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CERSEI LANNISTER

SHE WANTED TO WRING NED STARK'S NECK.

There was something the quiet wolf was hiding from her and despite her initial thoughts, she had drained Sansa Stark dry. The red-headed whelp looked up to her like she was the Mother reborn, and Joffery as if he was the Warrior. A sweet little thing with an empty head full of songs. It made her sick.

It almost reminded Cersei of her infatuation with Prince Rhaegar, and for a brief moment, she imagined a life where Aerys had not refused her father's request. Where she was a dragon queen feared by the realm instead of a stag made into a jape. She would have kept Prince Rhaegar's eye from wandering, unlike the dornish whore he chose instead. And she would have given him trueborn sons. Joffery's hair would be a bright silver and his eyes a deep purple instead of Jaime's blonde locks and green gaze.

There would have been no rebellion if Rhaegar had chosen Cersei.

Lyanna Stark would have been a tiny speck, wasting away by Robert's side as he whored his way through Storm's End and beyond, siring a bastard in every one of the Seven Kingdoms.

And Jaime would still be by her side. Cersei smiled at that thought as she moved through the Red Keep.

They were two halves of the same whole. Jaime was a part of her. They had come into this world together and promised to leave it together. She had three wonderful children that were the best of them, and if she had been found out by Ned Stark of all people...

"Your Grace," His thick northern accent cut her out of her thoughts and she shifted her expression into something more innocent.

"Lord Stark," The title hung in her mouth and she tasted it, like a lion swallowing a fish. A sly smirk crossed her face as she moved deeper into the solar. It wasn't as organized as Jon Arryn's had been, but Cersei knew exactly where to find what she needed. If Lord Stark was anything like the father figure Robert had loved so dearly, then he would keep anything of value in the top drawer.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Lord Stark asked, his grey eyes narrowing in her direction, forever the vigilant wolf. Cersei chuckled lightly, hands folded over each other, "Sansa came to see me the other day," She barely smiled, a small thing that never displayed her true intentions. Like everything else, it was a weapon. Her words were lies, a way to keep up the appearance of the benevolent monarch. After she had summoned her, the girl had practically begged Cersei for help, whimpering and willing to spill her father's plans into Cersei's lap.

She was almost as loyal of a dog as the Hound.

"She told me of your plan to send her North," Cersei revealed, "Practically begged me to stop it."

She let her words hang there, watching Ned Stark squirm, relishing in his discomfort.

"She loves it here," Lord Stark replied, moving away from his desk.

Cersei pressed forward, "So let her stay, she's a sweet girl." She couldn't have Ned Stark leave, not before knowing what he knew.

She would keep him in the Black Cells if she could, torturing him until he gave up what he knew. This little stunt of his had exposed him, his soft underbelly ripe for the kill.

Lord Stark's gaze narrowed even further, "Starks don't do well down south."

"Your sister did."

His eyes flashed darkly at her words and for a moment she caught a glimpse of the soldier he once was. The man who had killed Arthur Dayne and helped Robert win a rebellion. Cersei smiled.

Lord Stark's jaw clenched, "My sister was stolen from her family and forced down here."

"And yet she lived longer than your brother and father," Cersei shot back, bitterness coating her tongue, "Tell me Lord Stark, what was it that killed her? The anguish from learning the truth or Rhaegar Targaryen himself?"

Stark bristled, and Cersei smirked. He was pitifully easy to read, and the only witness to their conversation was a flighty handmaiden who was helping tidy up the solar.

"Why do you care?" Stark asked, his voice lowering into a growl.

Cersei scoffed, "I don't," She lied, recalling her wedding night and the Stark Girl's lingering presence throughout her marriage, just like Rhaegar Targaryen, Lyanna Stark had stolen another man from Cersei, but she was still paying the price seventeen years later. "She must have been a frail thing, to be stolen away and assaulted in such a way, makes me wonder what Robert ever saw in her."

Stark's gaze was steel, but his shoulders softened, no doubt in pity. "He didn't know her," He replied, "None of the Kingdom did."

Her green eyes narrowed at the man before her, scanning the strained look crossing his face. It seemed Lyanna Stark was a sore subject for her husband and his hand.

