamber to speak privately. As they walked, Amina stayed by Catelyn's side, linked arm in arm. She lowered her voice so that Robb would be unable to hear while he talked with Brynden. "When word reached Bitterbridge of Renly's death, Margaery and I barricaded ourselves in her rooms. We didn't know what would happen, who would come. I have spent my whole life fearing I would die for my blood, that I never considered I might die for someone else's."

          Cat opened her mouth to speak, but Amina wouldn't let her. She had to get it all out now, to explain. She needed her mother on her side. "Then Ser Caswell learned the truth about me, and I thought that was the end. I accepted long ago that I may never live to have children, or to watch them grow old. But accepting death and facing it are two different things."

         Catelyn completed her thought. "And Robb knew you hadn't returned to Riverrun with me, he believed you dead." She squeezed Amina's hand, but still there was fear in her eyes. "You are both so, so young." Amina took a deep breath. "You will make a good queen; all the lords know it."

          "But we should have waited until the war was won," Amina finished. Catelyn pressed her lips together, answering without saying a word. "I tried to leave, but I could not. I wish I could have." She had wished that for years. But never had she gathered the strength to leave, not even when she knew it would make her family safer. In a whisper she added, "And where would I go?"

          Up ahead, Edmure had turned the conversation toward his victory. The very victory that had brought them back to Riverrun. The only reason word of her marriage had reached the Freys. If Edmure hadn't distracted Tywin Lannister, then word of the attack in King's Landing would not have reached him. He would have marched to the Westerlands and right into Robb's trap.

          Maybe if they had defeated Twyin Lannister, the Freys would not care so much about the marriage. They could have been given lands, such as Sarsfield or even the Crag. Status and respect mattered more to Walder Frey than his children, that was clear. He may have made the trade. His continued loyalty in exchange for a legacy that extended past the Riverlands. But they would never know.

          "Where is Grey Wind," Catelyn asked suddenly.

          "Our rooms," Amina said with a sigh. "Since word came of Bran and Rickon, Robb hasn't wanted him with us. If Summer and Shaggy Dog couldn't save them...He's lost faith." The best she could do was ask to keep Grey Wind with her. But Robb hadn't wanted him on the dais, and so he hadn't been.

          "Those wolves were sent by the gods," Catelyn said gravely. "They know things that we can't."

          "I know that. I will try to make him believe again, but it may take time."

          Brynden held the door open for the women, and ruffled Amina's hair as she went by. She tried to muster up a convincing smile but knew it fell flat. Inside Robb was reprimanding Edmure for his mistake. "When the Lannisters take the field against me once more, they'll have the Tyrells at their side. And I may need to fight the Freys as well, if Black Walder has his way..."

          "So long as Theon Greyjoy sits in your father's seat with your brothers' blood on his hands, these other foes must wait," Catelyn said. The two ventured into the room. "Your first duty is to defend your own people. You must win back Winterfell."

          "I was too late to save Bran and Rickon," Amina said quietly. "But I know how many men he has, and I know his weakness." She didn't need to say it, Robb knew. If it came down to it, Theon would surrender to Amina. She was not yet sure if she was ready to have his blood on her hands. "Ser Rodrick was amassing a host at Torrhen's Square last I saw," she continued. "They were intending to march for Winterfell, but there's been no word since. Perhaps he's done it."

          "We can't ask the Riverlords to abandon their lands," Robb said. "If we march north, we do so without them."

          Amina ran through the scenarios, pushing figurines across an invisible tactical map in her mind, the histories filling in the blanks. There was only one answer, and they were running out of ways to secure it.

          "Without the Rivermen we won't get past Moat Cailin," Brynden pointed out. "Even with them it would be difficult. No army has ever taken the Moat from the south."

          "And then we'd be trapped between the Ironborn and the Freys." Robb sighed. "We must win them back. I am willing to give Lord Walder whatever he requires...apologies, honors, lands, gold." Anything but me, Amina thought. Robb had already drawn that line.

          "I know what Walder Frey wants," Amina said. The men turned toward her, waiting. Catelyn had already come to the same conclusion. "He wants Edmure."

Chapter 28: The Chained Prophet

          Kaeshai stood behind her master, silent and unmoving. She listened to the proceedings, with hardly a care. Her mind was elsewhere, in the green dreams. The red bricks of Astapor cracking, oozing red-black blood. An inhuman scream. Master Grazdan looked at her over his flute of persimmon wine. He had a way of knowing when his slave had been blessed with the green dreams. He also had a way of beating her if her interpretations fell short of the truth.

          The dreams were never easy to understand, but this one was particularly unsettling. For the first time in five years, Kaeshai was not eager to share the dream with her master. Whatever it meant; she would take a beating before she interpreted it for him.

          The esteemed guests of the masters sat before them. One they called the mother of dragons, a silver haired woman with kind features. The other had hair as black as coal and a disinterested expression. The latter had been introduced as a traveler from the northern lands of Westeros. Kaeshai had stared at the woman, searching her look for something familiar, before receiving a threatening look from Master Grazdan.

          Kae's mother had been Northern; a commoner, sold into slavery by her family. Her mother's face had faded. She'd been replaced by the face of the cold Lysene woman who slipped into her father's bed when his first love was gone. The dark-haired woman looked like neither.

          The ripple sent through the Great Masters, drew Kaeshai from her thoughts. The masters spoke amongst themselves, eager and excited. A dragon. They would have a dragon. It was a poor trade; anyone could see that. Not even a million Unsullied were worth that price. The silver haired queen was trading a dragon for less than ten thousand.

              If the Northern woman was surprised by her companion's decision, it did not show on her face. Her face was serene, even as the older man who'd accompanied them was escorted from the dais. The woman raised her wine to her lips, and then said something to the other woman. Though Kaeshai was too far away to hear, she become skilled at reading lips. Sometimes the visions she saw could not be heard.

          "They're calling me," she said simply. Kaeshai could hear no voices, but those around her. But the woman stood and walked to the litter that had brought them to the masters. She did not emerge again.

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          The dragons were brought into the square. The one with green and bronze scales let out an inhuman scream. Kaeshai looked to it with wide eyes before schooling her expression into one of serenity. The dark-haired woman held out a hand to the green dragon and pressed it to the beast's broad forehead. As the day before, if she were upset with the silver haired women, she hid it better than their companions. The man with the long white beard sulked behind, like a young boy who'd been scolded.

         The women hung back as the Dothraki riders brought forward the riches. Piles and piles of fine goods, but the real prize was yet to come. The silver haired woman whispered something to the other. Their expressions were so identical, Kaeshai was surprised she had not seen it before. Sisters. The dark-haired woman was no Northerner, at least not by blood. The thought reassured Kae. She would find no trace of her mother's people in the face of a Valyrian.

          Finally, the goods were given, and then it was time for the final trade. The silver haired woman stepped forward. In her hand was the chain of a black scaled dragon, the largest of the three. She put the chain in the hand of Kraznys mo Nakloz, and in turn he placed the whip of the Unsullied in hers.

         The dragon unfurled its wings, casting a shadow over the master. Kaeshai looked at the beast intently. Black and red.

          The silver haired woman took the whip and held it before the assembled Unsullied. Her sister lingered near the dragons. Though Master Kraznys held the chain of the large black dragon, he struggled to make it move.

          Among the Unsullied, the woman yelled, she spoke Valyrian with no accent. Only Master Grazdan took notice. Had he looked to his seer, he may have known what fate awaited them, but he did not. "He will not come," Kraznys complained.

          "There is a reason," the silver haired woman told him. "A dragon is no slave." She brought the whip down across the man's face, and he screamed. Blood dripped down into his red-black beard. "Drogon, dracarys!" The great black beast unleashed a dark flame on Master Kraznys.

          The other woman whispered the same word to the green and cream dragons. A moment later there were three beasts flying above the crowd. The masters ran for cover but were slow and hindered by their tokars. Kaeshai stood amongst them, unmoving even as the flames cut around her. It was not until the red bricks of the pillars behind her cracked from the heat of the flames that she stepped from her place behind her master's chair.

          The green dreams are inevitable, her mother had spoken once. Not even the great masters of Astapor could stop them. They were not so great. But the women who watched the dragons, the slaves who took arms up against their masters, they were great. No, mother, we are inevitable.

Chapter 29: Amina

          Amina sat in the maegi's tent, across from the dark-skinned woman. She prayed the gods would have answers for her. The thing she'd noticed first upon entering were the books, piles and piles of them. The second was the luxury, crystals and tapestries and scented candles. Some was surely taken from her former master's manse when the seer was freed. But the woman sat comfortably amongst it as if it were something she was used to.

          "The green dreams come as they will, and often with symbols and sounds I can hardly explain," Kaeshai told her. "But I have studied the books of old Valyria, the blood magic of the maegis, the stories of the Undying, and with the spellsingers of Asshai. The Masters of Astapor may have been cruel, but they spared no expense to satiate their appetites."

          "You speak the Common Tongue impeccably," Amina noted. Perhaps it came with training, surely one must speak many languages to be taught by so many people.

          Kaeshai smiled softly. "My mother was from your lands. A village near Oldcastle, if I remember correctly." Amina recognized the seat of House Locke but had never been there herself. "She was a child when her father could not pay his debts, and she was sold to a slaver from the Three Sisters. My father bought her freedom in Tyrosh, but she died when I was a girl." She did not offer any explanation as to how she had found herself in chains, so Amina did not press.

          "In the House of the Undying, I saw things I can't explain," Amina said to explain the reason for her visit. "But one such memory still haunts me. I saw my husband's death, and it was familiar. I need to know how it happens, I must to stop it."

          Kaeshai shifted in her seat, her springy brown curls bouncing around her face as she did. "It's best I do not see his death in a green dream, for those are inevitable. The House of the Undying was made of magic, and magic has a mind of its own. Perhaps it only showed your fears, not your futures. But I cannot say for certain, nor can I tell your husband's fate. I cannot look into a man's future without a drop of his blood, and you cannot bring it to me in a dragon dream."

          The girl held out a hand, and beckoned Amina forward. "But perhaps your future will give you some of the answers you seek." Amina placed her hand in Kaeshai's. The girl looked at her palm for a moment, before reaching for a needle. "I offered your sister this service, but she said no. Perhaps it is wise. Magic was not meant for mortal hands."

          "I am not doing this for me, I am doing it for him," Amina said firmly. "I must know."

          Kaeshai wasted no time in pressing the needle into Amina's finger. She watched the blood well up, one red drop. Then the seer swiped her own finger across it, swiped the blood across her forehead and closed her eyes. For a moment, nothing happened, then Kaeshai's eyes opened. Only they weren't brown, they were white and unseeing. Her head twitched and her eyes went back and forth. She was looking at something far outside the confines of the tent.

          "Blood on grey," Kaeshai whispered. "The golden hand will push through the shadows." Her head turned unnaturally to the other side. "No, don't go into the caves." Amina stared, unsure whether or not to interrupt. "Beware the mummer's dragon." The seer's face contorted in pain. "White, and red, red, red." The blood on her forehead had dried, and tears were welling up in her unseeing eyes. "The light will save him." She pressed her fingers to her eyes and let out a cry. "The light."

          Kaeshai collapsed, leaning back in the chair, head falling limp on one shoulder. It was several long minutes before she came back to herself. When Kaeshai looked at Amina, she seemed unsettled. "Your future moves like shifting sands, there and gone."

          "Did you see my husband?" Amina asked, undeterred from her goal. "Did you see Robb?"

          "I cannot say, nothing is right. There is a burning light, it blinds me." Kaeshai looked to her books, and Amina knew the look in her eye. She had learned something, but it wasn't a way to save Robb. Unless...

          "You said the light would save him. Save who? What light?"

          "Not Robb, no, another. I can't explain, the light was blinding. You must go, be with your sister, you need her. I will rest." Amina had never seen the girl like this. When she brought green dreams to Daenerys, she was calm and collected, offering up interpretations and theories. This Kaeshai was frenetic, and Amina wasn't sure if the girl was frightened or ecstatic.

          But Amina did as she was told and left the woman's tent with far more questions than answers.

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          She hovered at the tent flaps, looking out over the camp. It was so familiar; all she'd seen this past year was one war camp after another. Yet at the same time, it was so different, so foreign. There were no banners, and she could only understand the languages spoken half the time. Even the smells were strange, though Amina had come to enjoy some of the foods that made them.

          "You look sad," Daenerys said. Amina glanced toward her sister, who patted the empty space beside her on the bed. When Amina sat, Dany began to braid her hair. "Irri taught me this style, it will look good on you, especially with your gift."

          Amina tried to resist her curiosity, but ultimately it got the better of her. "My gift?"

          "When you fought in battle with the Northmen, you borrowed armor, correct?" Dany asked. Amina attempted to nod, but her sister tugged softly on her hair to keep her head in place. "Armor made for men, for squires. Mismatched pieces, yes?"

          Amina recalled the suit she'd fashioned for herself with Dacey Mormont's help. The woman was a head taller than Amina but had known all the best people to ask for spare armament. Dacey had even hid the finished product among her own things for future battles. "It was a bit of a patchwork," she admitted.

          "I thought you might like to have armor of your own. One of the men we freed in Astapor is a smith; he was elated to craft a suit of your own. Arstan oversaw it, to make sure it looked right and would keep you safe."

            Amina imagined what she might look like in a suit of armor crafted for a queen. Silver and shining with a dragon on the breastplate. "Thank you, that sounds beautiful."

          "But you don't want it?" Daenerys finished, sounding disappointed. They had both tried so hard to carve a place in each other's lives; neither knew exactly how to have a sister. Dany was not Arya or Sansa, and Amina was not Irri or Jhiqui. Still, Daenerys was trying, and under normal circumstances Amina would have loved it.

          She turned to face her sister, hand going instinctively to her stomach. Amina hadn't told anyone, not even Robb. But Daenerys was her sister. "I've been ill for days, and my moon blood hasn't come."

          Daenerys eyes grew wide and then she grinned. She tackled Amina into the pillows. "Oh, Mina, that's wonderful news. It's a boy, I'm sure it's a boy." Dany lay her head on Amina's shoulder and played with her hair. "Will you have to name him some terrible Northern name?" She teased.

          "Eddard if it's a boy," Amina said quietly. "Robb would like that."

          Daenerys sat up and hovered over her sister, she was frowning, and it made her look older than her years. "You love him, don't you?" Amina bit her lip and nodded. "Then why do you look as if your heart is breaking?"

          She was quiet for a long time, not sure if she trusted herself to speak. "There was a door in the house of the Undying," she said finally. "Behind it a man with a wolf's head sewn onto his shoulders. Do you remember?"

          "The feast of corpses," Dany recalled. In her horror, Amina had forgotten the others. Rows and rows of bodies and tables of rotten food and spilled wine. It felt as if she had remembered another important detail, and still she was no closer to an answer.

           "That man was Robb, and every night since, I've dreamt of his death a hundred ways. It's why I went to the seer, I hoped she could tell me how to save him, but Kaeshai left me with more questions than answers."

          Rhaegal landed on the pillow beside Amina's head, and picked up her braid as if it were a fish. She rolled over to get away and he nipped at her neck instead. Despite herself, Amina smiled. "They know our feelings," Daenerys said, "and they offer comfort in their own way." Dany held out a hand to scratch Rhaegal's forehead. "The Gods have tested us, and they will continue to work their will. We may curse them, but in the end, we will be stronger for it."

          The silver-haired queen leaned down to press a kiss to Amina's forehead. "I'll call for Arstan, and he'll tell us stories. For tonight we can imagine a world in which we are not the ones they write songs about, but the ones who sing them."

          Amina gave a smile she hoped was convincing, and Daenerys stepped outside. Amina dropped her head against the pillow and let out a tiny sigh. If only they were the singers with no cares to weigh them down. But they were not, and the weight on Amina's shoulders felt as if it might drown her.

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          The Karstark men had fled in search of the Kingslayer at the behest of their lord. Lord Rickard himself had not waited for justice in the form of Jaime Lannister. He had avenged the deaths of his sons his own way. The murdered bodies of Tion Frey and Willem Lannister were proof of that. They'd been boys, not much older than Bran and Rickon. But the worst was that Lord Karstark had betrayed Robb for his vengeance. He had lost his head for that.

          Now there were even less men in their camp, and another enemy made in the new Lord Karstark. There had been no other choice, and still it was another dagger to the heart. Another league between themselves and Winterfell. They were oh so far from home.

          Amina was leaning against the heart tree when Robb found her. He sat beside her and took her hand. She smiled softly but knew it didn't reach her eyes. "I thought I might find you here."

          "I'm with child," she said, quietly and without fanfare. Robb's eyes lit up, his hand went to her stomach and he looked at her as if she were glowing. For a moment Amina felt that love, and it filled every dark corner of her soul. Then she recalled why she had come to the Godswood instead of Robb, and her happiness was gone once more. "It's good it happened so fast. A king needs an heir."

          Robb was worried about her; she could see it in his eyes. But since their wedding night he'd given her space to breath. For once, she wished he would smother her. "I want you to be happy," he said. "About this, about us. Tell me what you need."

          She shook her head. "When this first began, I was fearless. Even when Ned died, it did not seem real. We were going to avenge him; we were going to win. But then Renly was killed by his own brother...I've never been as terrified as I was in those days at Bitterbridge. All I could think was what if you were next?"

          "I wish that I..." She trailed off. What was the point in wishing for the impossible? You could not fall out of love with someone, and you could not force them to fall out of love with you. She had tried to do both, and never once succeeded. Amina put her hand on Robb's cheek. "I love you, Robb. No matter what happens, know that."

          Robb took her hand and kissed her palm. "When I dreamed of you saying those words, you always had a smile on your face."

          "You make me happy; I swear it. It is the rest of the world that's drowning me." It's the fear of losing you that's holding me down. She laid her head on his shoulder and intertwined her fingers with his.

          "My sister will be marching to Pentos soon with an army, a pity we have no ships to bring her to us," she said with a sigh. "She tells me the Free Cities are beautiful, I'd like to see them. I suppose I will soon. I wish you could go with me. We'd live in a home by the sea and raise our sons and never dream of crowns or thrones again."

          "You once told me a ruler's place is among his people," Robb said. "Even if we throw our crowns into the sea, it will not change who we are. You will always be a dragon and I will always be a wolf, and we made our choice."

          "Robb, I saw you die," Amina said bluntly. He was silent. "I don't know when, and I don't know how. But I have the terrible feeling it will come sooner than either of us are prepared for." She turned toward him. "If I lose you..."

          "You will still be a queen," he reminded her. "You are Amina Stark and the blood of a dynasty flows through your veins, and you do not need me to be great."

          Daenerys had said the same, and still those words made no difference. "But I want you. And I don't want to find out what I am without you. Promise me that if we live, we live together, and if we die it's the same."

          Robb looked at her for a long time before he nodded. "Then we will have to live."

Chapter 30: Robb

          His chambers in Riverrun felt cold, but the autumn chill was not the culprit. They had laid Hoster Tully to rest in the Mander that morning. The night before a raven had arrived with news of Sansa's marriage to Tyrion Lannister. In the window, Amina was slowly ripping the letter into tiny near invisible pieces. Grey Wind lay under the windowsill. "I should have gone with them when Robert asked," she murmured.

          "What good would that have done?" Robb whispered.

          Her focus stayed fixed on the shredded paper. "I could have helped Ned navigate that lion's den. I could have kept an eye on the girls. I don't know." She let out a sigh of exasperation. "I could have put a knife in Cersei Lannister's heart."

          "And then your head would be on a pike next to my father's," Robb concluded. "There was nothing any of us could have done."

          "There were plenty of things I could have done," Amina said, shaking her head. "But I didn't do them, so now we'll never know. It's what we do next that matters now."

          Robb paced the length of the room as Amina continued tearing the letter into bits. "My mother wants me to bend the knee, to take whatever scraps the Lannisters deem fit to give us. How can she ask that of me? They killed my father."

          Amina tossed the paper out the window and watched it drift away on the wind. "Bran and Rickon are dead, Arya is lost, and Sansa has married the Imp. What more can they take from us?" She asked, swinging her legs to the floor. Grey Wind nudged her hand, and she placed her palm to the top of his head. "All Cersei wants is to save her children. In a generation the war will be forgotten, as old and trivial as Robert's Rebellion once seemed to us."

          Robb huffed and turned to face his wife. "You would have me bend the knee as well."

          "I would have you live to see our child grow old," she retorted. "Do you think I like the idea of surrender? I hate it. It makes my blood boil. If my sister could hear me, she would send Drogon to burn my nose off. But we do not have dragons, nor an army of Unsullied. We are losing men by the day. I want to go home. It is not craven to turn around, not if it is to drive the Ironborn from the North. We are not the only family to lose castles to the Greyjoys. The Glovers and the Tallharts are just as eager to return to their homes."

