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ARYA STARK

with a lance to the throat. Some unknown knight from the Vale had been unhorsed by The Mountain. Gregor Clegane was stronger, taller, and held the better horse. Arya felt like an ant when he appeared on the field. His plain armor matched the Hound, and it stood above the rest of the knights, a stone giant on the field.

Arya hadn't cared enough to remember each banner and sigil except for the houses that mattered. It wasn't her fault not everybody was memorable.

The knight that had been unseated was one of them. She briefly recalled Father talking about the former hand, and how he'd had a squire that had been promoted to knight, but Arya couldn't remember his name. Sansa would have remembered. Sansa knew everybody.

The Vale knight crashed to the ground directly in front of Sansa and Arya, her sister staring at the bleeding boy, no sign of horror in her eyes, just sadness. Arya thought it made her look strong.

Jeyne began to cry, Septa Mordane needing to escort the young girl away from the stands. Gods, she was so stupid. If Jeyne didn't want to see someone hurt, then why'd she come to the tourney?

Arya could only stare at the boy on the ground in front of her. Spurts of blood leaking out of his throat, bubbling at the splinter before spurting out again.

His silver armor turned a rusted red, staining the finely crafted breastplate. The wood of the lance punctured his throat, jagged edges sticking out into the air, the knight's gasps as sporadic as the pulsing blood, wasting his last breaths trying to regain his strength.

Arya didn't even realize he had died until the Maesters lifted him off the field. Her mind flashed back to the lessons at Winterfell.

The lessons the Dornish Princess had taught her. The Mountain had gone for the throat. The carotid, Arya noted. Her hand flew to her own, and she hadn't even realized that she'd still been smiling during it all.

Was this the violence the princess had been talking about? Somehow Arya doubted it.

She felt nothing for the fallen knight, only a sense of pity that he hadn't finished the tilt. If he had been better, he wouldn't have been unseated. Tourneys were for knights to show who was the best of the best, and the Vale knight had shown which one he was.

Arya didn't want to be like the nameless knight. She wanted to be strong, she wanted to be like Visenya, a woman riding into battle to become a conqueror. She had felt that way back at Winterfell, when she was sparring with Nymeria.

The sound of knives clashing against each other filled her mind, and Princess Nymeria's face filled her thoughts.

The smoothness of her strokes, the swiftness of her strikes, the deadly gleam in her eye when she won.

Arya wanted to be like her. Suddenly, she began to search the stands for any sign of the sun and spear. But there were none. No sign of any Dornish house. Were they like the North? Stuck down in the barren wasteland and refusing to come to King's Landing?

Maybe they were like her father, waiting until battle to really show what they could do. But Arya wanted to see the Red Viper and his famous bastards. Sansa would have told her it wasn't proper for a lord of the house to have so many bastards around, but Arya didn't trust her opinions anymore. Not after the incident with Lady.

The tournament continued on, and Arya grew bored.

Beric Dondarrion and Thoros of Myr seemed to be the only worthy fight worth watching, and she laughed when the Hound unseated Lord Renly from his horse, tossing the broken antler away carelessly into the crowd.

Aron Santagar and Lothor Brune mounted their steeds, lances facing each other in battle.

NED STARK

Ned was impatient for the tourney to end. He had seen enough of the bloody sport and while he disliked being the Hand of the King, he disliked the Tourney even more. His mind drifted back to the tome on his desk, and the letter that had arrived a few weeks ago, a roaring lion on red wax.

Tyrion Lannister was coming to King's Landing.

The man who had tried to kill his son would soon be living in the same castle Ned was. It made him sick. The Lannisters had gone unchecked for too long, and as soon as Tywin Lannister did something remotely out of line, Ned would bear down on him with whatever power he held.

He still never forgave the man for his treatment of Elia and her babes.

Suddenly he was struck with a question he had never considered. How did Nymeria live but Elia didn't?

Arthur Dayne was down south, and the only Kingsguard during the Sack was Jaime Lannister. She should have died. Unless she was born with Aegon on Dragonstone. Ned shook his head. The Princess was only a few months older than Jon. It wasn't possible for her to be born a full year earlier.

The Kingslayer was saddled on his mount, golden armor shimmering in the bright sunlight, his helm large and gilded, almost forming the shape of a Lion.

No. Jaime Lannister was not the kind to disobey his father's orders. A knight who kills his king is no true knight.

It made Ned uneasy, to envision the Martell girl wandering around his home, supervised by only her sworn swords and captain of the guard. Catelyn had told him of her noble act. How she had saved both his wife and Bran in one fell swoop before falling to pride. Ned didn't buy it. The Martells only knew vengeance. And no one had dishonored them more than the Lannisters and the Starks.

