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NED STARK

in the godswood, pacing back and forth and back and forth. Mercy was the least he could do, besides it would be better for all of them if Cersei Lannister was never seen this far west ever again.

She and her children could build a life for themselves away from prying eyes, no matter how sick and twisted their origins may be. If Ned punished the children for the sins of their mother and father then he was no better than the Mad King.

Sighing, Ned took a seat on one of the benches, the twisted gnarled trunk of the heart tree standing tall above him, the leaves beginning to brown. It had been a long summer, and Ned dreaded to think of the winter that awaited them all.

He found himself missing the comfort of the weirwood back at Winterfell. Down here the old gods couldn't be heard, but still Ned prayed. Catelyn had found comfort in it when their children had gotten sick, and even Lyanna, with her wild and untamed spirit, found comfort in the old gods near the end of her life.

Perhaps it would do Ned some good to follow their example.

The warmth of the sun left his face and grey eyes stared into green, Cersei Lannister eclipsing the golden star in the sky, tilting her head down at him in curiosity.

"Have you come to confess your sins, my lord?"

Ned stood up, refusing to back down from her knowing gaze, "I know the truth Jon Arryn died for."

Her smile died, replaced with an overconfident smirk. "Do you Lord Stark?" She scoffed, shuffling closer, "Is that why you called me here? To pose me riddles?"

"I called you here to offer you mercy," Ned replied, forever cursing the damn games these southerners played with their words. Could none of them ever get to the point? "Your brother is protected by the grace of the Kingsguard, by the grace of his birth," Cersei's jaw clenched, "You will have no such protection once Robert returns from his hunt. I will have no choice but to tell him what I know."

Cersei's smirk remained plastered on her face, the sun illuminating the victorious look in her gaze. Ned shifted on his feet. "And what do you know Lord Stark?"

Ned grasped the hilt of his sword to steady himself, to keep his temper in check, instead he drew his attention to the bruise that was slowly forming on her cheek, matching the one around her wrist. "He's done that before?"

Cersei turned away, hands remaining clasped together before turning back to face him, "Jaime would have killed him." She stated matter-of-factly, "My brother is worth a thousand of your friend."

"Your brother? Or your lover?" The accusation slipped out of his mouth with ease, but Cersei's smirk grew wider.

She was proud of it, he realized. "The Targaryens wed brother and sister for 300 years to keep the bloodlines pure—"

"And they died with a sword in their backs and a hammer in their chests for their sins," Ned reminded her, not even bothering to conceal his threats. Cersei was silent, her chin held up high. "You tried to have my son killed for witnessing your actions."

Cersei's smirk disappeared, a pregnant pause hanging in the air between the two of them.

"Do you love your children?"

Ned stayed stoic, not willing to expose himself to the enemy, "With all my heart." He spoke truthfully.

Cersei stared at him, betraying nothing in her eyes, "No more than I love mine."

"And they're all Jaime's."

She threw her head back and laughed. There it was again. That horrible sound. The physical manifestation of the pride all Lannisters had.

No wonder their sigil was a lion.

"Thank the Gods." She spoke it as if truly in prayer, her tone resentful, "In the rare event that Robert leaves his whores for long enough to stumble drunk into my bed, I finish him off in other ways." She bragged, still prideful. It would be her downfall. "In the morning, he doesn't remember."

Ned shook his head, a deep pit of anger bubbling in his gut. This was his best friend, the man he'd promised to his beloved sister. The man he wanted as a brother, "You've always hated him—"

"Hated him?" Cersei cut him off with a snarl, "I worshiped him! Every girl in the Seven Kingdoms dreamed of him, but he was mine by oath." Something clouded her eyes, as if she was recalling a fantasy from long ago, "And when I finally saw him on our wedding day in the Sept of Baelor, lean and fierce and black-bearded, it was the happiest moment of my life." The shiny gaze was gone, replaced with hardened emerald, "Then that night he crawled on top of me, stinking of wine and did what he did, what little he could do, and whispered in my ear, Lyanna." She spoke the name with such vitriol, Ned knew it had to be the truth. "Your sister was a corpse and I was a living girl and he loved her more than me."