          His mother had said the same. They had no choice but to return to Winterfell and see what was left of it. But to linger too long meant abandoning the Riverlands and admitting defeat. Before Robb could say any of that, Amina ended the discussion. "We can revisit the issue after Edmure's wedding," she said calmly. "After the Greyjoys are dealt with."

          Robb sighed, knowing this would not be the end of it. Amina did not simply let things go, and if she believed they should make peace, she would try her best to win him to his side. And Amina could be very convincing when she set her mind to something.

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          The road from Riverrun to the Twins seemed twice as long on the return trip. Every day spent camping in the woods was another day wasted in this never-ending war. Though it pained him to leave the Riverlands, he knew there was no other choice. His men were losing faith. They needed to see their wives and free their castles from Ironborn. But winter was drawing nearer with each passing day. When the first snow fell, there would be no returning south.

          From the way Amina dragged her feet, Robb thought that might very well be what she was hoping for. He had requested his wife stay at Riverrun, but Amina would hear nothing of it. "You may be stubborn, but I am more stubborn by half," she'd said. Robb had opened his mouth to protest a half did not come close but realized that would only drive her point home. "I will not remain in Riverrun while the rest of you march North. I am pregnant, not an invalid and I miss my home."

          Robb had not been the only one to discourage Amina from the trip. His mother had suggested Amina's appearance might be construed as a slight and warned she would need to contend with Walder Frey's insults. But Amina insisted she was a Northerner and her skin was thick. Ser Aylward had all but begged her to remain at Riverrun with him as her guard. The man had lost one king and did not intended to let his queen march herself into danger. Amina was softer with him, but still her answer had been no.

          In the end, Robb was glad she'd come. Amina had been more herself these past few days than she had in all the weeks beforehand. It's the North, he thought, she feels the pull, same as I. But perhaps it was her sister too. Amina would wake with stories of lands far away and whisper them into his ear in the dead of night. When she smiled, he hoped his promise had been forgotten. If her vision were to come true, if this war were to end with him losing his head, Amina would not die by his side. She could hate him for it if she wished, but she would live.

          Robb told her knight as much, and they made plans. Ser Aylward would give his life for Amina, and if any attack came, he would see that she made it to safety. These were the plans he made behind his wife's back, but with her he made other plans as well. "Seagard is as safe a place as any, the castle has never fallen to the Ironborn, and it's been untouched by the Lannisters."

          "And Cat wouldn't be lonely there. Lord Mallister's daughter is there raising her son." Robb nodded. Lyman Darry's castle had been taken not once, but twice. He'd hardly managed to escape the second time, but he had. His wife and his heir were safe, while he and his remaining men fought alongside the Northmen.

          "We'll send Lyman with her; it would do him some good to see his boy."

          "We left Lord Darry at Riverrun," Amina reminded him. Of course, he'd given the man leave to stay behind. Lyman was no Northman. He had no business fighting Greyjoys when his castle was occupied by Lannisters. "But we could send a raven from the Twins." Robb nodded absently. Amina gave him a soft, fond, smile. "Where is your mind?"

          "There's something I need to ask you, about the matter of heirs." He shifted uncomfortable. This was a conversation he'd avoided for years, and even now with Amina as his wife, the question still scared him. "If something were to happen to me, you would be our child's regent. The lords and ladies believe in you as much as me, so I can't imagine they would trouble you, but if–"

          "I do not want to have this conversation," she said, curtly. It took him a moment to remember her vision, to remember the promise he made that he would never keep.

          Robb took a breath and tried again. "If we are gone, our son will need a regent, and an heir, until he comes of age."

          Amina did not look any happier about this line of reasoning, but she nodded. "Sansa would be the reasonable choice, if only she weren't married to Tyrion Lannister." She looked at him for a moment. "You have someone in mind."

          He held out a folded piece of parchment, she took it warily and opened it. "I'd like you to sign it as well, in the event that your sister does take the throne." Robb had to admit he was not as convinced as Amina in her sister's ambitions. But still, he was king, and he had to plan for everything. "The North would remain a sovereign kingdom, out from under the control of the Iron Throne." He was rambling, to fill Amina's silence. Her eyes were staring at the parchment as if she'd forgotten how to read.

          "This is...This legitimizes Jon," she whispered. "You've legitimized Jon."

          "If I die, you should take another husband, and I think it should be Jon." He took the parchment from her fingers. "Now you can. Just like you always wanted." It took half a moment for Amina to register his words, when she did her eyes flicked up to his, wide and confused. "I've always known."

          "Oh, Gods." Amina looked horrified. "Robb–"

          "It's all right," Robb assured her. "Sign the letter."

          "We were kids, we were senseless. Or at least, I was. I suppose in the end, Jon was the only one who had a clear head about it. I'm beginning to realize that I have a tendency to rush into things, at least in matters of the heart. I asked him to run away with me over and over, until finally he ran away from me. Even if I'd been able to offer him that letter then, I don't know if he would have taken it."

          "But you loved him," he pressed. Amina did not deny it, so he continued. "Then give yourself a chance at the future you wanted before all this. I want you to be happy, no matter what happens to me."

          "You promised," she reminded him.

          "Amina, I would fall on my sword if it meant saving your life. I made you a promise I never intended to keep, and for that I'm sorry. But I will not apologize for loving you."

          She was quiet for a moment, and then finally she took the letter from his hands. "I'll sign, but not because I still dream of that future. I haven't for a long time. But if something were to happen to you, and to me, Jon is the only person I trust to protect our child and our home. This is the right choice."

Chapter 31: Amina

          The Great Pyramid of Meereen towered over the city, casting shadows on the twisting alleys and wide brick streets below. From the terrace garden at the top, the city looked like a living, breathing creature. In the distance, the Skahazadhan river stretched into the plains beyond. It was beautiful in a strange sort of way, though it made Amina's heart ache for the cities of Westeros she barely knew.

          Then her eyes landed on the plaza below and Amina's stomach churned again. It had been a hideous sight to see up close and the smell of rotting flesh and excrement had burned her nose. "It needed to be done," Daenerys said. But her face had betrayed her uncertainty. "They hung the bodies of two hundred slave children on the posts between here and Yunkai. This is what the Great Masters deserved."

          "Blood for blood will not bring back those children," Amina murmured. She remembered Lord Karstark, so grief-stricken over the loss of his sons that he had murdered two innocent children in their place. It did not bring Torrhen or Eddard back. Nor would taking Tywin's head make Ned's grow back in its place. "There is a fine line between justice and revenge."

          Daenerys did not respond, and for a long time they stood watch above the city. "Will you hold court with me?" Dany asked finally.

          She'd asked several times, and every time Amina's answer was always the same. "I am not their queen. Let me rest." Even as the road North had renewed her spirts, the travel had weighed on her bones. She felt weary, like every step was a struggle through thick mud.

          Amina thought her sister would leave then, normally she would. In those moments of silence, before she drifted into the land between this place and her own, she would be at peace. She treasured those few moments of quiet on top of the world.

          But Daenerys lingered in the garden, and Amina finally turned toward her. "Did you know of Ser Barristan?" Dany asked. Amina hesitated, but nodded. "And you kept it to yourself."

          "Barristan Selmy was a legend. I grew up hearing tales of his bravery. So, yes, when he disappeared from King's Landing and did not join a king, I suspected," Amina explained.

          Dany didn't speak, so Amina went on. "Eddard always said Selmy was a great knight, and a loyal one. Until the very last he fought for Rhaegar, and when Robert marched into King's Landing, he kept his vows. Defend the king, whoever that king might be." Amina shook her head. It was no use telling Daenerys that Robert had once been a good man, that their father had been the tyrant.

          "He would not have left his post if the Lannisters hadn't sent him away. We all wondered which king he might choose. But instead he chose a queen." Amina looked at her sister for a long moment. "Selmy bore you no ill will. If I believed he had, I would have warned you. I thought it best to let him tell his secret in his own time."

          Daenerys nodded, she looked tired as if she just didn't have the strength to be angry with her sister too. "Our father, was he mad? Or was it one of the Usurper's lies?" From her tone, Amina knew which answer Daenerys wanted to hear. But Amina would not lie.

          "Rickard Stark went to King's Landing to defend his daughter's honor, and Aerys burned him alive. His son was forced to watch, while they dangled a sword just out of his reach. I've heard the story from so many mouths; I know it's true. Something that terrible cannot be a lie," Amina told her. Daenerys looked stricken. "In the House of the Undying, we saw Aerys. He sat upon the throne and told his men to burn the city down. Aerys Targaryen was not a good man, but we are not our father."

          Daenerys looked toward the corpse plaza. Amina followed her gaze and fought back a sigh. "They were not innocent," she acquiesced. It was not the punishment Amina would have chosen, but she could respect her sister's choices. Maybe if Amina had seen the bodies of the children, she would have made the same decision. "You aren't like Aerys. Neither of us are."

          Dany took Amina's hand and squeezed. They stood in silence again. Amina wondered if her sister was also thinking about the life they'd never known. Of the family they'd lost before they were even born, of the missed opportunity to know each other. Daenerys offered a sad smile. "You should rest." And then Amina drifted away into the land in-between.

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          The Twins were as dreary and dank a place as Amina remembered, and the constant drizzle did nothing to help. She was eager to get this show over with, to go home. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine she was already there. The smell of soldier pines, the warm damp of hot springs, the taste of honeycakes. But the low rumble of Grey Wind's growl brought Amina back to herself.

          She dismounted Myst and went to the wolf before he could do something they would all regret. Amina placed a hand on his raised haunches. Grey Wind whined, looking up at her with his big yellow eyes. Dread settled in Amina's chest. "Come now, we must keep a brave face."

          Amina walked with Grey Wind toward the portcullis, where he stopped. Robb called him forward, but the wolf refused to go any further. Instead he let out a howl that seemed to shake the very foundation of the squat castle. The Freys reasoned that he feared the river, but Grey Wind had no such fears when they crossed before.

          As Amina made for the gate, Grey Wind circled her. He pushed at the backs of her legs, as he could walk her off the bridge and back to dry land. Robb looked more embarrassed than worried. Since the news of Bran and Rickon, he had ignored Grey Wind's warnings. But the more Robb turned away from his wolf, the more it unsettled Amina. She couldn't help but look at Grey Wind and see his bloody head atop Robb's shoulders. But they could not turn back now.

          In the great hall, Robb said his apologies to Walder Frey's daughters, and granddaughters, and maybe even a great-granddaughter or two. Edmure met his bride-to-be, a surprisingly beautiful younger daughter of Lord Frey. Amina suffered the old man's jibes at her appearance and character with a smile on her face. Then they were offered wine and bread to complete the guest right and shown to their rooms.

          Amina held herself together until the door shut behind her, then she flew to the window. From the water tower she could see their men camped on the northern side of the Green Fork. She searched for Grey Wind but couldn't find him below. "I mislike being in the middle of this bridge," Amina muttered.

          "Lothar said the water tower had the finest rooms," Robb reminded her. "It's better than we expected, at least."

          Amina fixed him with a pointed look. "Or he just said that to ensure we couldn't balk at being kept in the middle of a river." Robb sighed and she knew he was as weary as she felt. "I just want to be through with this wedding."

          Robb put a hand on Amina's back. "I miss Winterfell too." They both knew they would not be returning to the home they'd left. It had never been the castle that made it home, it had been their family. Now they were all that was left.

          A knock on the door startled Amina, but she quickly pulled herself together as Roose Bolton was shown in. Lord Bolton was joined by several others; Ser Wendel, Robin Flint, the Greatjon, and his son. Amina tucked her fears away for the moment and retreated behind the mask she wore for her bannermen.

          "I hope you bring us good news," Robb said by way of greeting.

          From the looks on the men's faces; Amina knew that they did not. But still, Amina gave a soft smile as a gentler welcome, and tried to lighten the mood. "Gods know we need it in this weather."

          The Greatjon let out a singular laugh, while Robin Flint adjusted his rain-soaked cloak. Roose Bolton only sighed and stared at them with his strange, pale eyes. "My son has sent word from Winterfell. Cley Cerwyn and Leobald Tallhart are dead. The Ironborn put the castle and surrounding village to the torch."

          The air seemed to go out of the room. Amina had expected the worst, and still it stung. The castle would survive a burning, the stones were old and strong, the damage would be fixed. But the winter town was straw and wood and mud brick.

          Amina closed her eyes, remembering the countless days she'd spent on those streets. The vendors she knew by their faces, if not by their names. The nights spent at the Smoking Log with Theon, drinking tankards of mead and betting on Garret's fights. The bruises she'd come home with after getting into a fight of her own. Gone, it's all gone.

          She only allowed herself a moment to mourn before pushing it all away and returning to herself. "And what of Theon Greyjoy?" Robb demanded. "Is he slain as well, or did he flee?"

          Roose removed a strip of what looked like leather from his pouch. "My son sent this with his letter." Amina had a sudden urge to wretch that had nothing to do with her condition. "The skin of the little finger of Theon Greyjoy's left hand. My son is cruel, I confess it. And yet...what is a little skin against the lives of two young princes?"

          I should have killed him myself, Amina thought. Or dragged him back for Robb's justice. Anything but this. The Bolton's boasted a flayed man on their banner, and when Amina closed her eyes, the man was Theon. The only skin left was his face, and even that was peeling.

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          The feasting hall was not the room she'd met Lord Walder in all those months ago, but it looked near enough the same. Ugly and grey just like the whole Frey brood. But it sent a chill into her spine as well, and she told Aylward as much. "Enjoy the feast," he suggested, even as his eyes scanned the room, more focused on the men in it than the dishes placed before them. It was a terrible meal with terrible music, and the tea they'd brought to settle her stomach tasted like weeds and made her feel worse. But still she picked at her food, to be polite, and danced with half of Lord Walder's sons and grandsons and her own bannermen as well.

          It was only when she noticed the Freys face down in their plates that it hit her. The Undying had shown her this room. They had warned her, and she'd been too deaf to listen. Robb was the first to notice her expression, and she clasped Aylward's arm. "Something is wrong."

          "We should go," Aylward said, quietly. Her knight did not share the same jovial look of the other men participating in the bedding, and Amina had no interest in stripping Edmure down in the halls. "Now."

          Robb was at her side, pulling her to her feet. Amidst the clamor for the door, and the bawdy jokes and loud music, no one seemed to notice how serious he looked. He swung her in his arms as if they were no more than two lovers sharing a dance. "This is the room," she whispered in his ear. "The one from my vision."

          "Go with Aylward, to the bedding, he knows the way outside," Robb said, his mouth so close to her ear she could feel his breath. Amina looked over her shoulder. Her knight looked as if he would scoop her up and carry her into the hall if she didn't leave on her own two feet.

          Catelyn had disappeared, running after some flustered looking Frey in the opposite direction. "Come with me," Amina whispered to Robb. She hadn't noticed the tears on her cheeks, until Robb kissed them away. "I'm not leaving without you. We promised."

          "And I warned you that wasn't a promise I could keep." Robb brushed her hair back from her face. "Take that letter and go. If the Gods are good, I'll see you across the river."

          "The Gods are never good, and the Undying don't lie." Across the hall, the raucous bedding party had almost disappeared. Aylward hooked a hand under her arm, prepared to drag her out if he need be.

          Robb placed one hand on her stomach, which had started to cramp with nerves. "I love you, Amina Stark." She felt lightheaded. He kissed her, and then he let her go. Then, Aylward was sweeping her toward the door, with a plastered-on smile and a poor attempt at a dance. Over her knight's shoulder, Amina mouthed the words back to Robb, I love you.

          They had only just made it into the yard when she heard Grey Wind howl. Amina wanted to turn, run for the kennels. The wolf, she had to get to him. "Put this over your head," Aylward instructed her, tugging a tattered cloak around her and throwing the hood up.

          "I have to..." Amina darted toward the sound of Grey Wind's second howl, but Aylward had his arms around her waist and he was thrice her size. Then the flames erupted in the camp, tent after tent lit up the night, and the fight went out of her. If Aylward hadn't been holding her up, she would have collapsed.

          Amina hardly remembered getting across the bridge. The fires had faded and so had Grey Wind's howls. Her head was swimming and her stomach still clenched, and she wished she could just lie down, but Aylward wouldn't let her. He threw her onto Myst's back, and somehow, she'd held onto the reins and kept her seat.

          They pushed their horses hard and fast through the night, and well into the next day. Amina tried to ignore the sharp, twisting pain in her stomach. Poison, she thought suddenly, panic gripping her. The taste of weeds and mint still lingered on her tongue. But why, if the Freys had been bold enough to slaughter them with weapons? Poison was a craven's tool. The pain must be thirst or hunger. She'd hardly touched the food served at the feast, and what she had eaten, she'd retched up while Aylward was tossing her on the back of her horse.

          Myst was a strong mount, but even she would need rest. They should stop soon. Yet even the horse seemed unwilling to chance it. Surely the Freys would have sent men after them. The pain in her abdomen returned with a fierce vengeance. Amina lost hold on her reins and clutched at her belly instead. That was when she noticed the blood, dark and red and sticky on Myst's grey-white shoulder. An arrow, it must be an arrow.

         Then she fell from the saddle, pain making her vision go white.

Chapter 32: Aylward

         Aylward was nearly a mile ahead when he realized Amina was no longer behind him. He wheeled his courser around and doubled back. The Queen was lying face down in the dirt. Her loyal palfrey nosed at her insistently, despite its obvious exhaustion. The red blood was shocking against the grey and silver of her gown. He dropped from his horse and fell down next to her. Aylward pulled her skirts up around her waist, searching for her wound. But the blood came from between her legs, her white silk smallclothes the color of death.

          By the time Amina came to, the knight had washed her off in the river and half-dressed her in a clean roughspun tunic. A moment passed as she looked at the pile of bloody clothes beside her, then her body contorted with terrible sobs that shook every bone in her body. "It isn't fair!" She wailed. "They took everything. Everything!" She leapt up, before Aylward could stop her. Her fingers tore at the tiara that was still knotted in her raven hair. With a hard, sharp tug she wrested it free. Chunks of hair that had been tangled around the bronze and iron swords went with it. She threw it into the Green Fork, watching as it sunk beneath the torrent. "They can bloody well have me too."

          Amina was standing now, unmoving. Only her hard-labored breaths shook her body. Aylward didn't know what to say. How do you comfort a woman who's lost everything? He opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it. "Clean clothes," she realized, whirling toward him. "Peasant's clothes. You knew?" With every word she took another step toward him. "Did you know?" Her fists pounded against his chest. Aylward hardly felt the blows through his armor, but she hit hard enough to raise bruises on her own hands.

          "The King only wanted me to be prepared," he said. "Not just for this, for everything. Robb was so careful. Every battle in the West, every time we rode out. He made me promise you'd be safe, no matter what happened to him."

          "Robb would have rather I turn craven," Amina whispered. The bitterness in her voice softened by the sadness in her eyes. "My Robb. My dear sweet Robb." She dropped to her knees again. "Gods how stupid we were."

          Aylward let his Queen cry for a long time before he spoke again. "I'll sink your bloody dress in the river where you threw your crown. With any luck the Freys will find it and think—"

          "They'll think I was raped and killed," she finished. "Good. That's good."

           The knight balled the ruined gown and threw it into the river. He dropped a stone in after to hold it down until they were well and gone. Aylward went to his saddlebag and removed the letter, holding it out to her. Amina took it, eyes glazing over as she looked at the seals. "We've gone the wrong way," Aylward told her regretfully. "We'll need to cross the river and double back, or else find a ship sailing to White Harbor, or even Eastwatch."

           "I can't go to the Wall," Amina said suddenly. Her eyes flashed lilac, quick as lightning. "I can't see Jon. Not now." The knight frowned, but the Queen squared her shoulders. "I bring darkness wherever I go. I can't lose him too. The North is dead. It's been dying for months. The Ironborn, the Boltons, they'll fight each other and rip the kingdom apart. I cannot hope to enter that fight and win, not without an army behind me. The North can wait. I won't go to Jon and ask him to walk with me to his death." She looked over the river for a long moment. Her knight was quiet. "We're going to King's Landing."

          "Your grace–"

           "I am no queen," she said sharply, her eyes cold as ice.

          "Amina. King's Landing is the lion's den. It's dangerous, even in the best of times."

          "You are my sworn shield, are you not?" He nodded once, knowing he was walking into a trap. "Then you will go where I command. I need to see my sisters."

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          When Aylward returned to the inn on Eel Alley, where he'd left Amina, he was surprised to hear her voice. The days since they'd been forced to sell Myst had passed in near silence. It was as if Amina's voice died when she lost the last piece of her old life.

          After days on the road, their horses had been near ruin. Their only options were to trade the horses or slow their pace considerably. He'd also been wary of riding into King's Landing on horses fit for nobility. A palfrey as fine as Myst was sure to attract attention. After much convincing, Amina had agreed, and Aylward sold the horses to a passing merchant.

          The caravan was bound for Highgarden, and Aylward had promised a handsome payment for the horse at Old Oak. But Old Oak was leagues away, and Myst would fetch a hefty price on the road. Aylward was not hopeful Amina would see the horse again, but he'd had to try.