He remembered Prince Oberyn's hotheadedness, how he had tried to raise Dorne to support the exiled Prince. He had failed, and it had been Jon Arryn's logic that had saved Robert from suffering the same fate as Daeron the Young Dragon. Dorne was not a kingdom to be underestimated, but Robert still held the belief that he could have crushed them all like the rubies in Prince Rhaegar's breastplate. They didn't need a war then. They didn't need a war now.

But it was getting harder and harder to avoid. Especially with the Lannisters scheming behind Robert's back.

"A hundred gold dragons on the Kingslayer!" Littlefinger's usually quiet voice rang loud through the stands, offering up a bet to anyone who would take it.

Lord Renly jumped at the opportunity, a sly smile on his face, "I'll take that!" He accepted, and Littlefinger smirked. "The dog hasn't been fed yet,"

"And he won't be if he bites the hand the feeds," Littlefinger retorted, sitting back in his chair, back completely straight as Ned turned his gaze back to the lists.

He had no desire to see either man win, but Sansa moved forward in her seat, eyes eagerly watching the two knights, her wide eyes flickering toward the Hound every once in a while. Something clouding the bright blue hue of his daughter's gaze every time she looked at him.

Sandor Clegane slammed his visor over his face, the visage of a snarling dog facing the elaborate helm of Jaime Lannister, his standard lance facing off against Jaime's more regal one.

Hooves kicked up clouds of dirt as the sound thundered through the stadium, and when wood burst against steel, it was Jaime Lannister who was thrown from his horse with such force, his helm dented, leaving the Kingslayer to wander around aimlessly, trying to tear the thing from his head.

Sansa sighed, and she leaned back into her seat, "I knew he'd win," She said.

Renly was celebrating behind Ned, throwing several japes in Littlefinger's face before finally announcing, "And if the Imp had been here I'd be three times as rich!"

Ned shook his head at the display and reluctantly turned back toward the field, sighing as he went back to watching the tourney.

The crowds bustled back and forth while the next competitors lined up.

"My Lord," Littlefinger's accent found its way into his ears, his breath causing the hairs on Ned's neck to stand up. "I have just received word that Tyrion Lannister has just arrived in King's Landing."

Ned stiffened and excused himself, still unsure of Littlefinger's intentions. He had a vested interest in Catelyn and as long as Catelyn supported Ned, so would Littlefinger. But that was all Ned had to go on. The men of King's Landing were just as conniving as the women and it made him shift uncomfortably every time he thought of it.

And now Tyrion Lannister was in King's Landing.

A full month later than when he was supposed to be. Ned wasn't sure what to make of the information he'd been presented with.

His wife had told him Tyrion Lannister was responsible for his son's attempted murder, so if that was true, why would he walk directly into the hands of the man who knew?

Why would the Martell Princess permit him to leave the Wall?

Ned strode across the hot brick, the sun beating down on him, drawing sweat from his brow as he moved to welcome Tyrion by the Gate of the Gods. But when he saw no horses or wheelhouses Ned turned to face Jory, who had come with him.

"Perhaps he came by a different road my lord," He offered, and Ned nodded. His question was answered by shouts coming from the Lion's Gate.

The metal creaked as it rose up, a small figure on a large horse galloping through the portcullis.

He had come from Casterly Rock instead of the North.

"Ah Lord Stark," Tyrion's smug voice came from atop the mare, dressed in the bright reds and golds of his house, a smirk on his face. Ned's blood boiled. "I trust Princess Nymeria's letter has made it safely into your hands?"

Ned blinked at the news. He recalled the letters he'd received over the past few days, but one with the sunburst and spear eluded him. Tyrion seemed to sense his confusion like a lion ready to pounce.

"Ah, no matter," the dwarf stepped forward, dismissing his last comment with a wave of his hand, "I must offer my condolences for your son, a horrible thing."

"One that you are directly responsible for," Ned growled, arms crossed and jaw clenched. He didn't want an apology or condolences from this man. He wanted justice.

Tyrion rolled his eyes, "I see," pulling a letter from his jerkin, he handed the parchment to Ned, whose blood went cold when he saw the red and gold seal. "My father sends his regards."

Ned read the words with his own eyes, the veiled threat Tywin Lannister had sent. Harm his family and there would be consequences.

And Ned had no proof. The knife was gone, and all he had was the word of Littlefinger.

"Guards," Ned spoke through clenched teeth, "Please escort Lord Tyrion to his chambers," He ordered, looking down at the dwarf. The only thing protecting him was his father and Ned would get justice soon enough.

