This chapter was edited by Gdiusx

  3rd day of the 7th moon,

  Small council chambers,

  The Hand of the King.

  The youngest son of Tywin Lannister stared at the pouring rain crashing onto the gss windows. When the king had compined about the unexpected rain, the Grandmaester had expined that due to the sudden heat of the wildfire, the hot winds had brought the cold winds of a nearby rainstorm. The old councilor was dozing off in his seat next to the Spider and across from his sister, and Tyrion scowled at the sight. It still irked him when he reported his findings to his father regarding Pycelle’s involvement with Jon Arryn’s murder, but Tywin Lannister insisted not to imprison the old lecher, for he provided valuable information from the Citadel that even Varys would not be capable of acquiring.

  “…mostly under control, with the storm forcing most rioters off the streets. Many have fled the city after the wildfire explosion.” Tyrion gulped his wine as he idly listened to Bywater’s report. With the ck of a Master of Laws, most of the duties of the position fell on the newly appointed commander of the city watch. Even then, Ironhand was not allowed to sit alongside the small council, despite being a noble.

  “Who cares about those filthy traitors? The less rats in my city, the better!” Joffrey was still pale and cked his usual petunt assertiveness. The boy king had confined himself inside Maegor’s Holdfast, refusing to step outside until all the traitors were gone, but he seemed specifically scared of the storm. Tyrion had thought he would get some peace, but his nephew insisted on attending these meetings, though now the towering form of the Hound and half a dozen other guards always accompanied him in addition to the white cloaks.

  It was a shock when the younger Clegane made it back to the keep, battered and missing his left eye but alive, with Tyrek Lannister and Lollys Stokeworth in tow. The scarred man was beyond pissed over the theft of his horse and cursed anyone who asked how he survived. His cousin Tyrek was happy to elucidate as he and the Hound found themselves fighting their way out of the mob, but not before stumbling on the Stokeworth woman held by the rabble behind a tanner’s shop. Tyrek had insisted on saving her because it was the chivalrous thing to do and was promptly knighted for his valor, yet the Hound looked ready to vomit blood when offered the same.

  The loss of Preston Greenfield could already be felt as the order had dwindled to just three: Mandon Moore, Meryn Trant, and Boros Blount. Technically, the Hound was also one, but he refused to wear the cloak. Attempts to recruit repcements were stifled by the ck of good prospects; many nobles had been missing since the riots, and no one knew if they were dead or had just chosen to flee from the city rather than face Stannis’ impending siege.

  Speaking of his cousin, Tyrion ughed inwardly when Joffrey had taken Tyrek to join his personal guard. Judging by the boy’s unsteady stance by the wall, he was not yet accustomed to the long hours of doing nothing expected of the guards.

  “Well, the fewer hands in the city to work, the slower we can plug that gap in the city walls somehow,” The Grandmaester coughed a few times as he leaned on his armchair. The old lecher was quite disturbed a couple of days ago at the tale of that massive wave and the ensuing explosion but had seemingly returned to normal.

  “Fewer fools to riot and mouths to feed, too,” Varys pointed out. “Although this can impact the customs and tariffs that can be levied.”

  “Copper counting is for fools,” Joffrey scoffed.

  “Wise words, Your Grace, but coin is still necessary to keep the city running. It's needed to pay the guards, ensure you get the finest food, and commission repairs and projects to show your grandeur.” As always, the eunuch’s titter made his skin crawl. Did Varys have to always keep up with the damned mummer’s farce?

  “Any word from my father, Grandmaester?” Tyrion had sent a raven to Harrenhal right after the debacle and had expected a reply by yesterday morning. Hopefully, he caught Tywin and his army before they departed for Riverrun.

  “Ehm. The raven arrived in the morn. The birds fare badly in such tumultuous weather. Let's see here,” Tyrion stifled a groan as the doddering old fool seemed more intent on pying his act than usual. Pycelle continued to fumble with his rolls of parchment until he finally found what he was looking for. “Ah, here. It's short and concise as would be expected of Lord Tywin–”

  “Before we die from old age, Grandmaester.” Tyrion ignored the offended look of the old fool as he took a swig from his goblet, idly wishing he was in his manse with Shae between his legs. The st thing he needed was to hear his drowsy prattling.