          "High in the halls of the kings who are gone, Jenny would dance with her ghosts," Amina sung softly. Aylward leaned against the wall, listening to her voice through the door. "The ones she had lost and the ones she had found, and the ones who had loved her the most."

           Aylward opened the door slowly, so as not to disturb her. "The ones who'd been gone for so very long, she couldn't remember their names." Amina's hair was wet and piled on top of her head, but even damp he could tell the scrubbing had worked. It was nearly light enough to be called grey, though the color clung too much to properly call it silver. "They spun her around on the damp old stones." Her haunted voice made the ballad even more heart wrenching. "Spun away all her—"

          The floorboard creaked loudly under Aylward's foot, and Amina's voice cut off abruptly. Her hand reached instinctively for her knife belt, before realizing who he was. Aylward sheepishly offered the things Margaery had given him; red-gold dye and dresses in Redwyne blue and burgundy. "Margaery is on her way; you should have your hair dyed before she arrives."

          Amina nodded and took the jar from his hands. She carefully opened the container and began applying the dye to her hair with an expert hand. He supposed she'd had years of practice. In a few hours, Amina Stark would be gone and Desmera Redwyne would stand in her place.

          "The Prince of Dragonflies married the girl in that song," Amina murmured softly. It took Aylward a moment to realize she was speaking to him. "She was a commoner and Duncan gave up everything for her. Broke a betrothal, left his family, set aside the crown. If he hadn't, my grandfather would never have been king."

          Aylward knew where this was going. If Jaehaerys II had never been king, Aerys wouldn't have been either. The entire history of the realm would have been forever altered. "It seems it runs in my blood to make foolish mistakes for love." Her fingers paused in her hair for a moment. "Tragic mistakes."

          A soft knock on the door prevented Aylward from replying. He checked the dye thoroughly covered Amina's hair, before opening the door and letting Margaery Tyrell inside. The one time and future queen pushed the hood back from her head. She looked out of place in the timbered inn. But as her eyes fell on Amina, nothing else mattered. The brunette crossed to her friend and threw her arms around the other girl. "Oh, Mina, I thought you were dead."

          Amina pressed her eyes closed and Aylward knew she was fighting to keep her composure. "I almost was," Amina whispered.

         Margaery clutched Amina's hands and looked into her eyes. "I cannot imagine what you've been through. I am so sorry; I know how much they meant to you." Amina swallowed hard, and she nodded once. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

          "I need to see Sansa," Amina said firmly. "More than that, I need to know what's going on in that castle. Every advantage I've had is gone. I have to begin again."

          The bite of her determination was sharp. She sounded like the queen who'd stood in front of a war council and given orders. Aylward supposed that was what her life was, one war after another. But he could not help her in this. This war would not be fought with swords.

          Aylward worried that this was only a temporary balm. Amina was burying her grief under plots and disguises, but it couldn't last forever. Eventually the pain she ran from would catch up to her and she'd be forced to face it head on. Margaery watched Amina for a moment, as if the same thoughts were going through her head.

          Margaery sighed softly. "Well, then I suppose I should teach you how to be Desmera Redwyne."

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

         Margaery took them into the Red Keep the same way she'd slipped out of it, a hidden tunnel one of her ladies discovered. Amina walked carefully, adapting to the fashion of the Reach and allowing it to change the way she moved. Margaery quietly rattled off details that Desmera would know.

          It worked in Amina's favor that Desmera's mother, Mina Tyrell, kept to the Arbor along with her daughter. Aylward only remembered meeting them once or twice in all the years he lived in Highgarden.

          "What about Paxter?" Aylward asked suddenly, causing Margaery to stop. Amina took several steps forward before realizing the others weren't beside her. "Olenna knows, and I doubt we'll see much of the twins. But if Paxter hears his daughter is in the castle, won't he want to see her?"

          "My uncle is far too busy buying his way into Cersei Lannister's favor to pay much attention to court gossip," Margaery said. Her face twisted into an expression that showed just how she felt about Paxter Redwyne. "Besides, every time a girl with red hair appears at court, someone mistakes her for Desmera."

          Aylward knew that was true. Many hopped to marry into the Arbor's fortune. It was almost a game to trick lordlings into wooing a minor lord's red-haired daughter. Everyone would get a good laugh when it was revealed she wasn't Desmera Redwyne.

          "Besides," Margaery added with a shrug. "Grandmother will make sure he doesn't notice."

          With that, it was settled. When they walked through the door into the halls of the Red Keep, Amina rolled her shoulders, smoothed down her dress, and grinned. "I've been here for hours and you haven't even shown me the throne." A passing serving girl curtsied to the pair as she hurried by. "What a hostess you are!"

          Margaery raised an eyebrow, shocked at her friend's sudden transformation. Aylward had been equally shocked the first time he'd seen her go in front of her bannermen. Amina had a talent for wearing masks, and until recently, he'd never seen them slip.

         Amina grabbed Margaery's hand and tugged her down the hall. "Come on, let's hurry. I want to see the gardens before dusk!" And just like that, Amina Stark was gone. A bright smile passed over Margaery's face as she pulled Desmera Redwyne through an archway and out of view.

Chapter 33: The Executioner

          Blood welled up on the man's skin as Jalani drew a line from chest to shoulder with her blade. To his credit, the fair skinned Volantene did not so much as flinch. He was a slave trader, his skin tattooed with markings that catalogued his exploits. The Loshak had discovered the man plotting to smuggle Adakhakileki children from the city at the behest of their families.

          For Jalani's brother, the leader of their people, it was a betrayal of the worst kind and a violation of his newest law. No Adakhakileki born man or woman could leave the city without Lajo's express permission. It fell to Jalani to discover the names of each family who had paid the Volantene to take their children away.

          Some assignments Lajo gave Jalani made her stomach turn; this was not one of them. She knew the way of the Volantene slave traders. They would take the money of the poor, desperate Adakhakileki with promises of freedom and a new life for their sons and daughters. But, as soon as they left the city's walls, the children would be tattooed and enslaved. Jalani had to admit it was smart; a man could be paid twice over if he kept his mouth shut. Unfortunately for this man, he had not.

          "Have you made progress, shiro?" Lajo asked from behind her. Jalani turned toward her brother. He leaned casually against the doorframe, but when his eyes drifted toward the Volantene a hint of disgust pulled at his lips. The sneer made him look like their father for a moment, all bitterness and contempt. "Never mind that now. Walk with me, sister."

          Jalani followed her brother out of the cell and down the hall; they stepped outside onto a terrace overlooking the city. From here, she could see near as far as Slaver's Bay to the west at the end of the Stone Road, and to the east the Bone Mountains towered over the Poison Sea and Adakhakileki, the cannibal city. Below them their city stretched out into the horizon, markets and homes and taverns built inside the ruins of the civilization that had claimed this land before them.

          When Khal Zorro and his Lhazareen love had broken from the lives they had once known, the Poison Sea had welcomed them with open arms. No Dothraki khalasar would ride into the ghost city, or venture near a lake that their horses could not drink from. It was there the Adakhakileki had made their home, welcoming anyone who would join them, and killing those who dared threaten their freedom.

          The stone curtain walls that guarded the city now–or imprisoned it, depending who you asked–had not been walls at all then, but rows of heads on spikes. It was that ruthlessness and the willingness to accept anyone from any walk of life that had earned them the name Adakhakileki, and the Cannibals had embraced it, as they had everything else.

          "There is news from the west," Lajo said quietly, shifting from the mongrel Dothraki-Lhazareen tongue of their people to the Valyrian of the Free Cities. The Loshak who stood near the door, guarding them with spears and swords, pretended not to notice. Not that they would know the language, it had been banned for a generation along with every other foreign tongue. Only the highly educated or the elderly still spoke Valyrian, and even then, only in secret. Lajo's most trusted were allowed to learn the language, if only to add another layer of protection between their leader and his people.

          Jalani looked away from the city and toward the western horizon, instinctively. "Of the dragon queen?" Stories of Daenerys Stormborn had spread far and wide, making their way into the city from Qarth and Pentos and Vaes Dothrak. Not even the language barriers could keep the merchants from speaking of the girl and her dragons in whispered voices.

          Lajo nodded once. "She has taken Slaver's Bay, the cities have fallen, and the slaves have been freed."

          "You sound almost giddy, gaezo."

          "Daenerys makes her court in Meereen, as if she can hold three cities with a few Unsullied and a handful of Dothraki savages." Jalani did not point out that a few generations before their ancestors had been Dothraki savages, even if her brother looked like any Khal in finer clothing.

          "In Westeros they hold half a hundred cities from one throne," she pointed out instead. "Daenerys Stormborn only means to hold three."

          Lajo waved the thought away. "The sons of the harpy will not bow as easily as the soft men of Westeros. Daenerys will need help, soldiers and tacticians. Men who have conquered lands from the Bone Mountains to the Great Grass Sea."

          "It appears to me that Daenerys is doing well conquering on her own. As for our warriors, don't they have enough to worry about without going to war for a queen they do not know? There was rioting in the southern quarter yesterday and that Volantene is not the only trader making money off our people's desperation. Father is gone, and he may never come back. You have to lead; you have to fix things."

          "I am fixing things, inavva." Lajo grabbed Jalani by the shoulders, forcing her to look at him. "We are building an empire just like Nahajo wanted, and his mother before him. We are doing it without slaves, with freemen. We hold half the Great Grass Sea and the Red Waste, the foothills of the Bone Mountains and the headwaters of the Skahazdan."

          "And still our people starve and curse your name," Jalani said, knowing her biting tone would only make Lajo more defensive. But no matter how much they argued he would never see, never understand that he was doing the same thing Nahajo had done, he was choking the life out of their people. "Open the gates, give our people the opportunity to choose."

          "Don't you see, when we make Daenerys Stormborn our ally, she will help us take back the land that is ours by right. Khal Zorro was exiled from Vaes Dothrak and for decades after our people had to fight back Dothraki savages from our lands. Thirli allowed them to trade within our walls, made peace with them so she could focus on expanding to the south and the east. But we need the lands to the north, we need the river so our people can farm the land instead of relying on scraps from foreign traders."

          "Daenerys Stormborn married Khal Drogo, she leads the remnants of his khalasar. What makes you think she would allow our people to take their land?"

          "When Khal Drogo died, she should have joined the Dosh Khaleen, she did not. Perhaps she resents the Dothraki as much as you and I."

          "Leave me out of your plans, gaezo."

          "How can I? You are right, our people need a leader. I cannot go to Meereen to meet Daenerys Stormborn or lead an army into battle." Jalani knew Lajo could hardly command his own Loshak, let alone an army, but once again she kept her mouth shut. "But who else can I trust with the task but my shiro?" Her childhood nickname, scorpion, which had become all too literal in the years since Nahajo had vanished.

          Sometimes it was easy to love Lajo, he was her brother. He could be charming and funny, and he loved his sister. But he had turned her into something dangerous, something she hated. Jalani could not walk the streets of the city without hiding her face. She was hated by the people for the things Lajo made her do. The torturing, the killing. She was nothing but Lajo's executioner, Lajo's shiro. Sometimes it was easy to hate Lajo as well.

          "You are right, gaezo. I am the only one who can make Daenerys Stormborn our ally. I will need men, a hundred, no more. I will choose them, a small team I trust is a thousand times more dangerous than a legion." Lajo's face lit up as she spoke, he nodded along enthusiastically. He was already dreaming of the Mother of Mountains and all the lands beneath it. If he wants a scorpion, that's exactly what I'll give him.

Chapter 34: Lyman

          Lyman had been in the midst of preparing his men to leave for Seagard when the news arrived from the Twins. The shock they had felt defied explanations. It was impossible to believe, no one wanted to believe it. Their King dead, their Queen missing, their Lord captured and ransomed, their army decimated.

          Understandably, the Blackfish had been hit the hardest by the news. He’d only just lost his brother, and now to suffer the devastation of losing the rest of his family? Lyman could hardly imagine it. He would never forget Ser Bryne’s sacrifice, or his other men lost when the Mountain had taken Castle Darry. But at least Sallei and Willem were safe in Seaguard.

          “Take your men and go, Darry.” The Blackfish’s gruff voice shocked Lyman back to the present. Their outriders had spotted Lannister men marching toward Riverrun, the window to escape was drawing to a close. “Go to Seaguard, be with your wife.”

          Lyman could not pretend the thought did not tempt him. He was missing so much of Willem’s childhood, and he knew Sallei would want him to return. But the Tullys were his liege lord. “What good would that do? If the Lannisters have come here, they’ve surely gone for the Mallisters as well.”

          “If the Lannisters expect a surrender from Jason Mallister, they’ll be waiting a long time,” Brynden grunted.

          Lyman knew he was right. The Mallisters were a proud house and Lord Mallister had more honor in his littlest finger than the Lannisters had in their entire family. No, Jason Mallister would not bow to the lion without a fight.

          “All the more reason for you to go,” the Blackfish continued. “It’s your duty to protect your wife and child.”

          “I am,” Lyman said confidently. “The Lannisters took my lands. They’ve taken everything I had. My son deserves a legacy, and if I leave now, I will never be able to give him that.”

          The Blackfish looked defiant, but then that was the way he always looked. If it were Edmure standing in his uncle’s place, Lyman wasn’t sure that he would stay. But there was something about Brynden Tully that inspired confidence. He didn’t look like a Lord, if anything he had the humility of a common soldier. But the way he stood, looking out the window over the Tully lands, practically dared the gods to take something else from him.

          “Then get down there and ready the men for a siege,” Brynden said, without turning around.

          Lyman started for the door but came to a stop. He couldn’t help himself from asking the question that had been on his mind since the raven arrived. “Do you think she’s dead?” He asked quietly. The Blackfish remained stationary, the only sign he’d heard Lyman’s question was the tension in his shoulders. “They only said the Queen was missing.”

          “If she’d made it…” Brynden trailed off, still fixed on the horizon. It dawned on Lyman what he was looking for. He wasn’t waiting for the Lannister army to arrive; he was searching for Amina.

          “Maybe she went North,” Lyman suggested. “Surely there are men loyal to her there who would have taken her in. Perhaps she’s in hiding until she can form a plan.” Even as he said it, he didn’t believe it. The Freys had killed so many without a hint of mercy. Even if Amina had escaped for a moment…

          Lyman shook his head, clearing the thoughts from his mind. He did not want to imagine what had befallen his queen. He wasn’t sure why he had asked the question at all. A hope like that was a dangerous thing.

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          Lyman found his men in the courtyard. There were pitifully few of them remaining, but those who were had found ways to be of use. A handful helped with the smallfolk who’d come to the castle in search of food or supplies when the Lannister armies had burned their lands. Others trained, sparing with swords or shooting arrows into targets, in preparation for the inevitable battles to come.

          It was with the latter group he found Samwell Spirre and Amos Trane. They supervised the other men, calling out corrections when necessary, and talking in hushed voices between themselves otherwise.

          “Gods know we won’t be needing this when the army comes,” Amos was muttering as Lyman approached. He wasn’t wrong. A siege could last a long time without even the hint of battle, years even. Not that they’d survive that long.

          “It keeps their spirits up,” Lyman inserted. Ser Trane startled, looking at his lord sheepishly, embarrassed to be caught complaining. “We all need something to keep our hands and minds occupied.”

          “Have you word from Seaguard?” Amos asked. The knight looked wary of Lyman’s answer. Sallei had made it her business to know each of the Darry men and their families. They may have been sworn to a small house, but history had made them proud and wary of outsiders. But Sallei had ingratiated herself with their people and gained their respect and affection. Lyman may not command a legion, but he never had to doubt the loyalty of those he did.

          Lyman shook his head. “No ravens from Lord Mallister as of yet.” He wasn’t hopeful there would be one coming either. Seaguard was further north, likely the first castle the Freys had put under siege. Even if Jason had sent a raven, they’d likely been shot down before they could get far.

          “But we’re staying at Riverrun,” Ser Spirre confirmed. “We’re going to fight.”

          “As Amos so eloquently alluded to, there likely won’t be much of that either.” Lyman clapped Ser Trane on the shoulder to ensure the man knew his teasing was in jest. “But yes, we will stay in Riverrun and defend the Lords we’ve sworn to protect. To leave…”

          “Would be to admit defeat,” Sam said grimly. “We would be throwing away the sacrifices our men made at Castle Darry.” They were all quiet, remembering the lives lost. For a brief moment, Lyman was back in that tunnel listening to Ser Bryne fight off the Mountain’s men. The silence after still haunted him.

          “One day we will go home,” Ser Trane said with confidence. “Or we will die trying.”

          Lyman swallowed past the lump in his throat. Home. It was almost too much to hope for, that his family would be reunited, that his lands would be free and prosperous without the Lannister’s oversight. But he had to have that hope, he had to believe Willem would one day be Lord Darry. Lyman had to believe he could leave a legacy for his son; however small it might be.

          Lyman nodded with more conviction than he felt. “I would like to see the Lannisters try and stop us.”

Chapter 35: Desmera

          Desmera glided through the gardens, largely invisible to those who wandered by. There was far too much on everyone’s minds to be concerned with Lady Margaery’s cousin. Mera looped through the trellises catching snippets of gossip as she moved along.

          There were only five days until the wedding, and King’s Landing was quickly filling with guests from near and far. Despite her own stresses with Margaery’s never-ending list of wedding chores, Mera couldn’t help her own excitement. It wasn’t every day a girl from an island had free rein of the largest court in the Seven Kingdoms.

          But today was not a day for gossip or dress fittings. Today Desmera’s only task was to unlock the tiny box she’d stored deep inside her chest and pull out just a piece of the girl she’d been before.

          She placed one hand on the stone archway and peered into the acre of elm, alder, and black cottonwood. If she could quiet the noise around her, she could almost convince herself she was half a continent away. It took all Mera’s willpower to step through the gates of the Godswood, but it wouldn’t do to linger and be spotted by a gossiping courtier.

          Mera found the girl she was looking for in the heart of the Godswood, on a bench before a great oak; there were no weirwoods here. The oak was wrapped with smokeberry vines and circled by dragon’s breath below. The pops of red made the hint of autumn that much more pronounced, and Desmera fought back a shutter that wasn’t due to the cold.

          “Always so diligent with your prayers,” Desmera said softly. “I was never so good.” Sansa looked up, her wide, blue eyes immediately brimming with tears. “I loved the trees, but perhaps I should have paid more attention to the gods that blessed us with them.”

          The auburn-haired girl stood and had barely stumbled into Mera’s arms before sobs wracked her body. Desmera rubbed soothing circles on Sansa’s back as she waited for the girl to calm herself. Mera felt her throat squeeze, but no tears raised in her eyes. Desmera Redwyne did not cry.

          “Let’s sit down,” Desmera said softly, as she escorted the younger girl back to the bench. “I can’t stay long; Margaery needs me for wedding preparations.” The words came out as an apology, but Mera was almost glad for the excuse.

          It was so hard to look at Sansa and keep the box in her chest closed tight. But she had to. If she let it all spill out now, she knew it would never go back. She simply was not ready for the torrent that would follow, not yet.

          “How did you get away?” Sansa asked finally. “Did anyone else?”

          Mera knew the look on her face was enough to answer Sansa’s second question. “Ser Caswell brought me.” At Sansa’s blank look, she added, “My sworn shield. Formerly one of Renly’s Rainbow Guard.”

          “It seems that I’ve missed a lot,” Sansa said softly. Mera took her hand, holding it between the folds of their gowns in case anyone happened in. Not that she thought they would, there were few Northerners at court these days. But she couldn’t risk it. “I wish we were home, before this all began. I wish I could go back and tell myself everything I know now.”

          Mera looked intently at the great oak masquerading as a heart tree. “It wouldn’t have changed anything. We come from the ice, we’re as stubborn as sentinel pines. Not even our own warnings would change our minds.” Sansa’s fingers tightened around Desmera’s.

          “I knew better, but that never stopped me from plunging into everything headfirst. I could have left, disappeared, gone to my island.” The corner of Desmera’s mouth quirked up as the parallel struck her. No matter who she was, her story always began on an island. “Maybe things would have been different if I had. But we were young and in love and love always leads us to folly.”

           Sansa lay her head on Desmera’s shoulder. The quiet sounds of the Godswood washed over them, sweeping away all the things they couldn’t risk saying. But it was enough to listen to the wind in the trees and hold her sister’s hand. It had to be enough.

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          Mera leaned against the chest of drawers in Margaery’s room as she waited for her cousin to finish dressing. She felt lighter after her meeting with Sansa in the Godswood, as if she had been able to release a tiny piece of her pain, no matter how small. But she was glad for Desmera Redwyne and the ease of being her.

          Desmera Redwyne had never lost everyone. She laughed easily, especially with her cousins. She could channel her energy into wedding preparations and fretting over Margaery’s wellbeing in her impending marriage. Her hair was red-gold and shined like fire in the sun. Almost like a Tully. With a short breath, Desmera pushed that thought from her mind.