His chest panged at the thought of his dead sister. The sister who would've been King. The sister Robert went to war for.

He turned away from the Queen's gaze, "When the King returns from his hunt, I'll tell him the truth." He faced her again, prepared to offer her mercy, "Your children must be gone by then. I will not have their blood on my hands. Send them as far away as you can, with as many men as you can. Because wherever they go, Robert's wrath will follow them."

Cersei smirked, "You speak as if I will not be a factor in their lives. You would part a mother from her children? Are you that cruel?"

Ned remained stoic. "I will not have them suffer the consequences of their mother's mistakes."

Cersei scoffed, clenching her jaw and tilting her head, "You should have taken the realm for yourself." She changed the subject, eyeing him up and down, "Jaime told me about the day King's Landing fell: he was sitting in the Iron Throne and you made him give it up." She pressed closer, staring up into his grey eyes, "All you needed to do was climb the steps yourself." She tsked, and shook her head, "Such a sad mistake."

Ned stiffened at her words. "I've made many mistakes in my life, but that wasn't one of them."

"Oh, but it was." She hissed, baring her teeth like the lioness she was, "When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die. There is no middle ground." Without another word, The Queen disappeared from his sight, exiting the godswood with a swish of her skirts.

Ned bristled, and nodded toward the guards he'd had stationed near the entrance of the godswood.

***

Ned waited outside the doors of Princess Myrcella's bedroom, his guard on either side of him as they stared down Ser Boros and Ser Meryn. Or they would have if a commotion in the courtyard hadn't drawn their attention away.

Ned wasn't sure what had happened but by the look on Ser Barristan's face it had been urgent. No doubt Robert needed help dismounting his horse after the hunt.

Too drunk to do so.

Ned pursed his lips at the image of his friend he'd been subject to these months. It was a different Robert than he'd known. Bitter and lonely and jaded. Perhaps it was a blessing Lyanna had died before fulfilling her vow to him.

Cersei Lannister emerged from her daughter's room with a vicious frown on her face, "Myrcella," She smiled sweetly, the tone different than anything Ned had ever heard from her, "Why don't you go check up on Tommen, I'm sure he'd love to show you his new findings."

Myrcella, ever the dutiful daughter, nodded and sent a wary look at Ned before disappearing down the hall.

Ned's chest twisted. She didn't deserve the wrath Robert would unleash. She didn't deserve the price her mother was willing to pay.

"Lord Stark," Cersei spat out his name like a curse, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Cersei Lannister, under the orders of His Grace, King Robert Baratheon, First of his name, King of the Andals, The Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, you are hereby under arrest."

The woman laughed. "You can't arrest me."

Ned nodded at the two men beside him, the guards pressing forward and grasping hold of Cersei's arms. "Yes I can."

She struggled against the grip of Ned's officers, her green eyes blazing, "You have no proof. I've not confessed. I have done NOTHING!"

"You conspired to murder my son. A ten year old boy who had done nothing but be in the wrong place at the wrong time. If need be, I will call Princess Nymeria down south to testify to your crimes."

Cersei seethed and Ned nodded at his men, who began to drag the Queen down the hall and toward the dungeons of the Red Keep.

"You can't do this, I am the Queen!" She yelled, her voice echoing off the walls of the keep, "I am the Queen!"

With a heavy heart, the Warden of the North retreated back into his solar.

Ned settled comfortably back into his desk, hanging his head in his hands as he mulled over the events of the day. He'd taken a mother from a child, but worse than that, he'd taken Tywin Lannister's daughter hostage, imprisoning her in a keep she despised.

But it didn't matter.

The Lannisters needed to know that they were not untouchable. No one was. He would answer their injustices with justice, something the Mad King never granted his subjects.

The door burst open, and Vayon Poole stood there with his daughter Jeyne and a sight Ned thought he'd taken care of.

Sansa's face was stone cold, in perpetual shock as her mouth opened and closed as if she was trying to say something.