  “Don’t keep us waiting, Grandmaester.” Cersei's scowl finally had the old man stop with his dawdling.

  “Sending reinforcements. Hire troops and rebuild defenses posthaste. If incapable, evacuate the king and his brother to a safe castle of your choosing. The Hand has full authority but must hold the city.”

  “I will not run away from my castle!” Joffrey smacked the table with his fist, sounding more petunt than anything. Tyrion ignored him as his mother and the other counselors worked on convincing his nephew of the necessity of retreating to fight another day.

  “Ser Jacelyn, report on the damages to the city and the city guard.” The imp was busy gulping his wine before refilling his goblet. His father had more or less signed his execution. Maiden’s teats, how would he defend the city with no fleet, a breach, and few men?

  “The port facilities are gone, completely wiped out, along with the ferries, all the shipyards, and the dry docks.” The man’s bluntness would be popur in the North or the Wall, but judging by the grimaces on everyone’s faces, not so much here. “Aside from the gaping hole in the wall, Fishmonger Square has turned into a flooded pit, some shops on the Street of Steel were destroyed from falling debris, and nearly half of the buildings on River Row are gone.”

  “Who cares about the damn peasants,” Joffrey’s grating voice broke the somber silence in the chamber. “What about my army?”

  “What army, Your Grace? The City watch?” Tyrion scoffed as the st drops of the pitcher spluttered weakly in his cup.

  “Yes, yes, them. If I will have my uncle’s head, I will need my own, personal army. No more depending on traitors to give me troops.” The boy was barking mad, though Tyrion wondered if that wasn’t such a bad idea. Having your personal standing army was done before in the east to great success, but the expenses would make even his father balk, especially in times of peace where there was no promise of loot.

  “A hundred of my men, along with the score of red cloaks stationed by the gatehouse, are dead.” The one-handed knight replied stiffly. It might be a rge loss for the City watch, but most of the dead were still poorly equipped and ill-trained townsfolk, and finding repcements would be simple enough. The red cloaks’ loss would be felt more, and he regretted sending most of them with Vyrr to Riverrun as Cleos Frey’s escort. The few that remained in the city were now all dead.

  “And the smallfolk? How many have died in this tragedy?” Everyone looked at Varys with some befuddlement; why was the foolish eunuch still speaking such drivel?

  Jacelyn Bywater’s face grew even grimmer. “We’ve found over five thousand corpses so far. It’s hard to give any numbers; digging through the wreckage and the flooded streets is impeded by the unceasing rain. If any sailors, fishermen, or shipwrights survived, they have long fled the city by now.”

  Well, it seemed like his pns were ruined for good. No new ideas on how to deal with Stannis’ fleet came to his mind, especially with no ships of his own. What had Wisdom Hallyne said earlier? Two hundred jars of green piss were found under the Great Sept. Probably, a simir cache had resided under the River Gate to obliterate tons of solid stone with such ease. Tyrion couldn’t help but wonder if there was more green piss hidden around the city for some reason, and who would be mad enough to do a folly so big?

  “Lord Varys, have you finally uncovered the identity of that wretch who spirited away our dear Sansa Stark?”

  “Spirited?” Tyrion snorted, “It’s a tragic love story of elopement with a hedge knight from a cruel tyrant if you go by what the bards say.”

  “I will have their tongues. All of them.” Cersei stared coldly at Bywater until he reluctantly nodded. “Sndering their king is treason, and Sansa Stark was treated as befitting of her station.”

  “Dear sister, you had her entire household put to the sword, and the girl was stripped and beaten before the whole royal court by the Kingsguard, making a mockery of the knightly order.” Tyrion smiled at the increasingly red faces of his sister and her son. “Many said nothing but still had eyes to see. Unless you could rip off the tongues of all those who are now out of the city, the word will spread to the four winds”

  “Not everyone is a traitor to speak ill of their king,” Cersei scoffed dismissively. Tyrion just shrugged; nothing mattered as long as they won at the end. “Spider?”

  “Yes, yes, tell us eunuch. Who was that brigand daring to abscond with my accursed betrothed?” Joffrey’s face alternated between angry and terrified. The st word seemed to send the young king into some sort of frenzy; gone was the toy that could be beaten on a whim, repced with a fearsome witch. Worse, Tyrion wasn’t sure if he could even dispute Joffrey’s theory; anyone who knew what had caused the wave was dead from the flood or the wildfire.