          As if the gods were watching, there was a knock on the door and Mera was dragged from her mind and given a distraction.

           “Would you get that?” Margaery called from the other room. Desmera opened the door to the chambers and a maid gave a small curtsey as she stepped inside. The girl held a tray of tea, the scent of which accosted Mera’s nose as the girl scurried by.

          The mint caught her first, followed by the floral, earthy smell that reminded Desmera of weeds. A bitter taste filled her mouth and she nearly stumbled. She hardly noticed the maid leave Margaery’s chambers, for she could hardly find herself.

          I know that smell, her mind was wailing. She fought against the thoughts, fought for Desmera, the sweet, smiling girl. But all she could find was the taste of weeds in her mouth, the feeling of her stomach roiling, and the sticky feeling of blood on her hands. No, no, no. Not now, not here.

          She fought back against the memories, willing them to stay locked inside her mind. It was Margaery’s footsteps that brought her back to herself. “Mera?” The girl called.

           “I’m alright,” she said quietly. In truth she felt unmoored, like a ship left to drift out to sea, in neither one place nor another. But Margaery did not need to know that. Instead, Desmera pointed toward the tea. “What is that?”

          Margery dismissed the tea with a wave of her hand. “Oh, that’s just for Elinor.” At Desmera’s blank look, she added, “It’s moon tea. Apparently, El’s been enjoying herself a bit too much since our arrival.” Margaery laughed quietly and returned to her dressing room.

          Desmera’s fingers found the chairback, holding herself steady. She tightened her grip as if her willpower could prevent the contents of her stomach from finding their way up her throat. But she had to know for certain.

          With shaking hands, she poured a tiny sip of the tea into a cup and fought her own terror to bring it to her lips. As the earthy, weedy taste hit her tongue, a single silent sob racked her body. She brought her hands to her stomach and pressed. It wasn’t enough for them to kill them all, they had to take you too.

           She allowed herself a moment to grieve, to feel that tiny part of that girl she’d been before. And then she tucked it away like a secret note hidden in the back of a book.

           By the time Margaery returned, dressed and refreshed, with Elinor at her side, Desmera had put herself back together. Mera looked at Elinor with a mischievous expression and motioned toward her waiting tea. “You simply must tell us everything.”

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          Desmera stifled a yawn as one of Margaery’s great-aunts droned on about the joys of matrimony and the bright future destined for their little rose. Beside Mera, Elinor nudged her full cup of tea toward her cousin with a smirk.

           It had been nearly dawn before the trio had collapsed into Margaery’s overlarge bed and finally slept. The eve of the wedding had been full of last-minute preparations followed by the beginnings of festivities. When they’d finally be able to escape, Margaery had found she couldn’t sleep, and Elinor and Mera had been only too happy to stay up and assuage their cousin’s nerves.

           Of the three, only Desmera appeared to show signs of exhaustion. But then, she had been running herself ragged for a fortnight. She took on any task, no matter how small, if only to keep her moving and focused on someone else.

          The woman’s droning finally came to a halt, and Margaery quickly clapped her hands together before anyone else could offer their congratulations. “Well, I do believe the time has nearly arrived.” She looked to her grandmother for confirmation. Olenna nodded. “This has been a lovely morning, and I thank you all dearly for the gifts. I do hope you all intend to stay for a time after the festivities, it has been such a pleasure to spend these weeks in the company of my dearest family.”

          Elinor and Desmera shared a grin. Margaery’s words were pretty and sweet, befitting their future queen, but the girls both knew their cousin was lying through her teeth. Many of the cousins and aunts would be returning to the Reach after the wedding, and it could not come sooner. When they were gone, Margaery’s reign would truly begin. She would form her own household and gain a bit of freedom from their family’s prying eyes. Even if gaining one freedom meant losing others.

           “Is Ser Caswell riding in your litter?” Elinor asked as they made their way toward the courtyard. “And is there any space for me?”

           Mera laughed quietly. “Yes, he is, and no there is not.”

           Elinor pretended to pout. Mera had watched her cousin flirt shamelessly with half the court, but none so much as Aylward Caswell. Her own betrothal aside, Elinor certainly found ways to entertain herself. Not that Aylward had shown a bit of interest.

          “You keep him all to yourself, Mera,” Elinor reprimanded. “It’s very unkind.”

           In fact, Desmera had seen very little of Ser Caswell since their arrival at court. He’d spent far more time with Garlan Tyrell and his other former friends. In fact, he was with them now, after attending the Queen’s breakfast to pay Joffrey his respects.

            Elinor grinned as the knight appeared, but tempered her flirtations in front of Garlan. “Ser Caswell, lovely to see you. I do hope you will find time to have tea with Mera and I after the festivities are passed. One does need to find ways to pass the time in this place.”

          Aylward gave Elinor a polite nod, before turning to Desmera. He motioned toward their waiting litter. “After you, my lady.”

          Mera waved goodbye to her cousin, before settling inside the litter. As soon as the door was closed behind them, she let her head fall against the cushioned wall and sighed. “How was breakfast?” Aylward asked with a knowing look.

          “Impossibly long,” Mera groaned. “I can hardly imagine a seventy-seven-course feast. I’ll have gone grey by the end of it.”

          The litter began moving, and Mera briefly considered dozing, but the pull of the city was too much to bear. She tugged open the curtains and peered out at the streets of King’s Landing. The bustle of city life had not stopped for the wedding, if anything it had only grown more pressing. Sure, the common folk were struggling during this time of war, but they took the excuse to celebrate along with the court.

          Tyrell green and gold decorated storefronts, and vendors hawked rose-shaped sweets. There were signs of the Lannisters as well: a hint of red, a loaf of bread painted to look like a lion, mane and all. But even the celebration could not make the smallfolk forget who sat the throne and neglected the concerns of those below them. Mera was glad to be dressed in green today.

          As the litter continued through the streets, the calming rhythm pulled at Desmera’s eyelids. She fought to stay alert, to take in the sights she hardly got to see. But in the end, she found herself being lulled into sleep. Across from her, Aylward pulled the curtains closed.

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          The ceremony passed uneventfully. The Great Sept was beautiful, as were the couple who stood in the middle of it. Desmera and Aylward had paid their respects, and then returned to the Red Keep to prepare for the feast.

          Mera emerged from her rooms in a burgundy gown slashed with azure. She ran her fingers over the delicate stitching that hinted at vines and berries along the sleeves. “You look lovely,” Ser Caswell said. Desmera touched her hair, carefully checking each of the golden pins holding her braids in place. “Like a queen.”

           Desmera’s eyes snapped to her knight. There was no one here but them, the servants had all gone to enjoy themselves. But Mera could never quite shake the feeling that the very walls of the castle had ears. “Like the cousin of a queen,” she said pointedly. Aylward offered an arm without retort, and Desmera took it, allowing the knight to lead her into the hall.

          The music poured from the throne room as they neared the doors, followed by the sounds of laughter. Mera closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the moment. Then the herald was announcing their names and a page was escorting them to their respective seats. Desmera was seated near the end of the dais with Margaery’s other ladies. Aylward was placed at one of the other tables with the heads of vassal houses, as Lorent had not come from Bitterbridge for the event.

          Desmera scanned the crowd, taking in familiar faces. Arywn Oakheart was missing as well. One of her sons had come in her place, a younger one if Mera recalled correctly. He had arrived only a few days past, she knew from Aylward’s meeting with the man. The Lannisters were likely to take it as a slight, but Mera supposed Arywn Oakheart was far too old to care much about offending Lannisters.

           Mera looked down the dais, finding Sansa closer toward center. Sansa looked stiff next to her clearly intoxicated husband, but she was too polite to cause a scene. The feast began with a toast and a healthy pour of wine, which Desmera sipped from carefully. Though a part of her wished to join Tyrion in his intoxication, she’d long learned how to avoid being in her cups in the midst of those she did not trust.

            The feast flew by in a whirl of music and entertainment and never-ending dishes. Desmera joked with Elinor, and Elinor’s betrothed, Alyn Ambrose. Alyn drank more than the girls, and Elinor teased him affectionately. For all her flirting, it was clear Elinor and Alyn would make a happy couple one day.

           Desmera’s attention drifted back to the entertainers, just as a pair of dwarves trotted down the hall. One sat on the back of a dog, the other a fat pig. Each of them bared jousting lances and shields bigger than themselves. The others on the dais found the sight hilarious, even Mera’s companions. But Desmera could not pull her eyes from the shields. One was painted with the grey and white direwolf of House Stark.

           Mera took a rather large sip from her goblet, before standing up. Elinor reached for her hand, concerned. “The privy,” she said, by way of explanation. Elinor allowed her to slip away, more interested in the diversions before her.

          Desmera ducked behind a pillar and pressed her back against the cool stone. She took a deep breath. A hand landed on her shoulder and she jumped. Mera looked up, expecting to see Elinor or Ser Caswell, but instead it was Loras. “Are you alright?”

            She looked at him closely and knew that he knew. Aylward had said as much. “A joke,” she said quietly. “All that we fought for, reduced to a joke.” Loras squeezed her shoulder. His eyes looked tired; she knew that look well. The tiredness didn’t come from lack of sleep, it came from the weight of pretending. “But you know that.”

          “It gets easier,” he said softly. She didn’t know Loras well, but she knew he’d been close with Renly. “But this isn’t helping you.” She knew the this she was referring to. The burgundy dress, and red-gold hair, her presence in this throne room at all. But she had felt better these past weeks, no matter what anyone else thought.

           Margaery was the closest friend she had who wasn’t dead or turned traitor, and Elinor had become a light as well. She had felt normal almost, like the girl she was. And seeing Sansa each day, no matter how briefly, it reminded her all was not lost. They may be trapped now, but it would not be that way forever. They would get through this.

           “It isn’t that heavy,” she said quietly. “The pretending.” Loras did not look convinced. She gave him a sad smile. “I’ve learned how to carry it; I’ve been doing it all my life.

          Before Loras could argue, a shout went up from the crowd. These were not the sounds of revelry, but true shock and terror. Every muscle in her body tensed as she fought to stay present, to not lose herself to her memories.

           Loras pulled her forward to see what was happening. Nearly every guest was on their feet, looking toward the dais. “The king!” Someone shouted. “Save the king!” Loras darted through the crowd. His own memories clearly urging him into action, whereas hers kept her frozen to the spot he left her.

            There was a wail, Cersei’s, and she knew. The King was dead. 

 

Chapter 36: Jaime

          Jaime turned the corner, and nearly toppled over the girl. After the conversations he’d had with Cersei and his father, he was nearly at wits end. But when the girl looked up at him, they both froze. Even with the red-gold hair, it took only a moment for Jaime to place her. She still had the look about her, even in Tyrell green with a golden rose pin in her hair. Rhaella’s daughter come home.

          Jaime grabbed her by the wrist before she could speak and led her down the hall. When they reached the White Sword Tower, he turned to get a look at her. She wasn’t scared; in fact, she wasn’t much of anything. He’d seen that look before, in purple eyes just like hers. Resignation. “I believe you had a beard the last I saw you,” she said.

          He held up his stump. “And two hands as well.”

          Amina’s jaw dropped a little. “I’m sorry.”

          “You’ve lost more than me,” he reminded her. Still her eyes remained empty. “They said you died with the rest.”

          “I did,” she said. Jaime could believe it, she looked half a ghost and half the Lady Stark who had raised her. This was not the girl who had burst into his cell and threatened to pour broth on his face, this was not the little queen with the dragon’s temper.

          He could only think of Rhaella. Of the way he’d stood outside the door while King Aerys had made her cry, and the bruises and the burns Aerys left her with. The way she’d stared vacantly into the sunset when her ship had left for Dragonstone, never once turning back toward the castle. If Rhaella could see her daughter now, would she weep? Or did she know? She had always seemed to know, and yet no one listened.

          Amina stood there, with her mother’s eyes, and he wondered if she had the same dreams Rhaella did. Jaime motioned for her to sit. “I haven’t eaten a proper meal in weeks. Join me?”

          The girl shrugged and took a seat. Even sulking and dressed like someone she was not; Amina still found a way to appear at home in his Lord Commander’s chambers. She looks more at ease here than I feel, Jaime realized humorlessly.

          They sat in silence until their meal arrived: potted hare, cheese and onion pie, some brothy soup, and fig tarts dipped in honey. Amina pinched a tart between two fingers and took a delicate bite. She closed her eyes for a moment before sticking the rest in her mouth whole. It was the first thing she’d done that reminded him of the girl he’d met at Winterfell. Jaime poured them each wine, and cut into the pie, releasing a scent that made his stomach rumble.

          Amina raised an eyebrow but took the proffered goblet. “What happened to your hand?” She asked finally.

          “Vargo Hoat,” Jaime said simply. Amina didn’t ask for elaboration, so Jaime didn’t offer it. He did not want to relive those days again.

          “Two Lannister boys were killed because Catelyn let you go,” she said quietly. “Did you know?” Jaime sat his fork down and took a sip of his own wine. The boys had been cousins, younger sons of Kevan and Genna. Jaime couldn’t remember their names.

          “Lord Karstark died for that,” Amina continued. “Even now I can’t fault Robb that decision. Rickard sealed his own fate.” She let out a short sigh. “I can’t fault Rickard for wanting revenge either. Grief addles the mind.”

          “You wish Lady Stark hadn’t let me go, is that it? If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have lost the Karstarks. You wouldn’t have lost the war,” Jaime challenged. “If you want to blame me for it all, be my guest.” He’d taken the blame for much worse.

          Amina stared intently at her plate. The minutes seemed to drag on before she spoke. “I wish I could, but we didn’t need the Karstarks,” she admitted. “We needed the Freys. It was me who drove them right into your father’s hands.”

          “Amina…” Jaime trailed off. He’d heard enough to know the sequence of events. Robb had spurned the Freys to marry Amina, then made an attempt at peace. The Freys had lured them into a trap and killed them all at Edmure Tully’s wedding. The Bolton’s had participated with a Lannister blessing. Jaime wondered if Amina knew of the Bolton’s involvement. If she knew how deep the betrayal went. Maybe if she did, she wouldn’t shoulder all the guilt herself. The Boltons were always going to turn their backs on the Starks, and Walder Frey needed only the smallest push.

          Across from him, Amina filled her goblet to the brim. “One day, I will put a blade through Roose Bolton’s heart.” Then again, maybe she was well aware. Amina returned to her plate, and they lapsed into silence.

          Guilt was a curious thing. No matter how much evidence to the contrary, guilt would always point a finger back at you.

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          When they’d finished their meal, or as much of it as either of them could stomach, Jamie had left Amina to see about Tyrion and the disgrace Cersei had made of his brothers in white. When he returned, Amina had made herself at home.

          She was sitting by the window, legs draped over the arm of her chair. A flagon of wine sat at her feet; half empty from the way she lifted it easily with one hand. She offered him a full glass, but he waved it away. He had asked about her, Desmera. Everyone had said the same: she was lovely, kind, always smiling, Margaery’s favorite. Since he’d found her, she’d been none of those things.

          “People will wonder where you are,” he warned her. “You’re meant to be Margaery’s lady, her dear cousin.” Amina shot him a scalding look. “We’ve looked for Sansa, but there’s been no word of her. Has she contacted you?”

          “No,” came her curt reply. “And if she had, I wouldn’t tell you. I wish I’d poisoned the boy myself for the things he did to her. But Sansa wouldn’t have, even beaten she was sweet.”

          Her words sparked his temper. Jaime grabbed her under the arm and pulled her out of the chair. Amina stumbled to her feet. He dragged her in front of the mirror. Her hair seemed duller now, more brown than red. She looked almost common, less like a Tully and not at all like the Beldish girl she’d once pretended to be. “What would Robb Stark say if he could see you now?”

          “He would say he broke a promise, he would say but at least I’m alive.” Amina all but spat the words. “I killed him, I killed them all.” She whirled on him suddenly. “Do you think you’re Gods cursed, Jaime? For killing your king, for loving your sister?” Amina gave him no time to answer. “Love is a curse.” Then she was crying, angry tears.

          Jaime let her go and sank into the chair he’d pulled her out of, too exhausted to fight her now. Amina followed, but only to pick up her wine. He snatched the flagon away before she could reach it, and the motion threw her off balance. Amina stumbled into his lap, and instead of leaping away she lay her head on his chest. “I want to go home.”

          He held her gently, at any moment she would realize who’s arms she’d fallen into and pull away. But the moments passed, and Amina stayed. “I’m not going let you drink yourself to death,” he cautioned. “You were meant for more than that.”

          Amina’s shoulder’s shook in a sob. Her words came out as a whisper, “They poisoned my child.” Jaime stilled. “It wasn’t enough to kill them all, they had to take everything I had.”

          Tywin had done that; his father had done that. Jaime had never questioned if the atrocities the Mountain visited upon Elia Martell and her children had been at Tywin’s order. He did now. What sort of man ordered the rape and murder of women and children? What sort of man ordered a child poisoned in the womb?

          “I’m not going to let you drink yourself to death,” he repeated with more conviction. Amina tightened her arms around his neck as if he were a raft and she were drowning at sea. Jaime found his own arms wrapping around her, holding her close.

          What had they done to help her? Ser Caswell, Margaery Tyrell, the ones who’d known the truth. Amina was broken, and instead of putting her back together, they’d swept the pieces under the rug. All he could see when he looked at her was Rhaella.

          Jaime had been one of those people to turn a blind eye to his Queen’s pain. He had sat by while Rhaella had withered away in front of them. He would not do that again.

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          When the summons came from Cersei, Jaime was surprised. Days had passed since their meeting in the sept, and she had done her best to avoid being alone with him since.

          But when he stepped through the door into Cersei’s solar, he discovered they were not, in fact, alone. Amina said at the table, her back as straight as an arrow. Seven Hells.

          “Ah, Lady Desmera, what a surprise,” Jaime said, attempting to flatten his tone into one of nonchalance. Amina fixed him with an unreadable look. Then she flashed a smile that as all show. There was no trace of the genuine lightness he’d once seen in Winterfell.

          “I was rather surprised to find myself here as well,” she said, looking back to Cersei with a cooler smile. Amina’s hair was newly dyed and gleamed red-gold once more. She wore an azure dress slashed with burgundy; her disguise once again complete.

          Cersei looked between them with a feline gaze. Jaime did not like the looks of this one bit. “Oh, don’t be so modest, my dear. We all know where you’ve been spending your time these past days.” She raised one perfect eyebrow and flicked her attention toward Jaime. “Do join us, brother.”

          Jaime sat cautiously at the table. Amina’s fingers tapped her goblet methodically. It was the same gesture she’d done on her knife belt when she’d confronted him in Riverrun’s cells. Jaime looked at his sister, marveling at how well matched she had found herself.

          Amina tilted her head. “I’m honored to know my comings and goings have caught your interest, your grace. I would have thought the trial would be consuming your time,” she paused before adding, “and the mourning.” It was a low blow, but he was sure Amina knew exactly where it would land.

          Cersei’s eyes narrowed slightly. “My dear brother has been held captive and maimed, of course I have kept an eye on White Sword Tower.”

          “Have you seen the Lord Commander’s suites, your grace?” Amina asked, sipping from her goblet. “The view is lovely; one can see all the way to the sea.” If it were anyone else before him, Jaime might have been amused, but he was far too apprehensive for that now.

          Cersei smiled, though Jaime was under no pretenses there was anything genuine about it. “I’m pleased to hear you appreciate a good view. You’ll take to the Rock nicely.”

          “The Rock,” Jaime repeated, dumbly. This purpose of this surprising meeting began to fall into place.

          “Don’t look so surprised, Jaime. You are our father’s heir. He wants you back home, released from your vows, and married to a fitting bride.” Cersei swept a hand toward Amina as if to illustrate her point.

          Amina’s fingers stilled on her goblet, the only sign of her own surprise. “Has my father heard of this?”

          “If he hasn’t, he will be soon,” Cersei replied, before turning her attentions back to Jaime. “Really, Jaime, you’ve walked right into a corner. Barely back for a week, and already causing a scandal?”

          Jaime didn’t bother to ask how the topic of his bedwarmers had usurped the impending trial for regicide. If Cersei wanted something known, it would be. All this to spite him for daring to consider a future where they didn’t have to hide. Amina was nothing but a causality of Cersei’s vindictiveness, which only made it worse. A fitting bride. If Cersei knew the girl she had caught in this scheme…

          Amina sat her goblet on the table definitively. “Well, this is a rather unorthodox way to announce a betrothal.” She pushed back from the table and rose. “It was lovely to speak with you, your grace. But I must be seeing my grandmother now.”

          Amina curtsied to Cersei with all the grace of a lady of the court and left the room without another look. Jaime gave his sister withering look, and she returned it with a smile. “Really, Jaime. Desmera Redwyne?”