"And yet he wanted her as a Queen," Cersei continued to press, "Even though she was seven and ten years in the ground and I had born him children, a legacy, he always wanted Lyanna."

She spat the name out with such contempt it was cathartic. That damned wolf-bitch had ruined Cersei's chances with both Rhaegar and Robert, the latter never able to get over the betrayal.

Even when Tywin Lannister had handed his own daughter, the Light of the West, into his hands.

Like Elia Martell, Lyanna Stark had stolen everything from Cersei. And she would do anything to steal it back.

Stark's face fell, averting his gaze briefly before clashing against her own again. Cersei let herself imagine a world where Ned Stark had taken the throne, and she was his wife instead of the little trout he had been forced to wed.

It was like looking into one of the seven hells.

"Sansa belongs up north," Lord Stark switched back to the conversation they'd had earlier, "With her mother and brothers."

Cersei wanted to laugh in his face, but she had wasted too much time here, "She believes differently, although I suppose you wouldn't know," She taunted, relishing in the strained look on his face. She loved when she struck a nerve, "Daughters are so easy to forget, aren't they Lord Stark?"

Her dress trailed behind her as she left the solar, a smirk written across her face as she disappeared down the hallways of the Red Keep. When she reached her room the handmaiden was waiting for her, a rolled up piece of parchment with a black seal in her hand.

Cersei smiled.

TYRION LANNISTER

Gods he was bored. The books in the Red Keep were the only thing keeping him from going truly insane, although he did enjoy watching his sister try to deal with the current Hand of the King.

Ned Stark was truly terrible at his job, and Tyrion enjoyed watching every bit of it. It was like watching a raging hurricane, unable to tear his eyes away.

The only thing of note he had managed to do was overspend on a Tourney dedicated to his name and Tyrion had shuddered when Jaime told him how much it had cost. His brother was, as always, the only saving grace of King's Landing, seeing as keeping an eye on Ned Stark had proved fruitless.

The new hand was following the footsteps of the old one, like the soldier he had been raised to be. Although Tyrion was curious as to why the honorable Ned Stark had chosen to visit a brothel of all places. It really made no sense, but Tyrion had other matters at hand. He'd learned from his investigations that the dagger had indeed been Robert's, won from Littlefinger after the weasel had bet on Ser Garlan instead of the Hound. But Tyrion was still nowhere near discovering who had instigated the plot.

"You little monster!"

He'd been reading an intriguing passage on Maegor the Cruel's construction of the Red Keep when Cersei barged through the door, waving a piece of parchment in her hand, eyes blazing wildfire.

"What have I done now?" Tyrion asked, his eyes never leaving his book. She slammed her hands down on his desk, rattling the goblet of wine he'd been gulping. She stood there in silence, simmering in her anger.

"I know you conspired with that little dornish whore up North," She spat, vitriol growing with each word that left her mouth, "Don't you dare try and deny it."

Tyrion finally lifted his eyes to meet Cersei's, cocking his eyebrow at her accusations. "My dear sister, I can't deny what I don't know."

She threw the paper in his face, and Tyrion sighed, closing his book to read the elegant cursive of Princess Nymeria, his sister collapsing into a chair.

"I initially believed Tyrion Lannister to be the one behind the attack," He spoke aloud, reading the princess's words verbatim, standing up from his chair, "However, after a recent series of revelations regarding the dagger used, I have determined that the person behind the attack is none other than...Cersei Lannister."

His voice dropped off as he read his sister's name, exasperation written across his face. Oh, Nymeria, what in the seven hells were you thinking? Accusing his sister would start a war, one that they could not afford. Although he suspected that was precisely Doran's plan in the first place.

"This is all your fault," Cersei snarled, jaw clenching as her gaze burned into Tyrion's own. "You've hated our family—"

"You're wrong," Tyrion cut her off, tired of her paranoia about him ruining the Lannister name, "I am trying to protect my family. I had nothing to do with this," He waved the piece of paper before her, trying to convince his sister that he was not the enemy here.