  Everyone looked expectantly at the eunuch, who wore the same kind, harmless smile he always did. The same question had been asked yesterday, but Varys had begged off more time to investigate, “Even a skilled cook cannot roast fish before catching it, Your Grace. My little birds hear many a song, yet it is difficult to know what truly happened in the chaos.”

  “So you don’t know anything?” Joffrey’s brow scrunched up with displeasure, making the Spider bow deeply.

  “Oh, I know plenty, Your Grace. Rather, it’s all tales, each more fanciful than the st. From a rogue red cloak scorned by Your Grace to the Warrior himself coming to cim the girl. The remains of the King’s Justice were found in one of the alleys, along with one of the Kettlebck brothers. The small folk seemed busy cutting them for their pots of brown, I fear.” Tyrion’s eyebrow twitched; That expined how Ice found its way to Sansa Stark’s possession. To think he had wasted so much coin on those foolish brothers – the youngest Kettlebck brother had disappeared in the night with the rest of his brothers’ gold. “The loudest of the songs say that Sansa Stark was… kidnapped by a tall, powerful man with hair bck as coal and stormy green eyes. Others sing of his prowess with a bde.”

  “Lone man slicing a hail of arrows before charging through a ptoon of spearmen is quite hard to miss.” Tyrion acquiesced, “What of it?”

  “The likeness to Renly Baratheon is quite strong.”

  For a moment, the council chambers grew quiet as the words sank in before a fist smacked on the table. “You said my uncle is dead!”

  “I believe he is, yet I confess to have not seen the corpse. Dreadful affair. Dear me, kinsying of all things. Yet even a sorcerer cannot be in many pces at the same time, Your Grace.”

  “What use are you then, Varys?” Cersei stared at the eunuch.

  “Your Grace, I am a master of whispers, not the arcane! Words and hearsay are my trade. There is little doubt that Renly Baratheon is dead, yet he is far from the only one with such looks. Our good king Robert spread his seed far and wide.”

  “You mean a bastard half-brother of mine dared to abscond with my bride?!” Joffrey’s pale face was flushed with pulsing veins on his forehead. It was as if he had forgotten about his fear of the witch.

  “Indeed.” Varys csped his soft hand with a flourish. “Your uncle Renly had a penchant for gathering Robert’s bastards. Sansa Stark is the key to the North, and he doubtlessly knew that. If she could be spirited away and be wed to Wils Tyrell, Renly could attempt to pull the North and the Rivernds by his side-”

  At that moment, Tyrion realized the Spider had no idea what was truly going on. The eunuch’s demeanor was slightly more tense despite his usual act, and there were too many… inconsistencies. If Varys had known all of that before the riots, then why didn’t he inform them or disrupt the kidnapping in the first pce? Yet, Tyrion had bigger problems than exposing the only councilor who had been nothing but helpful to him.

  This meeting had already dragged on enough as it was, but he would have a talk with the Eunuch.

  “Bah, it doesn’t matter. I want all of their heads on a spike. Write to my grandfather, Imp!” Joffrey stood up and hastily fled the chambers, followed by his gaggle of guardsmen. By the time Tyrion had put his goblet down, Varys had also left. Cursing his short legs and the councilor's impatience, the Imp hurried out, too.

  Entering the crowded throne room, Tyrion was stopped by the queer scene of the rest of the counselors looking at a soaking-wet guard. Varys was nowhere to be seen.

  “A fleet has been sighted.”

  .

  .

  .

  It seemed that misfortune had taken a liking to their cause. Tyrion knew something was wrong when Myrcel’s escort had returned so early, led by the downcast Ser Arys Oakheart.

  Worse, when the grudging words started coming from the knight, Tyrion could only groan with exasperation. It was as if the gods themselves had decided to abandon their cause. And what a tale it was! An hour passed as the councilors listened to a truly mythical tale that could only belong to the Age of Heroes.

  “You allowed your princess to be kidnapped by some sorcerer under the command of Sansa Stark?” Tyrion had always prided himself on his wits and calmness, but this was too much.