          Jaime didn’t bother to answer, just shook his head and followed Amina into the hall. She was waiting by the window, looking down on the gardens below. As he neared, she began walking and did not stop until they had reached White Sword Tower.

           Jaime hastily begun an apology. “I promise you I had no idea.”

          Amina pressed two fingers to each of her temples and closed her eyes. “Margaery and Aylward will be livid. Paxter will hear about this, not even Olenna can keep your sister from seeing to that. I’m finished here, I can’t stay.”

          She walked to the balcony and leaned on the rail, looking down at the city below. “You could,” Jaime said before he could stop himself.

          Amina laughed, a single sharp sound. “Have you forgotten? I am not Desmera Redwyne.”

          “Beldain is worth as much as the Arbor, and a Stark widow is certainly worth more than a Redwyne.” He wasn’t sure what he was trying to convince them of, or why. Jaime joined her on the balcony. She didn’t so much as spare him a look.

          “Tywin Lannister has already tried to kill me once; I do not intend to let him try again.”

          “He wouldn’t lay a hand on you,” Jaime said confidently. “Not if you were my wife.”

          Amina turned to face him. “You don’t want to marry me, Jaime. You don’t want Casterly Rock.” She gathered a fistful of his white cloak. “You want this gods forsaken cloak.”

          Jaime held up his stump. “Maybe Tywin is right, maybe I should give it up. Maybe I’m naïve to believe I could ever be the person I was before. I can’t even swing a sword. Mace Tyrell’s fool could best me in a fight.”

            Amina’s brow furrowed. “You are more than your sword, Jaime Lannister. Don’t ever let them convince you of that.”

          Jaime felt as if she’d punched him in the gut. He hadn’t realized just how much he needed to hear those words until she’d said them. Amina seemed to understand this and put her hand atop his on the railing. She squeezed his fingers lightly.

          As long as he’d been at court, rumors had followed, but he’d always known the truth. Now, the rumors were the truth. He was useless with his left hand, and his brothers knew it. They were only a hairsbreadth away from deeming him replaceable. But who were they to make that choice for him? Green boys, disgraced knights, and men of dubious pedigree.

          If Tywin wanted this cloak stripped, he would have to do more than allow Cersei to stir up lies into a scandal. Aerys had forced this cloak upon his shoulders, and damned if he would have someone else force it off.

          Jaime flashed Amina a smile. “Are you sure you don’t want to be my wife?”

          “Ask me that when Cersei hasn’t just kicked you out of her bed,” Amina said with a smirk.

          He laughed. “Fair enough.”

 

 

Chapter 37: The Serpentess

          Ellaria leaned toward the mirror as she painted her lips a deep ochre. She had to admire the chambers they’d been given in the Red Keep. They were nothing compared to her rooms at the Water Gardens, but then the Dornish set their expectations high. These Crownlanders had a certain elegance she could appreciate, nonetheless.

          In the front room, Oberyn was greeting their guests. Ellaria slinked toward them, pausing to watch her beloved fill a cup of wine for the copper-haired girl. Desmera Redwyne sipped from the goblet and smiled. Ellaria was surprised to see a girl used to the Arbor’s red water sipping a Dornish red with such ease. Meanwhile, Jaime Lannister hardly touched his own cup.

          Oberyn glanced toward the bedroom and noticed Ellaria in the doorway. “Ah, and this beauty is Ellaria Sand, the love of my life and mother to four of my daughters.”

          “Perfect little angels,” Ellaria added with a soft smirk. She and Oberyn shared a conspiratorial look. It was likely the younger girls were terrorizing the Water Gardens as they spoke. Ellaria had almost suggested bringing them to court if only to see the Queen’s reaction. One day Ellaria’s girls would be as fearsome as the eldest Sand Snakes. If only that thought didn’t worry me quite so much.

          Desmera looked between Ellaria and Oberyn with a curious look. Ellaria was used to the contempt of northern nobility, but Desmera’s look was not full of venom. The copper-haired girl looked almost wistful.

          “Well, now that we’re all here…” Oberyn began as he took his seat. “Perhaps the two of you can finally enlighten us as to the purpose of this meeting?” The question was directed to the Lannister, but it was the girl who spoke.

          “I wish that I weren’t meeting you under these circumstances, Prince Oberyn,” she said softly. “But I’m afraid I must ask for your help.” She glanced at Jaime, and he nodded. “You see, I came to King’s Landing under false pretenses, and baring a false name. Most know me as Amina Corrigan, or perhaps Amina Stark.”

          Ellaria and Oberyn shared a look. Robb Stark’s widow, the Queen in the North, presumed dead along with most of her men. The girl—Amina—sat very still, waiting for someone else to speak. “Did you kill Joffrey Baratheon?” Oberyn asked finally.

          Amina looked somewhat affronted by the question, but Jaime looked unsurprised. “I did not and neither did Sansa.”

          Oberyn nodded. “I expected as much, though I would not blame either of you if you had.” A dark look passed over Amina’s face. Ellaria suspected that a part of the girl wished she had been the one to kill the young king, and not a small part. “However, I don’t believe Tywin or Cersei would feel the same way.”

          Oberyn paused for a sip of wine, his eyes never leaving the girl’s. “So you seek safety in Dorne.” Amina nodded. “Why Dorne? Why not return to the North or the Riverlands? Surely there are still men loyal to your late husband who would be thrilled to see you alive.”

          Amina was quiet for a moment. “Those who have not pledged loyalty to Roose Bolton are either dead or under siege. They have their own battles to fight, I won’t draw them into another until I’m sure they will survive it.”

          Oberyn nodded, appraising. “My brother has done his best to keep out of this war.” There was a hint of bitterness in his words. “Why should Dorne shelter you now and risk the Lannister’s sword?” His eyes slid to Jaime at that.

          “Because I want justice for Elia and her children as well,” Amina said quietly. Her eyes were cast down toward her wine, as if she could find her words at the bottom of the goblet. “Because I lived when they did not.”

          Amina folded her hands together and put them in her lap, as if to hide them from shaking. The room was so quiet, Ellaria could hear distant voices in the gardens far below. Amina’s eyes slid toward Jaime’s and lingered. Ellaria suspected if she looked under the table, she would find him clasping her hand in his.

          Finally, Amina nodded and took a deep breath. “My mother was Rhaella Targaryen, and my father was the Mad King. I was spared Rhaenys and Aegon’s fate by mere chance. Eddard Stark found me and saved me. For sixteen years I have pretended to be someone whom I am not.”

          “I have always been told that House Martell were loyal to my family until the end and after. I would hope that that history still holds some weight for Prince Doran. Enough to buy me shelter if nothing else.”

          Oberyn looked as stricken as Ellaria felt. “I will take you to Dorne after the trial is done,” he said with a nod. “Doran will help you; I will see to it.”

          Ellaria excused herself to the balcony where she watched as Oberyn saw Amina and Jaime to the door. Oberyn took Amina’s hand and gave it a small squeeze. “You have your mother’s eyes,” he said as he let her go.

          Oberyn turned back to look at Ellaria, leaning against the railing. “She seems delicate,” Ellaria mused. “A pretty thing with sharp edges, but fragile, nonetheless.”

          “I would not be so quick to underestimate her,” Oberyn said, as he joined Ellaria on the balcony. “The callouses on her hands did not come from sewing. The girl can take care of herself.”

          Ellaria frowned. “Grief can be a dangerous force to reckon with.”

          Oberyn let out a bitter laugh. “I know a thing or two about that.” He placed his hand over Ellaria’s on the railing. “The girl is Doran’s problem, not ours. We’ll see what he can do with her.”

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          Ellaria had taken it upon herself to tailor Amina’s new Dornish dresses. It wasn’t that she distrusted her own servants, but it paid to be cautious, especially in a lion’s den such as King’s Landing.

          She knelt at the girl’s feet, pinning the hem. Amina was a good half foot shorter than Ellaria. That meant she would need to hem at least a dozen gowns before they departed. She had to remind herself that this was her own idea and a necessity, even if Oberyn thought it overly cautious.

          “Tell me about the Starks,” Ellaria said, to distract herself while she worked. Amina startled, only avoiding a pin to the ankle by Ellaria’s quick reflexes. “How did they treat you?”

          The girl smiled softly. “Very well, they were as close to parents as I ever knew. Ned found me in an overturned crib– I still have a scar here…” Amina touched the back of her head, just above her neck. “I was so quiet he feared I was dead. Even then I knew how to hide.” She sighed. “They waited as long as they could to tell me about my birth. The truth was heavy, they gave me a childhood free of that.”

          Ellaria hummed as she secured another pin. “You’ve spent more of your life as a Corrigan than not.”

          “Sometimes I wish they’d never told me, though I suppose I would have asked questions one day. A true Corrigan wouldn’t need to dye their hair to appear Beldish.” Amina shifted on her feet, and Ellaria tugged the dress to keep her in place.

          “Perhaps if they had been colder to me, all this could have been prevented,” Amina mused. “It would have been easier to leave if I’d been treated as a bastard or a prisoner.” She frowned and Ellaria knew this was not the first time her thoughts had gone down this past.

          Ellaria scoffed. “The Mother herself could have prevented this war. The winds were stirring long before your birth.” She finished the hem and stood up, towering above the smaller woman. “In my years I have learned that some things are inevitable, terrible as they may be. And we mere mortals are far more resilient than we seem.”

          Amina was quiet for a moment. She raised her arms to indicate where the dress pulled around her bust. What she lacked in height she made up in curves and muscle. Ellaria began marking seams to let out.

          “Maybe so,” Amina said finally, “But I can’t help but question every decision I made these past months. I had the warning and still I failed.”

          "I would hate to know the future,” Ellaria said with a sniff. “What is the point? The gods will do what they will, and we will pay the price. Seems too heavy a burden for anyone to bear. No one was meant to know so much.”

          “It’s paralyzing.” Amina shook her head. “I don’t know how Kaeshai lives with it.” Ellaria glanced up at the mention of an unfamiliar name, but the girl fell silent again.

          Ellaria finished her work and motioned for Amina to disrobe. Ellaria poured them each a glass of Dornish red, while the girl donned her costume of green and gold. “And what of Jaime Lannister?” Ellaria asked.

          Amina took the glass from Ellaria’s hand with a questioning look. Either the girl was an exceptional liar, or Ellaria had missed the mark. “He saved me,” she said candidly. “I lost everything; I was a shell. I could not see a way through it. Even Margaery and Aylward seemed so distant. But Jaime pushed past all that, he refused to let me dig myself any deeper. I’d given up. He reminded me that I’m far too strong for that.”

          Amina’s voice was soft, but there was a fierceness in the way she spoke. It was as if she were the one protecting the Lannister instead of the other way around.

          “Well, it’s a good thing your path led you to us. Anyone who can drink a Dornish red as quick as that deserves to see the Water Gardens at least once.” Amina looked sheepishly at the cup she’d drained. “Now, go on before anyone thinks to ask after Desmera Redwyne.”

Chapter 38: Aylward

          The trial of Tyrion Lannister ended rather shockingly, much to the glee of the citizens of King’s Landing. It was the only thing to be talked of, from the alehouses to the gardens of the Red Keep. A trial by combat would be held to prove the dwarf’s innocence with Oberyn Martell as his champion.

          Aylward had begun to doubt Amina’s safety with the Dornish, they were seemingly all insane. Oberyn was facing Gregor Clegane. He was the largest man Aylward had ever had the displeasure of laying eyes on. Anyone with sense would be terrified, but last Aylward had seen of Oberyn, the man had been laughing. Even Ellaria seemed more confident in her paramour’s abilities, than concerned.

          Aylward and Amina joined the Tyrell party on their walk to the trial grounds. He had tried in vain to convice Amina to stay in her rooms, but she’d insisted she must be there to cheer Oberyn on. Of course, this meant she was currently not speaking to him for even having the audacity to question her. Aylward couldn’t even fault her petulance. It was more than he’d gotten out of her these past weeks.

          Amina went ahead to walk with Margaery and Elinor, while Aylward fell in step with Garlan and Loras. He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed their company. Falling back in among the Tyrells took him back to his childhood. Though nothing could be quite the same as it was before. They were older now and carrying their own loses.

          “I hate to see you leave us so soon, old friend,” Garland said, patting Aylward on the back. “It’s been too long since we’ve all been together.” He laughed softly and slung his arms around Aylward and Loras. “I do miss the days we spent terrorizing Highgarden.”

          Loras scoffed. “The days the two of you spent terrorizing Highgarden, you mean. I spent my days training.” He slung out an arm toward the walls of the Red Keep. “And look where it got me.”

          “A terrible job,” Garlan muttered under his breath. Aylward had to agree with the sentiment, he hadn’t enjoyed his time in the capital one bit. All other concerns aside, he was more than happy to be leaving King’s Landing in a few days’ time.

          Further down the hall, a voice called Garlan’s name. He sighed and stepped away from the other men. “I do believe I hear my dear lady wife calling.” To Loras he added, “See that Margaery doesn’t stay too long. She shouldn’t see this.” Loras nodded and watched as his brother walked away.

          When Garlan was fully out of earshot, Loras turned back to Aylward with a frown. “She shouldn’t be here either. You weren’t with her at the wedding. I was. No matter how healed she claims to be, she isn’t.”

          Aylward agreed, but he’d already had that argument once today. “She made her decision. You try forcing her to do anything she doesn’t want to do.” Loras looked disappointed but didn’t press the issue further.

          Up ahead, Amina and Margaery had ducked onto a balcony. Elinor was nowhere to be seen, likely off flirting with some knight. Better him than me, Aylward thought. Elinor had hardly left him alone since he’d arrived. He had to pity her betrothed, that girl was a terror.

          Aylward went to join the women, but Loras stopped him. They stood just close enough to hear their hushed voices. Margaery took Amina’s hands in hers. Both girls had tears in their eyes. They were saying their goodbyes.

          “But perhaps this doesn’t have to be goodbye forever. We’d love for you to come to Highgarden to marry Willas.” Amina’s face went blank as a slab of granite. “When I marry Tommen and become Queen, we can help you take back the North and find your family.”

          Amina pulled her hands back from Margaery’s. “You mean, you want me out of the way while you find another crown for your head.” Her tone was so icy, Aylward cringed.

          A burst of Margaery’s own temper flared, and she lurched forward. “Min–“ She caught herself, took a breath, and started again. “That isn’t what I meant.” Her words were short and clipped. Aylward knew her well enough to know she was biting back her hurt. “Would it be so bad to be Lady of Highgarden? To be my sister?”

          Amina’s steel didn’t soften at the words. “I won’t be told who to marry again.”

          “And you think Dorne will spare you of that fate?” Margaery snapped. “You’re crawling to them, begging for scraps. The Martells are no saviors, and Jaime Lannister is as treacherous as they come.”

          “You don’t know him,” Amina said with a shake of her head. “And you certainly do not know me.” Amina shot away from Margaery and resumed her march toward the trial grounds.

          “Ah, that could have gone better,” Loras muttered.

          Aylward shot his friend a glance. “You knew about this?”

          Loras shrugged. “It was Olenna’s idea, she put it into Margaery’s head it was the best choice for everyone. Not that either of them bothered to tell Willas.”

          At the end of the hall, Amina was almost out of sight. Margaery stood bereft, staring after her. Aylward shook his head exasperated. “That will not mend easily. Of all the things to spring on her…Both of you should have known better.” Loras raised his hands in surrender.

          “I only wanted…” Margaery trailed off. Tears brimmed in her eyes, but her fists were clenched. Anger and disappointment warred on her face.

          Aylward put a hand on her shoulder. “You know better than anyone what it feels like to have your choices taken from you.”

          Margaery slumped. “She’ll be alright, won’t she? In Dorne?”

          “I’ll make sure of it.”

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          Amina sat in silence as the trial by combat began. Her eyes darted, following Oberyn’s every move. He could almost see her calculating what her own moves would be, where she would slice and jab. For a moment, Aylward wasn’t worried about her. This was the Amina he knew. A fighter.

          “About Margaery…” He said quietly. Amina shushed him. “I know you’re upset with her, but–“

          “I don’t wish to waste time discussing absurdities,” she snapped. Her eyes flicking to him for only a moment before they were back on Prince Oberyn. “Let me watch.”

          Aylward gave up and turned his attention back to the fight. Clegane was beginning to tire, and Oberyn was pushing his advantages. He was quick as a whip and the spear let him keep his distance from the giant he faced.

          Finally, Oberyn found an opening and plunged the spear into the Mountain’s armpit. Amina sucked in a breath. “He’s actually going to do it.”

          “Say her name!” Oberyn screamed, loud enough to be heard from their seats above. “Elia Martell!”

          Amina clenched her hands into fists. She’d been but a babe when Elia and her children had been killed, yet it was clear she carried guilt for being the one to survive. She wanted the Mountain to pay too.

          The fight veered further into the crowd. They had to stand for even the slightest view over the mass of fleeing spectators. Oberyn disappeared suddenly. “No, no, no,” Amina whispered. Far below, Ellaria wailed.

          The crowd parted and Aylward caught a glimpse of Oberyn’s mangled form. He yanked Amina away before she could see. “It’s over. We need to go.” For once, Amina didn’t argue, just let him pull her as far away from the bloody scene as they could go.

Chapter 39: The Prophetess

          Kaeshai's chambers were in absolute chaos. She stood in the entryway to the room, gaping at the sight. After a moment, she stepped through the door and slammed it behind her. It looked as if a windstorm had gone through the space. Kaeshai cursed under her breath in several languages.

          In the back room, a shrill, lilting voice sang on, oblivious to the fact she was no longer alone. Kaeshai pressed fingers into her eyes to stave off the migraine that was coming on. "Lidiya."

          The girl's voice cut off immediately, as it did a glass jar fell out of the air. Kaeshai barely caught it before it could crash to the ground and shatter, spilling the priceless herbs inside.

          "I am afraid I got a bit carried away." Lidiya was younger than Kaeshai by at least half a decade, and it was clear in her unpredictability. The girl's enslavement had only lasted a few years. She hadn't yet learned to rein herself in, make herself smaller, safer. Nor had she had the opportunity to explore the full extent of the magic she apparently possessed.

          "Over and over, I've told you that we must start from the beginning," Kaeshai scolded, as calmly as she could manage, given the state of her living quarters. "Aeromancers are rare, especially outside of Asshai, I've only ever read of your kind in books." She spared a glance at her overturned bookshelf. "Very rare, expensive, books."

         Lidiya rushed toward the shelf and immediately began setting it to rights by hand. "You see, I was studying, but it is so stuffy in these rooms. I thought a bit of breeze was called for."

          "And so you let loose a tornado in my home..." Kaeshai finished.

          Lidiya's golden skin flushed. "I tried to sing it all to rights, as you saw. But I was not quick enough." Her Ghiscari accent peppered her words. She'd been born and raised in Meereen, but when her family had realized what she was capable of, they'd sold her to the highest bidder. But it wasn't the greed that bothered Lidiya, it was the fear she'd seen in their eyes when they cursed her and called her witch.

          Kaeshai fought back a sigh. Years she'd worked to keep her emotions in check, only to be cursed with an inept apprentice who tried her patience every day. "See that it is set to rights." Then quickly added, "By hand." Lidiya began to protest. "What we do requires devotion. Your strength in ability is a curse. You have leapt too quickly and learned there is no ground below to stop your fall. But there will be if you work for it."

          Lidiya dipped her head in acquiescence. "Yes, mistress."

          Kaeshai retrieved the notebook she was searching for. "Now, if you will excuse me, Her Grace has summoned me to hear the Dreams."

          The energy of the pyramid was almost as chaotic as the state of her rooms. Nearly every day the city of Meereen saw more blood. The Sons of the Harpy did their best to terrorize Daenerys into abdicating or at the least giving in to their copious demands. Kaeshai had to admire the sheer stubbornness that kept the Queen from capitulating. But she couldn't help wondering if they would all be better off if Daenerys continued west.

          She arrived outside the Queen's chambers and put aside the thought. No matter where Daenerys Targaryen was, Kaeshai would serve her with loyalty. The Queen summoned her for the dreams, not for opinions.

          Missandei announced Kaeshai, and the maegi joined the Queen on the terrace. Daenerys motioned for her to take a seat. "You had a dream?" Kaeshai nodded, but before she could reveal her latest vision, she was interrupted by the appearance of another.

          Daenerys stood, nearly crashing into the woman. "Amina! Gods, I was so worried." The dark-haired girl hugged her sister back with a fierce intensity. "We heard rumors from the west. I thought..."

          It took Kaeshai a moment to realize Amina was crying, silently against Daenerys' shoulder. "The feast of corpses," she choked out. "I couldn't stop it."

          "I'm so sorry," Daenerys murmured. Kaeshai stood quietly to excuse herself. This moment was not meant for an audience, and she was feeling increasingly uncomfortable.

          Amina glanced over, her eyes widening in shock. "Gods, sorry, I was interrupting. I just thought I should try to see you since..."