Cersei scoffed, "Of course you did, do you think it's a coincidence this letter appears just after you leave the Wall?" She snatched it back from him, crumping it in her hands, "Or that Ned Stark decides to head North just after you arrive and inform him of it?!"

Tyrion shook his head, anger bubbling up in his stomach. He came down south to protect his family, to try and uncover the plot Nymeria informed him of. This only caused more chaos. What was Doran seeking to gain from all of this?

"Have you ever once considered that I am not your enemy here?!" He asked, raising his voice. It only served to make Cersei angrier, "That perhaps this was a plot by Dorne and I was used just as much as you were?"

Cersei shook her head, not wanting to believe the truth. She never did. The truth was what she decided. That was always her way. If the world didn't fit what she believed, she'd make it. Tyrion had always been a monster to her. The traitorous little brother trying to ruin her reputation and the Lannister name along with it.

So she'd always made him look the fool. Always ratted him out.

"Robert and Jon Arryn took care of Dorne," was all Cersei said, almost like she was trying to convince herself, "Prince Doran has let that go."

Tyrion shot a look at her, "You and I both know he hasn't."

Cersei grew silent at that, staring off into the roaring fire as Tyrion sighed. He moved around the table, topping off his wine and pouring some into a second goblet, a peace offering for his sister.

She took it and gulped. "He's trying to form an alliance with the Starks," Cersei spoke, finally saying something that was somewhat intelligent, "That's why he sent that bitch north,"

Against his instincts, Tyrion didn't defend the princess. He didn't need more of Cersei's paranoia. "So we stop it." Tyrion offered, "Keep Ned Stark here, where we can watch him. Where his family assumes he's safe."

His sister's lips pressed into a thin line, the wildfire back in her eyes, "And let Dorne get away with what they've done?"

He sighed again. Why did he have to have such dense siblings? "We can deal with them later, for now, we have to keep Ned Stark close." He advised, unsure if she would even listen to him. Cersei shook her head.

"He's determined to head North, I've tried to talk to Robert—"

"But he's busy with his whores I suspect."

Cersei's jaw clenched again, and she laughed mirthlessly, "You're a funny man," She spoke sardonically, the underlying anger returning, "It's too bad mother isn't around to enjoy your jokes."

Tyrion swallowed the knot in his throat, trying to calm his breathing. It was Cersei's go-to defense, but it always stung when she used it. He had never known his mother but he was certain he would have loved her. He did love her despite not knowing her.

She was family.

Cersei stood up at his silence, exiting through the door, letter still crunched in her hand.

ARIANNE MARTELL

She missed Nymeria. Tyene's presence was a welcome distraction, as was Ser Daemon, but it wasn't enough to improve her mood these past few months. Tyene had departed Sunspear earlier that month and after her outburst to her father, Ser Daemon hadn't been seen inside the keep since. Arianne had to ride out to meet him, hoping Oberyn didn't catch her. Areo's return had provided her with much relief, although it quickly died when she realized that he would be following her from that point on.

He was a babysitter. A way for Father to keep an eye on her.

She was traversing the gardens of Sunspear for what felt like the hundredth time. The heir to Dorne reduced to an insecure girl trapped in her home.

"You seem distracted little princess," Areo spoke up, his rumbling voice pulling her from her thoughts. She smiled softly at the moniker he always used. The guard seemed to be her only friend these days, but here he was, a watchdog for her father.

She sighed and drank in the dry desert air, the blood orange and lemon trees populated with the bright fruits, symbolizing the midsummer. "I am tired Areo," She spoke up, her shoulders slumping from the weight she had been carrying, "I am tired and angry and..." She trailed off, biting her lip before turning to face the sworn shield, "I am curious most of all," she finally admitted, trying to keep her voice steady, "Why he chose my brother over me."

"Princess—"

"Cousin!" A welcome voice interrupted Areo's reply and Arianne turned to find Lady Nym standing there, a wicked smile on her face that matched Oberyn's. They all had his smiles and his eyes. Nym was just as willful and hot-blooded as Obara, but her elegance made for a more acceptable appearance. Obara may be the sword, but Nym was the diplomat, words her specialty. That didn't make her any less deadly. "There you are!" The Sand Snake smiled, pressing forward, her ochre dress dragging across the floor. "Obara and I have a bet, although she demanded you weigh in on it as well."