  “It is, and shall always be, my greatest failure and dishonor, and no words would ever absolve me of it.” Ser Arys’ head remained bowed in shame, yet he raised his hands, showing his dented gauntlets. The dents looked as if someone with inhuman strength had squeezed them, leaving their finger imprints on the castle-forged steel. “Yet no words could ever describe the sheer power and magic the devil wielded. Three hundred of us couldn’t even put a scratch on him, and that was before he threatened to drown us all if the Princess did not surrender herself to him. The merciful Princess Myrcel ordered us to stand down before surrendering to the fiend, just as Sansa Stark came with her own ship.”

  “I told you!” Joffrey shouted from his tapered seat, his wild eyes looking fearfully at the shadows as he shook in his seat. “I told you the damn witch would come for us!”

  “I fear that sorcerer more than any tales of that feeble girl being a witch,” Cersei growled between gritted teeth. His sister had nearly colpsed when the white cloak first announced the kidnapping of her daughter, but her shock slowly turned into rage.

  “Don’t you get it, mother?! That sorcerer was under the thrall of that witch. What more proof do you want?”

  His nephew’s surprising crity gave them pause. Tyrion had to admit that it was far more impressive for the Stark girl to take such a powerful man under her thrall than any tale of her moving rivers or seas. More feasible, too, as he would admit that no man could resist the temptations of a woman, especially one with Sansa Stark’s beauty. Even now, the Imp’s mind drifted to the girl’s womanly curves that would probably blossom even further, considering her mother. He truly ached for Shae still waiting for him in that manse.

  Shaking his head, he wondered when Sansa ever got the chance to enthrall such a sorcerer? If she truly had such powers, then why didn’t she use them before?

  “Magic has been gone for hundreds of years, not since the death of the st dragon!” The Grandmaester insisted with surprising steel in his words, his feeble act forgotten.

  “Well, how would you expin the sudden fsh flood that drowned our harbor?” Tyrion scoffed, wishing he had more wine, but he had already finished the decanter an hour ago, and the servant had yet to return with another.

  “This could very well have been a freak act of nature and–”

  “The river rose a hundred feet innd all of a sudden, before climbing the walls to drag the men from them, Grandmaester. Just because you were in the privy and did not witness it does not mean we are all delirious.” Tyrion growled, and he was surprised when his sister and nephew nodded along, gring at the old man.

  “B-but still–”

  “The sea rose with that man's hand. Three hundred men would attest to my cim.” Ser Arys asserted, the sailors behind him nodding, their eyes wide and their fear clear.

  The Grandmaester opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again before letting out such a sad and tired sigh that the Imp almost felt bad for him. Almost.

  “What happened after my niece surrendered?”

  “The Stark girl bid her and her handmaid join them on their ship. The sorcerer had everyone on the Swiftwind, and the Crimson Gale moved to the Boldwind before magicking the empty ships to follow him. All three ships then sailed away, and the fog dissipated, freeing the rest of the fleet lost in it.”

  “That harlot stole my daughter's dowry?” Cersei shook in her seat from the sheer rage before turning to him, “This is your fault for sending Myrcel to Dorne in the first pce!”

  “Father approved. You were the one who insisted on packing such a costly dowry when the royal coffers were empty.” The shortest son of Tywin Lannister shrugged and grabbed a newly arrived decanter, pouring wine into his goblet. “What do you know about this sorcerer?”

  “He said his name was Perseus.” The strange name gave them pause, with Pycelle stroking his beard in interest.

  “Grandmaester?”

  “It is a strange name indeed. Could be either Valyrian or Rhoynish, maybe even Ghiscari. What did he look like again?”

  “About my height with a powerful physique that spoke of years of training. Sun-kissed skin that wouldn't be out of pce on a Marcher with green eyes a bit darker than His Grace, and hair as bck as the night sky. He was also young, no older than six and ten.”

  They stared at each other, the description mostly matching Varys’ cim, but something was off. “What about his character?”

  “Despite his prowess, he seemed hesitant to kill. Surrender was offered more than once. The sorcerer only killed five men after we peppered him with crossbow bolts. Not that it did any good, he simply snatched the bolts before they struck him or swatted them away with his sword like one would swat a fly.” The reverence in the knight’s words was heavy. “Perseus spoke in a queer dialect and was clearly not highborn. He did not act like one nor speak like one. He asked the sailors many questions regarding the kingdoms as we moved ships.”