          Daenerys waved her off. "You weren't interrupting, you could never interrupt. I'm glad you came. Kaeshai was about to tell me of her latest dream."

          Amina looked at the maegi for a long moment. Kaeshai recalled when the dark-haired Targaryen had been in her tent, searching for a way to prevent exactly the thing that had happened. Though she'd tried her best, Kaeshai still felt as if she'd failed. If it hadn't been for that insufferable light, the one she still couldn't place... "My sincerest apologies for your loss, your grace. I wish I could have been of more help to you. I hope in the future there will be something I can do to make it up to you."

          Amina nodded. "It was not your fault. You offered what you could." She motioned toward the chair Kaeshai had vacated. "Please, continue."

          Kaeshai looked between the twin queens, before resuming her report. "I saw an army of scorpions marching through the desert, consuming each other as they went." Amina and Daenerys shared confused looks. "The Cannibals are on their way."

          "Well, that sounds ominous," Amina muttered.

          Daenerys walked back into her chambers, toward the painted map of Essos. She ran her fingers over the continent, finally landing on the city at the foot of the Bone Mountains. "Adakhakileki," she murmured. "What could they want?" Her fingers continued down the Skahazadhan to Meereen. "The river is their only port of trade and the slavers have blocked it. Perhaps they've come to lend their aide..."  

          "I would be warry of trusting the Adakhakileki, your grace. Their reputation among the Dothraki is not unwarranted, and their current king is said to be a tyrant."

          Daenerys sighed. "Well, I will make no judgements until I meet this party. The Dothraki were always wary of them, but they have always been superstitious. Many of their stories seem larger than life. I've seen how rumors can grow, perhaps the Cannibals have only used that to their advantage."

          "Is the city truly in such dire straits?" Amina asked. She approached the map, glancing over the notes that had been pinned to the canvas. "The river and sea blockaded; the crops burned. There are far too many people here to sustain for long. How many of them can even fight?"

          Daenerys sighed. "Not nearly enough."

          "Why haven't you moved on?" Amina's eyes traced a path from Meereen across the continent, across the sea.

          "My council in Astapor was overthrown, Yunkai has returned to slaving. I cannot allow Meereen to suffer the same fate. What good is a conqueror if I cannot rule the land I've conquered? You've been able to learn what it really means to be Queen, I haven't."

          "What good is a ruler without a kingdom?" Amina countered. "Come to Westeros as we planned. You don't need to learn everything in one day. We were meant to help each other; we can't do that from half a world away."

          Daenerys tried to take Amina's hands, but she pulled away. "I'm sorry, this is something I need to do. We've waited our whole lives, what's a little more time?"

          "I lost my army, my home, my family. I'm out of time, Daenerys." Amina took a step back. "Things here are being set in motion. There are things I need to do to save those I have left. I do not know how much longer I can wait for you."

          "Amina, wait-" She grasped at the air where her sister had been a moment before. She stood there, arm half outstretched. "Am I doing the right thing?"

          It took a moment for Kaeshai to realize the Queen was speaking to her, and that she expected an answer. "I can't answer that question for you, your grace. We do what we feel we must."

          Daenerys looked up. "Can you read the answer in my blood? How will this end?"

          Kaeshai shook her head. "I offered it to you once before, and you swore you would never resort to blood magic again. Perhaps I could see the answer in your future, perhaps not. But I will not allow you to break your vow, not with me."

          The maegi expected an argument. She was half ready to give in and give the Queen what she wanted. But Daenerys just nodded and turned away.

          As Kaeshai stepped into the hall, she realized maybe she had been the one to learn something from Lidiya. For years Kaeshai had made herself small, but now she had a voice even queens would listen to. She was done appeasing those with power for powers sake. She no longer had to be small, she could be a storm too.

Chapter 40: Jaime

          Jaime retired to his chambers in White Sword Tower. Sparring with Addam Marbrand had done naught but show him his left hand was worthless. He had been hoping to slip into bed and rest his tired muscles.

          Instead, he found Amina leaning on the balcony overlooking the city below. Her nightdress clung to the curve of her hips; the fabric so thin he could make out the shape of her body underneath. "I'll miss this stinking shit heap," she murmured fondly, just loud enough for Jamie to hear.

          He laughed and went to join her. His good hand rested on the small of her back, and she leaned into him. It had only taken a fortnight for the bad blood between them to melt away. Amina didn't blame him for his family's crimes, any more than Jaime could blame her for hers. The matter of the Stark boy he'd pushed from the tower had never come up. He had a feeling she was content with ignorance, unwilling to turn another friend into a foe.

          It seemed Margaery Tyrell was the latest to be added to that list. Desmera hadn't been seen with her dear cousin once since the trial. Jaime was willing to bet the Tyrells concocted some scheme that would use Amina and the ever-lucrative island of Beldain to their advantage.

          He thought about his own proposal. He wondered what he would have done if she'd said yes. If she hadn't seen right through him. But she had, and he wouldn't want her any other way. She had needed him to put her back on her feet, but he had needed her just as much. As if sensing his thoughts, Amina tilted her head up to look at him over her shoulder. She leaned close to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

          Amina turned away from the balcony, rolling her hips against Jaime's leg as she did. He watched her go back into the room and pour herself a glass of wine. Something stirred within him. Until recently, Jaime hadn't thought it possible for any woman but Cersei to arouse him. At least with Amina he didn't feel as if his body was betraying him as he had with Brienne in the bath. The princess was beautiful, and she showed him more kindness than he deserved.

          "Ellaria will have me transformed into a Dornish girl by morning," Amina said, almost wistfully. "I'm going to see her tonight, but I wanted to say goodbye first." Jaime sat, and she handed him a glass of wine before situating herself in his lap. Amina fit like she'd been made to sit there.

          The first time he'd held her like this, it had been an accident. Amina had too much wine and stumbled. Jaime caught her and tried to help her to her feet. Instead she stayed where she was, resting her head on his shoulder and eventually dozing off. It hadn't been the last time, but it was innocent. At least it had been. Jaime thought it must make her feel safe, and she needed that after all that she'd been through. Besides, it was nice to have someone to hold who didn't push him away in disgust.

          But tonight, Amina was far from innocent. She drank her wine in a quick succession of gulps and dropped the glass onto the table. His was whisked out of his hand before he had the chance to take more than a sip.

          The princess moved his good hand to her hip, then pulled his face toward her and crushed their lips together. She tasted of sweet wine and lemon cakes. Jaime tugged her closer, insistent. The thin fabric of her nightdress bunched in his hand. He wanted this, wanted her.

          But then he remembered his sister. The thought was like a dull blade working its way into his mind. Amina caught his hand to move it up her body to her breast, but he turned his hand over quickly, holding hers instead. Jaime pulled away, regretting it even as he did.

          "You should go." Her lilac eyes flashed dark and she pressed her lips together in a frown. "It's late, you don't want to keep Ellaria waiting," he amended. Her face softened, though he could tell she was still hurt. "I'll be there in the morning, watching the caravan leave."

          Amina didn't say goodbye, just whispered his name like a quiet sigh, and brushed his lips one last time with hers. I'm protecting her, Jaime reminded himself, if only to keep from shouting out and calling her back. But not from what she thinks.

          It was himself he was more scared of; he was afraid of getting too close and afraid of what that might mean. Worst of all, he was afraid Amina would change her mind when the grief she worked so hard to ignore had faded to a bitter aftertaste. Maybe it wasn't the princess he was protecting at all, maybe it was himself.

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          Among the Dornishmen, Jaime could hardly pick Amina out. The girl had a talent for blending in. Finally, he spotted her and weaved through the throng of travelers. He didn't speak her name. She was no longer Desmera, and he wouldn't risk calling her Amina while she was still in this city. Rhaenyra. No, he couldn't risk that anywhere, not even when they were alone.

          He slipped his good hand in hers. She turned, eyebrows knitted in confusion and worry. "I thought you were watching from a distance," Amina said, expression melting into a soft smile.

          "Couldn't stay away," Jaime teased. Amina's left hand came up to rest on his arm, just above his stump, her right stayed warm in his good hand. "My father's sent Arya Stark to Winterfell to marry Roose Bolton's bastard." Amina's eyes narrowed, immediately seeing through the tale. "Perhaps the girl looks a bit like your sister if you squint."

          Amina bit her lip for a moment, thinking. She drew a sharp breath. "It must be Jeyne Poole. She came to King's Landing with Sansa." She shook her head. "That poor girl."

          "Speaking of your sisters, I'm going to send Brienne after Sansa." He waited for her reaction. He almost expected her to assume the worst of him, as he was sure Brienne would. That he would have Sansa dragged back to face Cersei's wrath. But Amina didn't even frown. He explained anyway, "I swore an oath to Catelyn, and I intend to keep this one."

          "Of course, you will." She squeezed his hand. "Thank you." They stood like that for a moment, neither sure what to say. Finally, she leaned up to press her lips to his cheek, just the faintest brush.

          "We'll meet again, Little Queen," he whispered.

          Amina nodded once, with a small smile. "We will."

Chapter 41: The Iron Daughter

          Thyra had never been so happy to set eyes on the grey rocks of the Iron Islands. From the reactions of crew, a mix of sighs and cheers, she knew they felt the same. They had been gone too long, and the moons spent in the broken towers of Moat Cailin had not been easy.

          The bog devils had claimed the lives of several of her crew. The younger ones, who would not heed her warnings to stay close to the Children’s Tower, had learned their lesson at the point of a poisoned arrow.

          “The trials have only just begun,” Brenna murmured, as if reading her captain’s thoughts. She had the right of it. Word of Balon’s death had come a fortnight ago. Thyra had barely been given a breath to grieve the uncle who’d raised her, when they learned it was Euron who claimed the Seastone Chair. Euron, who had been banished from the Islands at threat of death, who had returned the day after Balon’s fall. Thyra did not believe in coincidence.

          But even with that, it took the raven from Aeron to put the wind back in Victarion’s sails. He would not fight Euron, no matter how much Thyra argued. Asha was Balon’s true born daughter, and Balon wanted her to succeed him. Euron had murdered his eldest brother to steal his crown. Victarion was a threat to his place, and that put his daughter in danger as well.

          No argument could convince him. Then Aeron had called the kingsmoot, the first in four thousand years. The chance for Victarion to claim the Seastone Chair the old way. So, they had set sail for Old Wyk at once.

          Kromm was at the prow searching for his father’s banners. Old Wyk was his home, though he’d spent more time on Pyke or at sea these past years. Dalton hailed from the island as well, but unlike Kromm, Dalton had gone below deck to consult his books. Thyra couldn’t blame him, she was sure there were plenty of bad memories for him here.

          They were met on shore by friends and allies, all of whom wished to lend Victarion their voices at the kingsmoot, in exchange for this or that. Soon a huge sailcloth tent was erected so the captains could feast and discuss terms with Victarion. Thyra had never been interested in the politics of power, preferring to keep her tight knit crew far away from it all. But here in this tent, Kromm was right at home.

          “Shouldn’t you be with him?” Thyra teased Brenna. It was widely known she and Kromm were together, and that both their fathers wished them to marry. They watched on as Kromm told stories of Moat Cailin to anyone who would listen. He had attracted a small crowd, but then, the Goodbrothers had cadet branches across four islands. From the other side of the feast tent, Thyra could not tell if any other houses had joined in.

          Brenna hummed disapprovingly. “He cares more for the attention than the sea.” From Brenna Farwynd, that was the harshest of critiques. For years on the Lonely Light, the sea had been her only friend, and even still she had some connection to it that went beyond being Ironborn.

          “I take it your father will be disappointed in your marriage prospects,” Thyra mused.

          Before Brenna could answer, Gwyn interrupted. “Did someone say marriage prospects?” The pair turned toward the blonde, who sat at the end of their table. She had a grin that nearly stretched from ear to ear. “Hal and I made a bet on how many captains will ask for your hand in exchange for their vote.”

          “I say eight,” Halleck Farwynd informed them. “Gwyn says ten.”

          At the other end of the dais, Victarion was in discussion with Baelor Blacktyde. Thyra shrugged. “Whether it’s twelve or twenty, Victarion’s answer will be the same.”

          Her father had made it clear he would not sell his daughter, not even when Balon proposed it. On her sixteenth nameday, her aunt, Alannys, had brought suitors. The following day Victarion had brought the Kraken’s Kiss. A fortnight later, Thyra was on the seas with her newly formed crew and no suitors in sight.

          Gywnn leaned in, dropping her voice low. “Do you truly think your father will win?”

          Before Thyra could answer, the tent hushed. At the entrance stood Euron and his loyal men. It had been two years since she’d seen her uncle. Two years since he’d gotten her stepmother killed and been banished for his betrayal. He looked as dark and deadly as ever.

          “I do,” Thyra said, forcing her voice to sound more confident than she truly felt. “If he does not, I fear for us all.”

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          The quiet sound of footsteps in the sand made Thyra pause. She gave Asha time to catch up, before resuming her pilgrimage to the sea. As she neared the water, Thyra removed her boots, Asha did the same. They walked into the waves together.

          Thyra breathed in the salty air, letting it ground her. “It feels good to be home, cousin.”

          “That it does,” Asha agreed. “Would that we never need to return to the North.” Thyra cracked one eye open to peer at her cousin. She could sense the beginnings of a negotiation. The thought alone exhausted her. Even in the sea there was no escaping the Kingsmoot.

          Thyra closed her eyes again. “Save your breath, Asha. You know where my vote is.”

          Asha did not. “I know you’ve seen this war for what it is, a lost cause. If we put it aside now, we can escape with the coastal villages and the lives we have left.” Thyra sighed. The lands of the North held little sway for her either way. But she would admit that there was not much she would despise more than returning to the bogs of Moat Cailin.

          Seeming to sense a weakening in Thyra’s resolve, Asha pushed on. “Raise your voice for me, cousin. You know it is the Drowned God’s will, you have said it yourself.”

          “One voice amongst hundreds will not win you the Seastone Chair,” Thyra pointed out, turning toward her cousin. “I have no fleet, only a small crew.”

          “If Victarion’s own daughter sides with me, the Iron Fleet will think twice.”

          “And even if they do, they’re as like to vote for Euron as for you.”

          “If Victarion sits the Seastone Chair, he will take another wife. He will have a son, maybe many, and those sons will replace you. How can you expect to command the Iron Fleet then, cousin? If you vote against me, you vote against yourself.”

          Asha was right. It was about the precedent. No woman had ever ruled the Ironborn, and no woman had ever commanded the Iron Fleet. But is that even the life I want? “I’ll think on it, cousin.”

          “That’s all I ask.” She backed away, toward the shore. Leaving Thyra alone, with the waves crashing around her feet.

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          The drums summoned them to the Kingsmoot at sunrise. It seemed that every Ironborn was in attendance, packing the island as far as the eye could see. As the stragglers made their way to the gathering, Aeron opened the proceedings. There was a hum in the air as he spoke. These words, this place, this was Ironborn history past and present. Their ancestors were watching them, the Drowned God was waiting for his chance to speak.

          “Who shall be king over us?” Aeron called. His voice rang out amongst the crowd. Amplified almost unnaturally over the din of voices and the distant sound of the waves.

          The first claimant to step forward was Gylbert Farwynd. “I will!”

          Brenna sighed as her father spoke. “Your uncle thinks him mad,” she murmured. If Thyra were being honest, Aeron was not the only Greyjoy to believe Gylbert Farwynd mad. Even if there was something far beyond the Sunset Sea, as Brenna herself believed, the Ironborn would never see it. There were wars to fight here, for their home.

          The Farwynd captains raised their voices for Gylbert with cries of “Gylbert! Gylbert King!” Their crews joined in. But of the thousands gathered, they were few. Brenna and Halleck both stayed silent. Hal glanced toward his own father, Triston Farwynd, for a moment. Thyra thought he looked disappointed. That was one less voice who would raise for Victarion.

          Steffarion touched Thyra’s shoulder lightly, and she turned to see the returning lordling. “My father will back yours,” he told her. It had taken longer than either of them had expected to secure that vote. “The Humbles, Shepherds, and Netleys as well.” They were all young houses, those born of thralls and salt wives only a few generations ago. But they would choose Victarion because his daughter had given one of them the chance to join the Iron Fleet. Thyra nodded once.

          After Erik Ironmaker had come and gone, Dunstan Drumm made a claim. As the Drumm was carried past in a driftwood chair, Dalton hid himself behind Kromm and Halleck, so as not to be seen. Donnel Drumm looked at Thyra for a moment, as if expecting her to call his son forward. She met his gaze, and kept her mouth shut. After a beat he was gone.

          Dunstan went on and on about the great Drumms of old. It was a small wonder Dalton had found books to entertain himself as a child amongst his grandfather’s halls. But unlike his grandfather, Dalton never attempted to win an argument by boring his opponents to death. When Dunstan poured gifts of bronze before the crowd, his fate was sealed. Even the Farwynds had brought finer offerings.

          Then came Victarion. Thyra stepped forward to join her father’s champions. She found Asha in the crowd and watched the hurt cross her face, but she had to have known there was no other choice Thyra could make. She could not split the Iron Fleet. There was so much at risk with Euron yet to make his claim. She would not endanger the little hope they had of saving their Islands from a tyrant.

          Victarion’s words were short and simple. He was a storied warrior, the Captain of the Iron Fleet, Balon’s right hand. He would continue this war Balon had started, and he would win it. “Victarion!” Thyra shouted. “Victarion King!”

          The chests were emptied, spilling piles of precious metals and priceless gems. More and more voices answered the call. For a moment Thyra thought they had done it. Victarion would be king. Then Asha stepped forward.

          Her claim was as bawdy and raucous as her personality. Thyra might have found herself swayed if she wasn’t the target of some of her cousin’s jokes. Asha damned herself in the eyes of many when she vowed to end Balon’s war. The Ironborn were no cravens and they had lived with the sting of the rebellion’s defeat for too long.

          Many voices raised for Asha, but they were quickly overtaken by more shouts for Victarion. The voices became but a din, as nearly everyone in the crowd made their opinions known.

          The horn cut through the voices with a piercing cry. The silence between blows was deafening. Thyra looked toward the source of the sound. Euron stepped forward, flanked by the horn blower. The horn itself looked ancient. It was taller than a man and took two hands for the massive man to hold.

          And then the terrible sound stopped. The man stumbled, and the horn was taken away. Smoke drifted from the horn and from the man’s mouth, which upon closer inspection was blacked and blistered. “May the Drowned God save us all,” Steffarion murmured at her side.

          Thyra looked back at her crew; they gathered behind her as if ready to defend an attack from Euron himself. Victarion was standing stoic, calm. But she could see the tightness in his jaw, the anger that he held back, the fear.

          Even before Euron spoke, Thyra knew it was over. She knew his chests would be filled with unimaginable treasures, like the horn just demonstrated. She knew he would make promises that would put Balon’s wildest dreams to shame. Euron Greyjoy would be King, and the whole realm would suffer for it.

Chapter 42: The Bastard of Godsgrace

          The Bastard of Starfall was beautiful, and Daemon was a simple man. Her hair was a deep brown, and her skin was dusted with freckles. She wore the purple of House Dayne like a suit of armor, and the color brought out the lilac in her eyes. "You didn't come with us from Dorne," Daemon said dumbly. Her raised eyebrow said she agreed.

          "I was with my mother's family," she said quietly. "But it is time I go home."

          "Ellaria said your mother was noble born herself," Daemon continued. That was rare, to be noble born by both parents. But he couldn't deny that Dyanna had that look about her. She seemed as proud and dignified as any highborn lady he'd seen at court. She certainly hadn't grown up in an Oldtown whorehouse like Obara, that was for sure.

          "The third daughter of a lesser lord," Dyanna said, as if it were something she'd memorized. He supposed it was a tale she was used to telling. He knew he'd spoken of his father that way a thousand times. "She died of a summer fever a few years ago."

          "And him?" Daemon asked, nodding toward the knight who accompanied her. The man was tall, with the sort of jawline that would make a maiden swoon. Or a squire, for that matter. He was clearly not Dornish of stock, but he wore no colors to betray his house.

          As Dyanna looked toward the man, her frown softened. "A friend of my grandfather's." She was not very talkative, this bastard. But that only made her more intriguing. By the time they reached Dorne, Daemon vowed he would shed some light on this mystery.

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          It took several great hall dinners for Daemon to realize Ser Caswell was avoiding the lords and ladies of the Reach. At first, it had simply seemed a coincidence. In Tumbleton, the knight had fallen ill and missed supper.

          In the small castle of Tumbleton's great hall, Daemon was seated near Dyanna. Her as one of Ellaria's ladies, him as Ellaria's protector. Lord Footly seemed somewhat uncomfortable to be hosting a troupe of bastards. But he managed to keep his thoughts to himself. The same could not be said for many of his company...

          Daemon had tried to ignore the jabs. He'd heard more than a few during his time in King's Landing. Dyanna sat on the other side of Ellaria, seemingly consumed with her own thoughts. She appeared oblivious to the taunts. Had growing up in the Reach truly desensitized her to the disdain? Or maybe it was only her worry over her knight blocking her ears tonight.