The darker sand snake appeared behind one of the hedges, rolling her eyes as she stepped beside her half-sister. She was taller and stronger, her figure looking more at home in the tunics the men favored, always seen in breeches rather than the dresses Nym and Tyene often wore.

Arianne chuckled slightly, her mood slightly lifting at the appearance of her cousins. While much older than her, Arianne would never say no to their company, at least they didn't keep secrets from her.

"I merely suggested we seek her out," Obara interjected, her spear strapped to her back. Together the two of them represented the sigil of House Martell. Nym's bright humor and words the sun while Obara wielded the spear.

Arianne crossed her arms, arching a playful eyebrow at the two girls. "Well, I can't give my opinion if I don't know what it is,"

It felt good to jape again. She had missed the company of others for so long.

Obara sighed and turned toward her, arms open in surrender, "Nym thinks that the reason Daemon hasn't been to Sunspear is because of Prince Doran's refusal of his proposal," She explained, shooting a dirty look at her sister, "Whereas I believe he left for the same reasons Tyene did."

Arianne shook her head, laughter bouncing upward toward the sky. "Well your sister is right," She mused bitterly, although she enjoyed the antics of her cousins, "Ser Daemon's wounded pride has, unfortunately, cost him his presence here."

And sent him crawling back to Godsgrace. Arianne's thoughts were tinged with sad resentment.

Lady Nym shoved her victory in Obara's face, a smug look in her eyes as the latter rolled hers. Arianne chuckled along with them, recalling the day bitterly as she tried to hide her true feelings on the subject. It had been just after Nymeria had gone North and she had told her father about her exploits. Ser Daemon had marched into the tower and offered his hand, only to be shoved away and refused by Doran.

That night Daemon had refused to see her and kept his distance ever since.

Their laughter was cut off by the raised finger of Obara, narrowed eyes scanning the overgrown hedges.

"Hush," Obara's tone turned serious, drawing her spear. Lady Nym seemed to sense something too and drew a dagger from inside her robes. A tense silence fell over the three girls and Areo joined them in drawing his weapon, the man on edge.

The sound of metal whooshed past Arianne's ear and a cry was heard behind the bushes. A man in nondescript robes fell forward, Nym's blade lodged in his eye as his screams echoed through the courtyard.

In his hands was a small ornate dagger, and the pale color of his skin made it clear he was not from anywhere near Dorne.

He was still alive though, and Obara rushed toward the castle to alert Doran, while Nym grasped the assassin by the small hairs on his head.

"Who sent you?" She asked, voice lowering into something more menacing.

The man stayed silent, his laboring breaths the only sound in the garden. Nym grabbed the blade by the hilt and twisted, eliciting another scream from the man.

"The Queen!" He called out, desperate for relief, "The Queen sent me!"

Nym pulled back on his hair again, "How many?"

He was silent. The snake twisted again.

"OKAY OKAY!" He yelled, his shrieks floating upward into the air, "Four. She sent four of us."

Arianne's blood ran cold. He was destined for her. For her family.

Nymeria's letter.

"My brothers. Papa," Arianne whispered aloud, eyes widening. She drew her skirts up and sprinted toward the entrance to the tower, climbing several staircases and pushing past the guards in their velvet armor.

She needed to check on Quentyn and Trystane first. They were more vulnerable.

"Quent!" She called, voice echoing through the lofty halls of the castle, scouring every corner for them, "Trystane! Where are you?"

She continued to call, the silks slowing her down as she ran, cursing herself for not adopting trousers into her wardrobe like Nymeria did. The halls were silent, and Arianne's worry was pounding in her head, sounding like war drums.

She called out again but silence met her words.

No. They had to be alive. She wouldn't lose more family to Lannisters. She wouldn't lose her brothers. Not in the way Papa had lost his sister.

Steel clashing against steel rang down the hallway and Arianne followed it, heart pounding against her chest, threatening to join the fight if she didn't catch up soon enough.