  “What sort of questions?” Tyrion leaned forward on his high seat.

  “The gods and tales of legend, specifically the Storm God of the Ironborn and the Sea God of the Stormnds. He let slip he had never been in Westeros and was particurly interested in questioning the Stormnders about their home.”

  The Imp clenched his teeth. He already knew Varys was spewing horseshit, but now the rest of the council had reached a simir realization. If the master of whispers was telling the truth, and he seemed overly confident about it, then why would the sorcerer be asking about the kingdom he was supposedly born in? There went his chance to repay the Eunuch for the favors he owed him.

  “Where is the Spider?” His sister barked at the guards, who remained silent.

  “Probably out of the city by now. I always told His Grace the Spider served nobody but himself.” Pycelle coughed feebly, looking the harmless old man again.

  “My Master of Whispers lied to me? All that drivel about a half-brother acting against me was a lie?” Joffrey’s face turned a shade of puce.

  “Apparently so, Your Grace.”

  “I want Varys’ head on a spike!” Joffrey smmed both fists on the oak table, his face so red he looked like a lobster. “I want all the Starks dead, and that sorcerer as well!”

  “You heard the king, Grandmaester.” Cersei clenched the arms of her chair tightly, “I want ravens sent immediately to all corners of the nd, from Sunspear to the Wall! Sansa Stark is a traitor, practicing the vilest of witchcraft to incite unrest and collude with svers. Kidnapping a royal princess, human sacrifice, blood magick… Half a hundred thousand dragons for her head and that of her pet sorcerer. Twice as much should they be brought alive and a lordship with the promise of a highborn bride.”

  “And a hundred thousand Dragons for the return of the princess.” Tyrion stared incredulously at his sister’s wide eyes as she nodded hesitantly. To think she would forget about her daughter in a fit of rage…

  The Grandmaester turned to Joffrey, who nodded imperiously. Excusing himself with a deep bow, the old lecher hastily left the rooms with surprising vigor.

  “Ser Arys.” His nephew looked at the kneeling white cloak as if he was a maggot. “I shall have no cravens in my kingsguard-”

  “Perhaps… give him a chance to prove himself, Your Grace,” Tyrion hastily interrupted. “Every sword would matter in the city’s defense, and I am sure Ser Arys would want a chance to redeem himself from his failure. Let the whole realm know that Joffrey Baratheon is a just and merciful king, just like his father!”

  Joffrey’s face was scrunched up as if the mere idea of mercy galled him, yet his mother whispered furiously in his ear until he finally nodded.

  “Fine. You shall be pced under the Imp’s command as he holds the city.”

  The Oakheart knight immediately knelt again, head bowed deeply, “You honor me with your mercy, Your Grace. Lord Hand.”

  Another problem averted, Tyrion finally left to meet with the Wisdom, newly recruited guard in tow. Cersei left for her little games with the dies in court, or mayhaps to meet with one of her boy toys, while the Hand still had more work to do. Tyrion had entertained the idea of politicking behind his sister’s back and sending Tommen to a different castle but dismissed it quickly. Joffrey and Tommen would remain in the city unless an attack by Stannis was imminent. Even then, their evacuation would be done in complete secret, though he wondered if the troops would fight as valiantly without their king. As the thoughts swirled in his mind, his gaze trailed towards the blonde head of his cousin, Tyrek. While not as handsome as his nephew, they were both of the same height and with simir features. Tyrek trained far harder than Joffrey, of course. A pn began to form in his mind.

  Shaking his head, Tyrion focused on the present. With Varys gone, Tyrion would need to send spies to see what Stannis was up to, or mayhaps follow his father’s advice and have Pycelle communicate more with his fellow maesters for information. The Grandmaester would not be able to refuse him thanks to the leverage he held over him. Shagga and his men would have to do for now, and perhaps those poachers that his nephew wanted to be tortured? Surely, a new lease on life would buy their loyalty. Stannis would need time to take Storm’s End before marching to King’s Landing, which would hopefully give Tyrion a couple of moons to get things moving.

  He still needed to find a nearby port for the damaged fleet to dock, though he could probably use the sailors elsewhere. So much to do, but hopefully, fortune would finally smile on his efforts.