          But the next day, Ser Caswell was riding alongside Dyanna, healthy as ever. Daemon didn't think much of it at the time, perhaps he'd eaten something off in one of the villages. Sickness was common on the road after all.

          Then in Grassfield Keep, Dyanna sent Ser Aylward on an errand in the castle village. The whole supper, she dodged questions from the young wife of Lord Meadows. Her husband had once known the knight at Storm's End it seemed. Lady Meadows wished to know if they had kept in touch following Renly's passing. Dyanna gave the woman very little information. She expertly steered the conversation this way and that. In the end, Lady Meadows had all but forgotten she asked anything at all.

          When Ser Caswell failed to appear in New Barrel, Daemon realized it was by design. Yet another mystery from the stoic knight and his bastard charge. Throughout dinner Daemon pondered over the possibilities.

          In King's Landing, Ser Caswell had been a frequent companion of Garlan and Loras Tyrell, they'd been childhood friends. Aylward had even been at Renly's side in King's Landing, prior to Renly's ill-fated grab for the crown. How had this knight gone from companion to lords, to a bastard's escort. Perhaps it had something to do with that Redwyne girl. If she'd even been in King's Landing at all.

          No one seemed to agree on the mystery of Desmera Redwyne. Her father insisted she'd never set foot in court. Others were sure she'd been Margaery Tyrell's closest confidant. Other rumors suggested she seduced Jaime Lannister, nearly luring him away from his Kingsguard vows. Before the Queen stepped in, of course.

          If Ser Caswell had been Desmera's sworn shield, the controversy she caused would be more than enough to relegate him to this duty. Though, that wouldn't explain the closeness between Dyanna and her knight. They were constantly together, speaking in hushed voices. Dyanna always seemed just a bit off kilter at dinners without him.

          Determined to get to the bottom of things, he stole a flask of cider and decided he would take Dyanna into town when they reached Ashford. It was time he took his questions to the girl herself. And what better way to loosen lips?

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          Daemon drummed his fingers on the table, waiting for his moment. He stopped his incessant tapping only after a scalding look from Ellaria. He couldn't help it. Lord Ashford was exhausting. Their plates had been cleaned ages ago, yet still they were here.

          Finally, one of Lord Ashford's daughters helped him off to bed. Daemon took his chance to approach Dyanna before she could take her leave as well. He offered the flask to her, by way of greeting. Dyanna gave the bottle an appraising look.

          "It's Fossoway Cider, I picked it up in New Barrel," he explained. "They say it's the best in the Realm." Dyanna nodded and took the flask. "Come into town with me. I hear Ashford has a lovely market."

          Dyanna raised one eyebrow. "It's past dusk, ser. Surely the market is closed."

          She made a very good point, but Daemon was not deterred. "I hear their town is rather lovely too," he insisted. Dyanna rolled her eyes but motioned for him to lead the way. Behind, he heard the pop of the bottle's cork and grinned. He would get to the bottom of Dyanna Sand yet.

          They made their way through the town of whitewashed, thatched-roof houses. It was quite lovely. Eventually settled in Ashford Meadow, on the shore of the Cockleswent. Dyanna sat near the edge, trailing her fingers through the water. He'd never seen her look so peaceful.

          "You're awfully quiet, you know," Daemon said, sitting beside her. "It unsettles people. They think you're learning all their secrets and plotting against them."

          She rolled her shoulders back and smiled. "You mean it unsettles you." Daemon huffed, but she was right. No one else seemed to take much notice of her solitude. "Who's to say I'm not plotting?"

          Daemon grinned. "I'd like to be in on it, if you are."

          She paused to consider, humming to herself. "Perhaps one day." They sat there for a moment, listening to the sounds of the river. "I'm not plotting," she admitted, but quickly added, "At least not quite yet." Daemon leaned forward to listen.

          "It's just nice to fade into the background for a bit. It's all so exhausting. The politics, the favors, the manipulations." She took a swig from the flask. "It's exhausting pretending to be someone I'm not."

          "It won't be that way in Dorne."

          Dyanna sighed. "Perhaps not." He wanted her to believe it, Dorne was a whole other world. She would find people there who understood her, just as he had. But there was no way to convince her of that. He'd done all this for her to open up, and how that she had, he was at a loss. He took the flask and took a long swig of his own.

          "I'm sorry about Oberyn. I didn't know him long, but he seemed like a good man." she said after a moment. Daemon nearly choked in his surprise. He wiped his mouth and pressed the cider back into her hand. She sighed, recorking the flask, and setting it aside.

          "I understand that urge to push it away, to look for distractions, and lose yourself in other people. The more mysterious the better," she added, pointedly. "It won't make the hurt go away. It's not always a bad thing, sometimes the people nearest to you won't tell you what you need to hear."

          Daemon was certain he was gaping at her like a fish. He'd been right on the mark before; she was learning all their secrets. How else could she possibly have read him so well? "That isn't what I'm doing."

          Dyanna raised one skeptical eyebrow. "When's the last time you spoke to Ellaria?"

          "A few hours ago, at supper," he said, defensively.

          She rolled her eyes. "Not that show we put on each night for our gracious hosts." Her words dripped with scorn. Maybe she hadn't been so hardened to their disdain after all. "I mean genuinely talked with her. There's only so much my words can do for her. She needs a friend who understands what she's feeling, someone who knew him."

          Dyanna was right, he had been avoiding Ellaria since the trial. He just hadn't known what to say. Oberyn had knighted him, been his friend and mentor. But Ellaria...he'd never experienced the kind of love she had for Oberyn. But that didn't give him an excuse not to try. It wasn't fair to either of them.

          He hadn't realized how long he'd been sitting there, staring at the water, until Dyanna pushed the flask back toward him with an incredulous laugh. "Now that that's out of the way, permission granted to ask me whatever you want. Solve your mystery."

          Daemon only hesitated for a moment. His feelings could wait until morning. "Why did your knight leave King's Landing? How did he fall so far?"

          "Fall so far?" Dyanna repeated, putting a hand to her chest. For a moment, he thought she might be offended, but then she winked. "Because of me, of course."

          It was a rather boring answer, and he sunk a bit. "You mean because he knew your family?"

          A sly smile slowly spread across her face. "Well you see, it all started when Cersei Lannister learned I'd been slipping into her brother's chambers..."

          Daemon's eyes went wide, and then impossibly wider as the pieces came together. "You're Desmera Redwyne?"

          She leaned her head back and laughed, and after a moment, Daemon couldn't stop himself from joining in. He still had a million questions, but he didn't want to let the mystery go quite yet.

          "Are you sure you aren't another of Oberyn's Sand Snakes?" He teased. "Seven Hells, the first thing I'm talking to Ellaria about is sending you back to wherever you came from! Put you together with them and we're all in trouble. Not to mention Arianne."

          She grinned mischievously. "They sound exactly like the kind of people I need at my table."

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          After that night, Dyanna seemed to gain a lightness in her step. She moved a bit easier among their company, speaking a bit more, frowning a bit less. Though Daemon couldn't say for certain if it was because of him or because they had crossed into the Stormlands. He couldn't even be sure he knew her real name.

          Ser Caswell seemed to find comfort in the change of scenery as well, in his own subtle way. Daemon even caught him smiling at Dyanna, once or twice.

          As for Ellaria, she was still holding steady, despite everything. Daemon rode alongside her, and Ellaria gave him a sad smile. "Almost home," he said with a sigh. "I hope the ravens arrived long before us. I don't think I could bear to be the one to have to tell it."

          "It still doesn't feel real," Ellaria said softly. "I still expect to turn around and see him."

          Daemon couldn't hold it back any longer. "Seven Hells, I'm so angry at him." Ellaria looked up suddenly, but after a moment she nodded. "And there is no point in that. We can't change anything; it won't bring him back."

          "I think a part of me always knew it would end like this," Ellaria said softly. "He was never the kind of person to go quietly. I just hoped it wouldn't be so soon." Her face crumpled as she fought back tears. She was going back to her daughters, the younger Sand Snakes, the eldest only four and ten. He couldn't imagine telling those girls that their father was never coming home.

          Daemon sacrificed his balance to reach for Ellaria's hand. She squeezed his fingers tightly before letting go. "I'm sorry I didn't come to you sooner. I should have."

          "You needed time," she said. "But you're here now."

          "We can remember him together," Daemon promised.

          As they rode toward their next camp, Ellaria launched into a story of Oberyn when they were younger. Daemon let his head fall back in full belly laughter, feeling as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. For the first time since the trial, he truly felt as if this was something they would survive. It was what Oberyn would have wanted. 

 

Chapter 43: Jalani

          As her eyes took in the city of Meereen, Jalani wondered if her brother might be right. Perhaps Daenerys Stormborn was not so capable of holding these three cities. Word had reached her host on the road of war between Astapor and Yunkai. They had encountered a sellsword company making peace with the Lhazareen. Meanwhile Qartheen galleys barricaded the trading routes along the Skahazadhan.

          Jalani would need to send men to do something about the river. It was one of the Adakhakileki’s most lucrative trading routes. Even with Slaver’s Bay in the state that it was, Meereen was still the only port available to her people. If they had not been suffering before, they certainly would be when the food supply began to dry up.

          At the city gate, she was escorted to the pyramid by a freedman, while her army remained outside. Jalani did not order her men to set up camp, though they all knew they would be staying. Whether or not Daenerys agreed to help Jalani made no matter. They could not return to Adakhakileki empty handed, Lajo would put them all to the sword. He would force his shiro to do the killing, as punishment for her failing. No, Jalani thought, we cannot go home.

          The city was stunning in its desecration. It looked far more like Jalani’s own hodge-podge city than the great shinning slaver metropolis she’d imagined. There were people sleeping in the streets. From their appearances, she couldn’t tell if they were freed slaves or the slavers themselves.

          Unsullied patrolled the streets, particularly those closest to the Great Pyramid, home to the queen who had taken this city for her own. The queen which would hopefully be the Adakhakileki’s saving grace.

          Jalani stood inside the great pyramid’s reception hall in her finest armor. The gilded iron gleamed in the sunlight. It was not the sort of armor she would wear into battle. It was heavy and constricting. Then there was the mater of the sun. She had donned the plate amongst her army before walking into Meereen. In the short distance between the gate and the pyramid, Jalani felt as if she were cooking alive. Lajo spared no expense when it came to his image, and that of his sister’s. Still, his decision making remained questionable.

          Jalani waited in the throne room as the queen heard petitions. They were repetitive and tiresome, but the dragon queen was devoted to ensuring each petitioner had her full attention. She cared about these people, far more than Lajo had ever cared about his own. Jalani had expected a conqueror to be distant and aloof, but even the lowest amongst the Mereenese was granted a chance to speak. Lajo barely even cared to listen to his own advisors.

          Finally, it was Jalani’s turn to speak. A short, stocky man with greasy hair stepped forward to introduce her. He spoke in the bastard Valyrian of the slaver cities. “Your grace, this is Princess Jalani of the–“ The man broke off, clearing his throat. “Of the cannibals.”

          Jalani knelt before the dragon queen. She reached for the clips of her breastplate and let it clatter to the floor. The room was so quiet, she could hear the ringing stretch out into the silence for what felt like hours.

          “I do not come before you as a warrior.” Jalani spoke in Dothraki, much to the discontent of the other nobility in the room. “I come to you as another woman who wishes the best for her people. Who wishes to fight back against the tyranny that has held them down for far too long.”

          Jalani looked up at the queen, searching the girl’s eyes for the savior she so desperately needed. “My brother has beaten our people into silence, forced them to cower from his wrath. But the Adakhakileki are strong, they only need the opportunity to show it.”

          The queen watched Jalani, considering. She was so young, perhaps a decade Jalani’s junior. But this girl had hatched dragons and freed so many from their chains. What did Jalani have to show for her years? A princess with no power, a monster’s weapon.

          “What would you ask of me?” Daenerys asked.

          “I pledge myself and my men to fight by your side until this war is won. I hand selected each man for his loyalty and ability. Our number may seem small, but each is worth their weight in gold. We will not fail you.” Jalani took a deep breath. “And when the war is won, I would ask for your assistance in overthrowing my brother and freeing my people from his cruel reign.”

         Jalani expected the girl to consult with her advisors, to need time to think over the proposal. Instead, Daenerys stood, and walked down the steps. She offered Jalani a hand to rise. “I will help you, Jalani of Adakhakileki.” Jalani felt a weight fall from her shoulders. She hadn’t realized quite how much she feared the girl’s answer. Daenerys clasped Jalani’s hands in hers. “I promise you; your people will know a life without fear.”

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          The court of Daenerys Stormborn took much getting used to. Despite the threat of war and the killings in the streets, the queen did her best to find a peaceful solution. Sometimes a bit too peaceful for Jalani’s liking. There were ways that things should be done, and many of the other advisors agreed. But Daenerys refused to make violence her first instinct.

          But still the killings continued, taking more soldiers that they could not afford to lose. Jalani had forbidden her own men from stepping foot into the city, save for her personal guard. She would not let these faceless assassins take her people.

          “She should kill the hostages,” Jalani muttered after the council meeting, when the room had all but cleared. “Why else hold them, if not to keep their families in check?”

          “They’re children,” Ser Barristan reminded her. “She won’t kill them for the sins of their fathers.”

          Jalani regarded the knight coolly. He tended to encourage the queen more often than not. Even as this path led them closer and closer to ruin. “They are people, and people die.”

          “Would you kill them?” The knight asked. “In Adakakaleki.”

          Yes, because Lajo would have commanded me to. She did not voice the thought aloud. She was no longer under her brother’s thumb. Her choices were her own. Jalani sighed. “I hope one day we live in a world where the sharpness of our swords isn’t the only thing that matters. But that world has not yet arrived.”

          Barristan nodded. “That is Daenerys’ dream as well.”

          “Unfortunately, our dreams are not reality. My people will soon be starving if the river remains blocked.” Jalani crossed her arms, leaning back into her chair.

          “You have the land routes.”

          “The season is changing. The silk route through the mountains was nearly impassable when I left. The Dothraki in the west have always been challenging, and as of late, they have become even more erratic. The south takes us to Lhazar or Qarth, both of whom are tied up in this war of your Queen’s.”

          She leaned forward before repeating, “We need our river.” Barristan did not offer any more suggestions. “A promise of freedom means nothing to a people dying of starvation.”

          “I’ll talk to the Queen,” Selmy said finally. “Perhaps one of the sellsword companies could focus their attentions on the blockade. I’ve heard they’ve made good headway with the Lhazareen.”

          “My cousins will be of little use in a fight.” Though many Adakhakileki were of Lhazareen heritage, those that had integrated into the new society left behind their peaceful ways. “I would rather my own men get the job done. I trust them far more than men who trade their loyalty for gold.”

          “Then send them,” Semly said with a wave of his hand. “You’re not trapped here. You can send your soldiers wherever you want.”

          It hadn’t even crossed her mind that queen might allow her to dictate her own terms to their agreement. Each day this court found ways to remind her that she was far from home, and far from Lajo. Jalani nodded once, hoping her face did not give her away. “Then I will.”

Chapter 44: The Bastard of Starfall

          With every day that passed, Dyanna Sand felt more and more like a mask she wore. But the time had not yet come for the mummer's farce to be entirely put aside. They were newly arrived in Dorne, and there could still be those who would think of only gold when they heard her true name. But much to her knight's consternation, others in her party were not quite so worried about sellswords and opportunists.

          They had first stopped in Kingsgrave, seat of Lord Dagos Manwoody. Lord Manwoody had been with them since King's Landing, along with his brother and sons, but this would be where they parted. Kingsgrave was located in the Prince's Pass and with the growing instability in the Stormlands, Dagos was of the opinion that he would be most helpful here at home, ready to defend the Pass, should the need arise.

          "It has been a pleasure to travel with you, my lady. I do hope your graces will suit you well in Sunspear. Oberyn spoke so highly of you before his passing, it would be a shame for Doran to continue to toe the line now."

          Dyanna tilted her head. His words were so pointed they would have drawn blood if they were swords. Lord Manwoody smiled at her, conspiratorially. A good man to drink and dice with, but perhaps not the best man to trust with your secrets. But Oberyn was not here for her to chastise now, and Dagos had held his tongue this far, at least.

          She smiled pleasantly. "Ah, thank you for the kind words, Lord Manwoody. I do hope we can expect you in Sunspear when Doran comes to his decision."

          The large man patted Dyanna on the shoulder. "When Doran makes the decision we all expect of him, you can surely count on my support."

          They had come to Skyreach next. An imposing castle carved into the stone overlooking the Prince's Pass. The views were remarkable. Dyanna found herself rather thankful that Aegon the Conqueror had been unsuccessful in his attempt to destroy the castle so many years ago. She also found herself thankful for Lord Fowler's hospitality amid the grueling Dornish heat. And we aren't even in the deserts yet, she thought.

          There were rumors that up north, autumn was rapidly coming to an end. But no one had thought to tell the Dornish that summer was behind them.

          Lord Fowler had been kind enough to offer Dyanna her pick of his twin daughters' wardrobe. Most of the wardrobe she'd gotten from Ellaria was worn and stained from travel by now. The twins were in Sunspear now, they learned, so Dyanna could return the garments in person. If this damned Dornish sun didn't ruin them all first.

          At Lord Qorgyle's castle deep in the Dornish desert, they heard word that Mace Tyrell's host was besieging Storm's End. "That sounds rather familiar," Dyanna had murmured dryly. "Perhaps some onion knight will deliver the Stormlanders again, and the Tyrells will be tied up with this pointless game for another year, at least."

          Aylward tugged the thin scarf she wore about her head further forward. It wasn't needed here in Sandstone's courtyard. At least it wasn't needed to block out the sun and the sand. But she'd looked in the mirror, her hair was going a rather mousy color. A far cry from the deep brown she'd left King's Landing with. But as long as she kept her hair covered, she wasn't concerned. Besides, it might help her case if she could present silver hair and lavender eyes to Prince Doran. From the talk she'd heard, the prince was slow to action and prone to thinking on things for weeks and months and years. Patience was one thing she'd never been particularly good at.

          "You seem ill at ease, ser," Dyanna noted, as she needlessly adjusted her veil. She would wet it before they rode out and endure it sticking to her face until the sun inevitably dried it. She'd quickly learned that was a small price to pay for the short reprieve from the heat.

          "These are the foes I was weaned on stories of," Aylward reminded her. "No need for snarks and grumkins in the Reach when we had the Dornish just on our doorstep."

          "Prince Oberyn was fostered here, and Lord Qorgyle has been very courteous, even to you."

          "You think they're all courteous," he reprimanded, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips. It was true, she'd quickly taken with these Dornish. They were so unlike the lords and ladies she'd grown up around, but still interesting in their own ways. And if they were all polite to her...well, they ought to be.

          "After Daeron's conquest, Lord Lyonel Tyrell was left in Dorne to maintain the peace. He worked closely with that old Lord Qorgyle to suppress the rebels. But one night, as he slept in these very walls, a hundred red scorpions descended upon him and stung him to death in his bed."

          Dyanna waved a hand. "Over a century ago. Aegon and Visenya burned this castle once, and you don't see Quentyn Qorgyle holding a grudge over that, do you?"

          Aylward shook his head. "Even still..."

          "I'll be wary of red scorpions in my bed, if that will set your mind at ease," she teased. But soon her mind was drifting toward a red-armored lion, instead. A lion who is a world away and sworn to another queen, and who didn't want you besides.

          She forced her thoughts away, only for them to land on her sister instead. Perhaps she'd taken that sellsword with the garish beard into bed, or one of those Ghiscari who turned their hair into sculptures. There was a time when they might have whispered these secrets to each other in Dany's pavilion or on the terrace of the Great Pyramid, far above the world. But those times were over.

          Dyanna Sand has no sister, she reminded herself. But it sounded a lie even to her own ears. She was tired of pretending to be someone she was not. That had been a necessity for some other girl, who needed red-gold hair and southron princesses to keep her from falling to pieces. She'd left that girl behind in King's Landing.

          Sunspear and awaiting Doran's whims could not come soon enough.

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          They had stayed at Hellholt too long. Dyanna was ill at ease within these castle's walls. It was a grim castle and made even grimmer by its history. The name had come when a Lord Uller had gathered all his rivals to a feast, then barred them inside his hall, set them all aflame, and roasted them to death along with their supper. The great hall was long rebuilt, but still Dyanna avoided it as much as she could.

          The dragon bones didn't help either. Queen Rhaenys had died outside these very walls, fallen to her death, or crushed, depending on the telling. What was certain was that Meraxes had been stuck in the eye with a scorpion bolt, and rider and dragon both had met their end in Dorne. The Queen's body had never been recovered, but her dragon's bones were displayed proudly in Lord Uller's great hall, a trophy for all to see.