Tyrion smiled smugly again, like he knew a joke that Ned didn't, "Thank you for your generosity Lord Stark," Ned turned to move away, footsteps stopping when Tyrion called out, "Your bastard says hi, and wishes you would have told him the truth. Frankly, so do I."

No, it couldn't be.

Had everything he'd done to protect Jon finally unraveled? Had his promise finally been broken?

"The Night's Watch is a shell of what it once was," Tyrion continued, "You should have told him that before he left."

Ned nodded, silent relief flooding his veins, and marched away, a knot of guilt forming in his chest.

TYRION LANNISTER

The smell of piss and shit hit him like an ax to the head. Hundreds of years of battles and regime changes and rebellions and King's Landing stood through it all. Unchanging and unmoving. It had been sacked and sieged and burnt but still, it stood.

It was almost admirable in a way. Aegon and his sisters had founded a capital that would last through anything.

Tyrion held the sense that it wouldn't stay that way for long.

He received no warm welcome on the way into the Red Keep and Bronn had left him by Visenya's hill, choosing instead to make his stay at a brothel. Tyrion had considered the idea himself. He hated being under the watchful eye of the Lannister guards at the keep, no doubt placed there by Cersei herself.

She'd always been wary of him. He would always be the monster that killed her mother and she would always be the sister that wanted to kill him.

But they were family, and while Tyrion despised her almost as much as she did him, she was his blood and he would protect her and Jaime until the Stranger took him.

That was one thing his father had beaten into all of them.

Family over all.

"What are you doing here?"

Speak of the devil and she shall appear.

Cersei was dressed in all the finery her station required, her hair piled high atop her head, the crown of stag's horns delicately placed in the center of it all.

She was a Queen, and everywhere she went she reminded people of it.

"Ah dear sister," Tyrion deflected, a wry smirk on his face, he did love watching her squirm, "You always know how to make me feel welcome."

"What. Are. You. Doing. Here?" She asked again, teeth slightly bared like the lioness she always envisioned herself as. Her green eyes were narrowed, like they always were when they talked.

Tyrion settled down in his seat, cocking his head as he looked at his radiant sister. The Light of the West she'd been called many times. He saw it now. Her velvety red dress and gold jewelry made her a painting impossible to look away from. A smile wasn't her beauty.

Her beauty was her beauty. The way her eyes lit up like wildfire.

No wonder Jaime had fallen for her.

"Father sent me here," Tyrion admitted, knowing that it was his only trump card when it came to Cersei. "He wants me to keep an eye on Lord Stark."

Cersei chuckled mirthlessly, "Does he now? I was already doing that."

"Really? And how well is that turning out?"

Cersei was silent.

Ned Stark had been allowed far too much freedom with no consequences for his actions. The only reason Tyrion hadn't been arrested on sight was because of Tywin's letters.

"He's following Jon Arryn's footsteps," Cersei confessed, lacing her hands together anxiously. "The exact ones. Going to brothels, visiting the Street of Steel, he's doing everything that daft old man did in his last days." He didn't miss the bitter look on Cersei's face as she spoke of the former hand. Jon Arryn was not the Lannister's biggest supporter, and as a result, Cersei's freedom had been limited by the old man.

Tyrion nodded, recalling Jon Arryn's exploits before their trip to Winterfell. "And what do you suppose he'll find if he continues to look?"

Cersei's eyes widened in a rare bit of vulnerability before clouding over with pride once again, "Nothing." She spoke as if it was a certainty. But she should know better. They all should.

Tyrion shook his head. By the gods, his siblings would get them all in trouble soon. "And you're certain?"

Cersei's eyes blazed with anger once again. "Yes."

Tyrion shook his head and poured himself a glass of wine, offering one to Cersei as well. His sister always thought she was smarter than anyone who crossed her. It was her greatest flaw. That and her pride.

"Good," He watched Cersei sniff the wine before setting it back down on the table, no doubt she thought he was trying to poison her, "Now perhaps you can help me understand why Ned Stark seems to think I tried to kill his son."

A brief look of confusion crossed Cersei's face before she was back to her regular smug self. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

Tyrion stood up as his sister sat down, her dress splayed out against the dirt and grime of the Red Keep. "If you sent that dagger Cersei then I need to know."

She scoffed before going silent, her lips pressed together in a thin line before curving upward again, "And I told you, I have no idea what you are talking about."

He shook his head again. If she really did send the dagger then it was going to be harder to prove his innocence.

She pushed herself out of the chair and past Tyrion, turning around at the doorway, "Welcome back little brother,"

Tyrion's stomach sank, and a lump formed in his throat. It stayed there as he watched Cersei's figure retreat, an uneasy feeling clawing at his insides.

Gods, how much damage had Ned Stark done already?