  Tyrion scoffed to himself, his kin had dragged the realm into war, and the gods had always been a bunch of mercurial cunts. Otherwise, why would someone like him be cursed at birth?

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  .

  .

  The day was finally over, and Tyrion whistled a jaunty tone as he made his way to the manse near the Iron Gates, accompanied by his new guard. Bronn was sent to recruit more sellswords and begin his budding spy network, and the white cloak was more than enough to discourage any foolish or hungry beggar. Ser Arys Oakheart kept his attire, but the man had a morose frown on his face. The imp offered him a night at the brothels, but the young kingsguard’s stiff rejection had him shrug; the white cloak was welcome to wait outside his rooms as he had Shae screaming with pleasure.

  The manse and its guards were all provided by Varys, which made Tyrion wonder what happened to the Eunuch. Surely, he wouldn’t truly abandon decades of service for one mistake? Joffrey and Cersei might have called for his head, but the Spider was much more resourceful than people believed. The Hand of the King was certain Varys would reappear when the crown most needed his talents and offer them something of great value in return for a pardon.

  Arriving at the manse, Ser Arys pced a hand on the dwarf’s shoulder. “Something is not right.”

  Tyrion quirked his head as he looked closer at the gates. The rain had finally abated, yet the sky was still overcast, and the darkness of the evening made it difficult to see properly. “What is it?”

  “You said there were many servants and guards in that manse?”

  “Aye, about a dozen guards and half of that in servants.”

  “Then why is the manse completely dark? It’s not yet the hour of the eel, yet I do not see a single candle, ntern, or movement.”

  Tyrion’s heart beat like a drum, and he moved to the gates, but Ser Arys held him back. Gring at the kingsguard, he froze when the white cloak unsheathed his sword, his eyes hardening under his helmet.

  “Stay behind me, Lord Hand.”

  The Lord Hand regretted not having a rger escort, but this side of the city had not seen any rioting and was the furthest from the River Gate. It was also where the more affluent merchants lived, and despite Fleabottom being near it, the city watch would usually patrol these streets for no reason other than the donations they would get from the merchants.

  They reached the manse’s gate, finding it unlocked, and Tyrion started feeling a tinge of worry. Walking to the slightly ajar door, Ser Arys motioned for silence as he grabbed a discarded broom and took off his helmet. Then, he hung the helmet at the end of the broom and slowly edged it through the door as if it were his head.

  A mace nded heavily on the helmet, crushing it to the floor, and Ser Arys instantly kicked the door and charged in. Tyrion could do nothing but hide behind a column as the sounds of steel cshing and broken furniture echoed out in the manse. Curses and pleas for mercy were ignored as, with a final squelching sound, silence.

  Wondering if the white cloak was dead, Tyrion hesitated to check on him or flee. His decision was taken from him when the door slowly opened, and the grim visage of Arys Oakheart greeted him. The Kingsguard was covered in blood, with his armor missing some of its filigrees and the pte scratched and dented. Yet, he stood steadily as he wiped his bloody sword on a rag.

  “It is safe now, Lord Hand.”

  They entered the manse, the white cloak at the front, lit ntern in hand. The foyer of the manse was strewn with corpses, and the smell of shit and blood had him gagging. All of the corpses were the guards gifted by Varys. Dread filled his heart.

  “Shae?”

  Ser Arys shook his head. “I’m sorry, my lord. I found them in the kitchens, but…”

  Tyrion followed his guard in a daze as they entered the kitchens, finding his mistress with the servants he hired, naked and undoubtedly dead with their throats slit. The white bird he gifted her, plucked clean on a counter, and the Imp felt like his world was spinning. His instinctual thought was to bme Cersei, but he quickly realized only one man could have pnned his assassination.

  Why?!

  A*H*M

  Unknown time,

  Harrenhal,

  “Arry”

  She ran through the woods chasing her quarry, a strange bck and white horse. Its rider had made a mistake when it killed one of her own, and now, the beast chased the group of two legs. Seven had dwindled down to one after the hunter of her pack abandoned his own pack mates to survive. With a lunge, a single swipe of her paws tore through the leg, sending the steed sprawling on the ground, with the pack tearing at the horseflesh. The two legs that smelled of goat shook himself and tried to run. Nymeria pounced, bit through the cold, crunchy rings, and tore out his throat.