          But Ellaria was an Uller by blood, and Lord Harmen and his brother had traveled with their caravan from King's Landing. Harmen and Ulwyck were not unkind, and Ellaria had entrusted them with their secrets, but still...

          "Half the Ullers are mad, and the other half are worse," Daemon had said. "Not that I would say that in their hearing. Or Ellaria's for that matter. She may be sweet, but she loves her father dearly. I certainly don't wish to know if she has his temper too."

          "If the gods are good, her little ones have more of their father in them," Aylward had muttered.

          Daemon had laughed then. "Oh, my good ser, you haven't met the elder Sand Snakes yet. Elsewise, you would be praying that the little ones turn out exactly like Lord Harmen."

          Dyanna had heard much and more about these Sand Snakes, both Ellaria's young daughters, and the three elder ones born from different mothers. But they were a distant thought, weeks away in Sunspear, while their caravan languished in Hellholt. She couldn't fault Ellaria for seeking comfort in her family, but Dyanna was of half a mind to remind the woman that she had four young daughters waiting for her too.

          "I'm surprised we haven't seen the Sand Snakes yet," Daemon had told them. "Tyene is ever Arianne's shadow, but Nym and Obara are known to venture far and wide. Our caravan would seem to be just a thing to interest them." But when asked, Ellaria admitted that Doran had taken all the Sand Snakes into custody.

          "Even your little ones?" Daemon asked, shocked. "When did this happen?"

          "Soon after word reached Sunspear of Oberyn's death. Obara, Nym, and Tyene were stoking the commons to war, and Doran feared my girls could be used against him. I received word in Kingsgrave. I did not wish to worry you with it."

          "The swiftest decision our prince has ever made, and for what? He can't expect imprisoning his own nieces will make the commons love him."

          "It seems an ill omen for our own cause," Aylward admitted. "If he would go to such lengths to avoid the idea of war, what will he say to ours?"

          Daemon Sand looked grim. They'd let him in on their secret weeks ago, when it became clear that the man would not be so easily turned aside from his mystery. In truth, Dyanna appreciated that in a companion. That drive would serve them well someday.

          Ellaria looked Dyanna over and pushed back the scarf from her hair. The dye had nearly all gone from it, it would be true silver soon. "Doran will listen, and Dorne will not stand alone. There's the Riverlands, and the North."

          "Under siege by Freys and Lannisters, Greyjoys and Boltons," her knight insisted. "It may be that we can scrape together a few swords, but if we expect the full host, we'll need to be liberators as well as rebels."

          Ellaria shrugged one shoulder. It was clear she was exhausted. Grief and travel had worn her ragged. "Oberyn believed it could be done. But what do I know?"

          "What other hope do we have?" Dyanna asked, extending a hand to Ellaria, who squeezed it. "We must press forward, no matter what lies ahead."

          Ahead had led them through Vaith, to Godsgrace. The last of their stops. Sunspear was so close she could practically taste it, but the reprieve from the heat was worth waiting a few days more. And Lady Allyrion was glad to see her son and grandson. Ser Ryon, Daemon's father, would continue with their party to King's Landing. Dellone was growing old, and she left much of the politicking to her heir.

          But oh, was Lady Dellone eager to see the girl they'd brought with them. "Once we Dornish fled our castles to escape your ancestors and their wroth. Then our prince went and married one. Too bad Elia's marriage was not as sweet. Maron Martell built a palace for his bride, but Rhaegar gave Elia only war and death."

          The girl pulled her scarf from her hair, letting the silver strands free. "I never knew my brother, but I hope that I can mend what he broke. Not just in Dorne, but with the North as well. The things my father did will haunt us forever, but I can only hope the realm will see that I am not my father's daughter."

          "No, I think not. You're Stark and Tully with silver hair, and perhaps that is what the realm needs now. Gods know, we need something to put a stop to this endless war. Who am I to say that it should not be you...Amina?" 

Chapter 45: The Thunder

          Thyra found nothing quite as satisfying as watching men who underestimate her choke on their own blood.

          The men of the green lands made it far too easy. Unlike the Ironborn, they feared the very sea they sailed upon, leaving their armor on land and themselves prime for attack. Half the southron galley's crew was taken by arrows before Thyra even boarded it.

          Still, the little lordling captain had looked at Thyra's falchion and laughed. She'd put an end to that when she put the end of her falchion through his heart.

          A banner hung from the prow of the ship: a golden shield and a green hand. Thyra ripped the fabric free and wiped the specks of blood from her hands, then threw the banner over her shoulder. Victarion always said their halls would hang with the banners of the men they'd defeated.

          Thyra leaned on the railing to take in the view. They were surrounded by green land ships, burning and sinking. Some of those with Ironborn sails were burning and sinking as well, but many and more were victorious. A few lost ships would mean a few displaced Ironborn to crew the captured prizes. But this ship would be captained by one of her own.

          Thyra gave the galley to Kromm Goodbrother before they left for Lord Hewett's Town, and he had the audacity to say, "It's small."

          "If you take a larger one, you are free to give to it to someone else," Thyra told him. "Elsewise, I will give it to Steffarion. I'm sure he will be less inclined to complain about his gift." That had shut him up.

          Since the kingsmoot, the animosity between the two had grown. Kromm blamed Steffarion for not gathering enough houses, while Steffarion blamed Kromm for not keeping his kin in line. His Hammerhorn cousins had been among the first to change their tune when Euron blew his damned horn.

          "I could give him the Kraken's Kiss, and he would still find a way to see it as a slight," Thyra muttered.

          "But he will always have your back," Brenna said. Thyra knew it was true. No matter how much they bickered now, Kromm would always be her first man.

          The day Victarion had delivered the Kraken's Kiss to his daughter, Thyra found Kromm Goodbrother on the docks admiring her. He was four years her junior; a boy, really. But he had told her he would do anything to fight on the deck of a ship like Thyra's. So, Thyra told him to get onboard. Kromm had been by her side ever since.

          But they had grown older and welcomed others to their crew. Over the years a chasm had opened between them, and Thyra saw no way to bridge it. So, it was time to let him go and to grow her fleet.

          Steffarion would soon follow, it couldn't be helped. They would surely capture more ships before this war was done, and the heir to House Weaver was next in line.

          She'd always known this day would come. As a second born son, Kromm's best prospect was to join the Iron Fleet. One day, Steffarion would captain the fleet of House Weaver, small as it may be. They both just needed experience first, and now they had it.

          But knowing something was inevitable, and watching it happen, were two very different things. Thyra felt as if she were tearing off pieces of herself and sending them off into this cruel world. She couldn't protect them any longer.

          Kromm spent the rest of the sail to Oakenshield, recruiting crew members who'd come to support him against Steffarion. Thyra knew she ought to put a stop to it, or at least limit his poaching, but she couldn't be bothered to care. The crew had done their part in encouraging this ridiculous feud. She'd send Urrathon to gather new men when they docked.

          Steffarion joined Thyra against the railing. "I can't say I'll be sad to see him go," he said with a soft laugh. "But you've always fought against having a flee, it must be hard to lose him."

          "Unfortunately, this ship is too small for both your egos," Thyra said with a huff. "We aren't the same kids we were when we set off looking for adventures."

          "Was that what we were doing?" Steff asked. "I seem to distinctly remember running away from a few things." He winked at her, and Thyra felt her heart squeeze. She would miss this, her friends all in one place. As if he knew her thoughts, Steff threw his arm around her shoulder, pulling Thyra toward him. "The adventure doesn't end just because we're standing on different decks. You're still the captain of our fleet."

          Steff gestured at the Iron Fleet around them. "And one day you'll be the captain of us all," he said. Thyra shook her head, laughing off the churning feeling in her stomach that might be longing, or fear.

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          The crew of the Kraken's Kiss sat together in Lord Hewett's great hall, alongside Kromm's new Stone Breaker crew. It was as loud and as raucous as any Ironborn feast, only this meal was served on silver plates and at the hands of noble born women. Thyra averted her eyes as one of Lord Hewett's womenfolk passed, filling their goblets.

          Before Thyra could linger too long on Euron's humiliation of the Hewett's, Urrathon returned, sliding onto the bench across from her. She expected the first thing out of his mouth to be news of their new crewmen. It was not. "Crow's Eye is selling the women and children."

          Thyra narrowed her eyes. "Selling?" She repeated incredulously. "To whom?"

          Urri shrugged. "No one knew, but the King commanded it."

          "Slaving is not the Ironborn way," Halleck said. Some might say salt wives and thralls were no better, but at least their children were born free. Many a house had been born of them; Steffarion's Weavers included. Then there was Dalton Pyke, whose mother had been a thrall from some northern island, yet here he was sitting at their table, not serving it.

          "The Crow's Eye is barely an Ironborn," Thyra muttered. "But there are too many battles to fight for us to pick this one."

          At the front of the room, Euron stood to address the room of Ironborn, drunk on victory and Arbor wine. "I swore to give you Westeros, and here is your first taste." The room cheered and toasted. "These islands were once ours, and now they are again!"

          One by one, he called out the new lords of the Shield Islands. Rodrick Harlaw's chosen heir, Dunstan Drumm's right-hand, the young Lord Volmark, and... "Rise Kromm Goodbrother, Lord of Oakenshield."

          Their table looked between Kromm and Thyra with wide eyes. Kromm looked just as shocked as the rest of them, but he stood slowly. He didn't push back his shoulders and stand tall, for once in his life Kromm genuinely looked humbled.

          "With all due respect, your grace, my duty lies with Shatterstone. My father is old, and when he passes, my brother will need help to command his fleet."

          Brenna frowned and nearly opened her mouth to speak, before closing it. She fixed Thyra with a concerned look. They both knew that Kromm had no intention of returning to Shatterstone.

          From this distance, Thyra couldn't see the expression on her uncle's face. "As you wish..." Euron waved lazily and turned his attention across the room, to the Iron Victory's table. "Nute the Barber, Lord of Oakenshield," Euron called out. Victarion's right-hand man stood to accept the honor.

          Thyra turned to Kromm as he sat down, Euron's plan dawning on her. But Kromm beat her to it, "He's trying to tear us apart." Thyra spared a glance for the Crow's Eye before nodding. "He wants to win your father's supporters, and failing that, he'll take the strongest of us."

          "But a lordship..." She trailed off, seeing the brief look of hurt that crossed Kromm's face. "I wouldn't have faulted you for taking it."

          Kromm shook his head. "I'm your man before I'm any other Greyjoy's." He squeezed her hands across the table once. "Always."

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          Thyra met Victarion in his rooms that night. They were certainly not the largest in the keep, but just large enough not to offend. Of course, Euron would slight his brother at every opportunity.

          "You have a loyal friend in the Goodbrother boy," her father said as way of greeting. "I can't blame the Barber for taking Euron's offer but..."

          "But you wish he saw through his game," Thyra finished.

          Victarion poured a glass of wine and pushed it across the table. Thyra took the invitation to sit. "The Crow's Eye has asked us to take the Iron Fleet across the Narrow Sea and bring back the last Targaryen to be his bride."

          In the great hall, Euron had failed to convince the room of his plans to sail East and bring back dragons. Now he'd come crawling to his brother for help. Thyra scoffed. "There's no one in the world I'd wish Euron's company upon, except perhaps my uncle, himself."

          Victarion inclined his head slightly in agreement. "It is a long journey to Slaver's Bay; we'll likely need to split the Fleet on the journey. I'll expect you to lead a squadron."

          Thyra looked at her father for a moment, blankly. "We're going on this cursed journey for some dragon princess who might not even exist?"

          Victarion leaned forward. There was a glint in her father's eye that Thyra had never seen before. "We're not bringing her back to be Euron's wife, we're bringing her back to be mine."

          Thyra let out a breathy laugh. "Well, I did follow you into that awful swamp..." She took a sip from her glass, before raising it toward her father in a toast. "What's another cursed journey?"

Chapter 46: Lyman

          Riverrun had been under siege for so many moons that Lyman had lost count. The castle had provisions to last two years unless the Freys finally made good on their threats and tore down the gates. Part of Lyman wished they would. He may not survive the fight, but at least he would kill a few treasonous, weasel-faced bastards on the way down.

          It was an endless cycle of dry rations, surveying troops, and watching the Freys pointlessly parade Edmure about with a noose around his neck. The rare excitement had come when Ryman Frey arrived to negotiate. Ser Amos Trane had put an arrow in the horse's rump, causing the creature to rear and throw Ryman to the ground.

          This morning, another rider had come to treat. Lyman watched Jaime Lannister ride out from the siege lines in his red and gold. He glanced over to Amos, and his knight drew an arrow with a smirk. Lyman patted him on the back. "I think the Blackfish can handle himself but keep it ready just in case."

          "Raise!" Lyman called, and the portcullis was drawn up, allowing Brynden to step forth onto the drawbridge. The two men stood facing each other. The Kingslayer looked tired, while the Blackfish had more than enough pent-up energy from their months trapped inside the castle.

          "I assume you are here to fulfill the oaths you swore my niece," Brynden called. "As I recall, you promised Catelyn her daughters in return for your freedom." If the Lannister had brought Lady Stark's girls, there would have been a much larger commotion.

          Lyman had only met them once when they'd stopped in Darry when his father was still lord. The eldest had done her best to imitate a lady of the court, long before they'd reached King's Landing. The younger one, though, was far more wolf than girl. A little monster if there ever was one, though Sallei had rather liked her. The business with the direwolves had been handled poorly by both the King and his father. Not that there was much Raymun Darry could have done in the face of Cersei Lannister.

          Then there was the third daughter, Amina Corrigan, Robb Stark's wife, the Queen in the North. Amina had always been a bit of a mystery to him. At times, she seemed far more regal than Robb, then he'd spot her in the yard sparring with her men and covered in mud. Sallei would have liked her too if they'd ever met.

          But Catelyn Stark's girls were all gone now, missing or dead. There was no point in lingering on the past.

          The Kingslayer was presenting his terms. If the Blackfish surrendered the castle, his men would be allowed to leave, and Brynden could take the Black. For a moment, Lyman allowed himself to dream. He could return to Sallei and Willem, put his sword down, and rest... But there were Freys in his castle, and he would not rest until his lands had been freed. One day Willem would inherit Castle Darry, Lyman would see to that.

          Brynden genuinely laughed. "Bargaining with oathbreakers is like building on quicksand. There are no terms I would accept from the likes of you."

          "You are fighting the wrong battle, Blackfish," Jaime said. He shook his head, as if disappointed. "Why play this losing game when your queen is leagues away?"

          "Cersei Lannister is no queen of mine," Brynden scoffed.

          The Kingslayer shook his head once. "That is not the queen I speak of."

          Lyman glanced at Ser Amos incredulously. It was impossible. Amina Stark had died fleeing the Red Wedding. Search parties had found her crown and her bloody clothing in the Blue Fork. The Freys had killed her, just like all the rest.

          "I saw her myself, in King's Landing," Jaime continued. "Posing as a southern girl with the help of Margaery Tyrell herself. She looked different, but I'd never forget that face." Lyman thought he saw something sad pass over the Lannister for a moment, but it was gone as soon as it appeared.

          After a moment, Brynden asked, "Where is she?"

          "Sunspear by now, one would assume." He shrugged casually, though Lyman sensed he had more information than he let on. "The Dornish caravan took Oberyn Martell's body south. I did not see her again."

          For a moment, neither man moved, nor spoke. Then Jaime Lannister turned his horse and trotted back toward his waiting army. Lyman waited for Brynden to come back inside the gates, before giving the signal, and letting the portcullis crash to the ground.

          Lyman met the Blackfish in the yard. "He's lying," he declared with a certainty he did not feel.

          The Blackfish shook his head. "I don't think he is. I know that girl and running off to King's Landing is exactly the sort of scheme she would think up." Under his breath, he muttered, "Impulsive, reckless girl."

          "But why?" Lyman asked. "Why not return here, or Winterfell, or Beldain?" Even as he asked it, he thought he understood. It was the same reason he hadn't gone to Seaguard when Bryden had told him to. Her fight was not over.

          "The writing was on the wall for us," Brynden said with a sigh. "Winterfell was taken, and the Ironborn have made the way to Beldain impassable. King's Landing meant allies with power; she grew close with the Tyrell girl in Bitterbridge."

          "Ser Caswell knew the Tyrells, he severed them for a time before joining Renly," Lyman recalled. Though he'd never gotten to know the knight, Sallei's ladies had been smitten, and Lyman had endured all their gossip. "But the Lannisters would have recognized her," he motioned toward the gate. "Clearly Jaime did."

          "And yet he kept her secret," Brynden mumbled.

          "We can't know that," Lyman protested. "Perhaps they've got her locked up in the black cells, awaiting execution. Or they're planning to marry her to one of their own, like Sansa Stark."

          The Blackfish raised a hand. "If they had her, they would gloat. Wherever Amina is, the Crown doesn't know about it. Maybe she's in Dorne, maybe not. But if there's a chance..."

          "Hope like that is dangerous."

          Brynden shook his head. "Hope like that is all we've got."

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          Jaime Lannister's men brought Edmure to Riverrun's gate on a well-appointed horse. The rightful Lord of Riverrun had lost weight and lines creased his face where once he'd appeared youthful and carefree. But he'd been bathed and dressed in a fresh doublet of Tully blue and red, his beard was neatly trimmed. He looked far lordlier than he had the day prior standing on that gods forsaken executioner block.

          Edmure Tully stood in the training yard with all of Riverrun's garrison around them and told them the truth of it. "I will surrender the castle to the Lannisters. Each of you will be pardoned for your treason, provided you bend the knee to King Tommen. You will all be free to return to your homes."

          "What if we have no home to return to," Lyman called out. "What of us, who's castles were taken by those traitors you mean for us to bend the knee to?"

          Edmure sighed. It was a weary sigh that carried the weight of weeks of captivity. "I am sorry, Lord Darry. There is naught I can do for you now but save your life."

          "And what of your uncle?" The Blackfish asked. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching his nephew with a disappointed look. "I suppose the Lannisters will just allow me to leave too?"

          "Jaime Lannister has sworn that you will be allowed to take the black. I'm sure Ned's bastard will be glad to have you on the Wall."

          Brynden spit on the ground to illustrate just what he thought of that idea. "Do what you will with the castle but do so knowing that your father and every Lord Tully before you is cursing you from beyond the grave. I will not be here to see it."

          Edmure scoffed. "And where do you plan to go, uncle?"

          "The Queen lives," he said bluntly. "I intend to find her."

          Edmure startled, clearly caught off guard. "Amina? But they found her clothes, there was so much blood..." He trailed off, clearly reliving the night of the Red Wedding. "If that's true– "

          "It's true," Brynden said with far more conviction than Lyman felt. Though Lyman wanted to believe, he still couldn't understand what Jaime Lannister had to gain by telling them the truth, or why he would've let Amina leave King's Landing in the first place.

          Edmure was quiet for a moment, then he nodded. "Alright, the Freys aren't expecting us to raise the gate until tomorrow. You must go tonight; we'll open the Water Gate just enough for you to swim out."

          "I'm going with you," Lyman said, turning toward the Blackfish.

          "It's a long swim, boy," Brynden said. "It's best you stay and surrender. Perhaps, we can meet in the south."

          Lyman shook his head, adamant. "I will die before I bend the knee to any Lannister."

          The Blackfish appeared as if he wanted to argue, but then again, when didn't he? Finally, he sighed and nodded. "Tonight then. Gather your things."

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          Under cover of darkness, Lyman met the Blackfish and Lord Edmure by the Water Gate. His knights, Ser Amos Trane and Ser Samwell Spirre flanked him, though they would not be swimming out with them tonight. "Ride for Seaguard tomorrow," Lyman instructed them. "Tell Sallei and her father where I've gone. If we find the Queen, we'll need Lord Mallister's help."

          "We'll ride south when we're done at Seaguard," Samwell said.

          "Take an indirect route, we can't be sure there won't be eyes on you," Lyman advised him. "Bring only those Lord Mallister feels most trustworthy."

          "It's time," Brynden called. Lyman turned toward the Tully men. The gate had been raised just enough to be passable for those capable of diving deep enough to swim under. From the surface, the gate appeared to be securely closed.

          The Blackfish jumped into the water, and Lyman followed. The Tumblestone was deep and cold. Brynden was right, this was going to be a long swim. Edmure knelt to be level with his uncle. "If you find Amina..." He trailed off for a moment. "Just bring her home, uncle. For Cat's sake."

          The Blackfish gave Edmure a pat on the shoulder. "If she'll let me, I will. Gods know that girl always has plans of her own."

          "May the gods be with you!" Ser Amos called out. Lyman nodded toward his trusted knight, before taking a deep breath and diving into the river. As he swam deep, beneath the gate, he reminded himself of what he was fighting for. A future for Willem, a life that Sallei deserved, and the future of the Seven Kingdoms itself. He didn't know if Amina Corrigan held the key to any of those things, but Bryden Tully's hope was contagious, and Lyman couldn't help but dream.