  Once her prey had stopped twitching, she let go and howled victoriously at the moon. Tearing away the cold metal, she had a proper feast on the innards. Once satisfied, she made her way to the nearby stream. After drinking, Nymeria stared at her reflection, a glint of silver fshed in her yellow eyes. Her two-legged littermate was with her again; she could feel her at the back of her mind now.

  .

  .

  .

  Arya awoke, the taste of blood and raw flesh fresh on her tongue. The dreams she shared with Nymeria had become even more vivid tely. The bedtime tales of wargs and skinchangers that Old Nan spoke of turned out to be as true as the sun. Mayhaps due to the cursed castle? Or the God's Eye? Nymeria had oft dragged her in her dreams so they could hunt together; This time, their prey was not a stag or a doe, but a human. Vargo Hoat was running away from men with a red stallion on their banners, and the direwolf had held a grudge against the sellsword for killing a member of her pack.

  The girl stood up from her bed of straws and stretched, ignoring the sleeping figures around her. It was still nighttime, but she could hear activity in the castle. Sneakily looking through a hole in the masonry, she found many soldiers forming ranks by the main gate. Her eyes narrowed as she found the regal form of Kevan Lannister on his destrier, talking to that fiend, Amory Lorch. What was the Lannister Knight doing here? He had left nearly a sennight ago with his lordly brother, but now he was back?

  A cat was lounging nearby, and Arya stared at it intently, trying to force herself into its skin. She had succeeded with mice and other small animals in the past few days, but a cat would be the rgest animal aside from Nymeria she would slip into. Suddenly, the cat turned to her, and Arya was looking at her thin, malnourished form slumping back into her straw bed. She worried as she looked at her form, for despite being thin, Arya had flowered, and her body had started to show she wasn’t actually a boy. Cutting her hair could only do so much, as her face turned soft girly, yet at least she didn't have to worry about her teats ballooning like Sansa. Still, she grinned at her success, her feline lips stretching. The cat’s body was agile as she stalked through the thousands of troops in the castle’s expansive yards before stopping near the horse holding the Lannister Knight.

  “… hold the castle at all costs. I am leaving a thousand men under your command, and my brother expects you to continue training the levies that the Riverlords send.”

  “Of course, my lord.” Lorch lowered his head to the lesser lion, who nodded before turning to the no longer fat form of the heir of White Harbor. Arya had seen him multiple times, but it took her some time to recognize him from his st visit to Winterfell.

  “Ser Wylis, we have treated you well as my brother’s prisoner.”

  “Aye, you have, my lord.” Wylis Manderly nodded, though she could see the barest hint of anger in his eyes.

  “Lord Tywin’s offer still stands. Think it through, or he will look elsewhere for more agreeable lords. My brother is not known for his mercy, Ser.” The thin form of Wylis Manderly clenched his teeth before bowing his head in resignation.

  The Lannister Knight rode on to inspect his troops, and Arya sneaked around as she listened to the gossiping men. The army definitely was marching to Riverrun earlier, but apparently, something happened in the capital that forced Tywin Lannister to send his brother back to Harrenhal. Arya had entertained the idea of escaping the lightly defended castle, but with a thousand more men defending the castle, that would be difficult.

  Arya continued to listen to the troops before finally she got a tapestry formed in her mind of what happened, and she couldn’t help but feel ecstatic. Sansa had somehow escaped from the Lannisters and some sort of disaster struck the city, felling its walls. That knowledge galvanized her and made her blood boil in excitement. If her Lady-like sister could escape from the Lannisters, why couldn’t she?

  New pns will have to be made, and her eyes fell on the form of Ser Wylis Manderly being led back to his comfortable cell. There were many Northmen held captive, not enough to form any kind of threat, but if she were to escape, Arya would need as big a distraction as possible and hopefully release her brother’s bannermen in the process.

  The She-Wolf cut the connection to the cat and woke up with a wolfish grin; new pns could be made, and she still had the two names that Jaqen had promised. She scowled at the thought, she should have used it on Tywin Lannister instead of some no-name fool. Where was that killer when she needed him? It didn’t matter; Tywin Lannister was beyond her now, but Arya had a long list of names.

  Bub3loka