She wasn't supposed to be here. She was supposed to be downstairs with Jory's retinue. So was Vayon Poole.

"My Lord," Poole began, holding his daughter close as Jeyne sobbed into his chest, "There's something you need to know."

Ned furrowed his brow, waiting for the steward to continue, but it was Sansa who spoke.

"The King is dead."

TYRION LANNISTER

The cheery sounds of drunk men and naked women filled his ears as he surveyed the brothel he and Bronn had decided to visit. It was a small place, and thankfully unowned by Littlefinger. This meant there was nobody watching his movements to report back to Cersei or his father.

Tyrion grimaced at the thought of the man and took another gulp of wine.

He'd come to this establishment to forget about his familial troubles, not dwell on them.

"Is there anything I can help you with, Sir?"

Tyrion lifted his mismatched gaze to meet the dark blue ones of a scantily clad woman in red, her pale hair curling over her full breasts, teasing him as her neckline drew lower and lower, one pull of the string around her neck revealing their glory.

His cock stirred between his legs and he arched an eyebrow. The girl was far too innocent looking to be a regular in this brothel, he realized. Perhaps she was a new hire, someone the Madame was trying out for the first time.

"What is your name?" He asked, taking another sip from his cups. The whore leaned against the table and grasped the pitcher of wine, filling his up to the brim once again. Tyrion chuckled inwardly at the obvious tactic.

"Aya, sir." The whore responded, her tanned skin shimmering in the dim candlelight of the brothel.

Tyrion took another gulp of his wine, relishing in the taste as it began to warm his face, his body heating up as he surveyed the woman in front of him. No more than one and twenty, it was the innocence in her gaze that made him want to ravish her.

He'd never been granted any power in his life.

Not by his father, not by the King.

The only iota he'd been granted was cleaning out the sewers of Casterly Rock as a jape. But here, among the experienced women and lust-filled air, he could feel the warmth building within him.

Those wide blue eyes stared at him, the dimples in her cheeks quivering with anticipation. He was right. This was her first job and she was looking to impress the Madame.

There was a certain level of power that came in being a woman's first, especially in brothels, and Tyrion decided that the least he could do was make this girl's life easier by granting her a chance with a powerful lord as her first fuck.

"Tell me Aya," He leaned forward, "Did your Madame tell you to seek me out?"

Aya's gaze flittered toward the floor, a demure smile falling over her delicate features. Perhaps in another life she would have been a septa of the faith instead of a whore in Flea Bottom. The thought tugged at Tyrion's chest and he wondered if there was a chance he could help this girl get out of the horrible situation life had dealt her.

"Aye, she did," The woman responded, tucking a soft blonde curl behind her ear, peeking through thick, painted eyelashes, "She told me to look for a dwarf in red and gold, that despite his appearance..." her fingers were soft and delicate like the rest of her, as if a snowflake had landed on his skin as she brushed a curl away and traced the creases in his forehead. Her touch was brush of wind, heating him up instead of cooling him down, "He was a powerful lord with an abundance of coin to offer."

Tyrion wrapped his arms around Aya's waist, pulling her closer with a lustful grin on his face, his cock stirring between his thighs once again, growing hard as Aya's fingers played with the blonde locks near the nape of his neck.

His fingers grazed the skin of her back and Tyrion let out a soft moan. "I do not know about powerful, but your Madame was right about the coin."

Aya smiled, a soft innocent thing that teased him and sent all the blood rushing between his legs, heat spreading through him like wildfire. She pulled away, her face hidden as her hands played with the thin string of her garments, sauntering slowly toward one of the private rooms. He knew she would bleed him dry, but after the day he'd had, Tyrion didn't really mind.

Those wide innocent eyes kept staring back at him, and with a mirthful chuckle, he followed the blonde whore, tasting the name Aya on his lips.

His legs ached with every step he took, but Tyrion didn't care, only seeing the woman in front of him, following the sweet scent of citrus and jasmine like a trail she was leaving behind for only him.

When he reached the private room, she was nowhere to be seen. A four poster bed awaited him, mismatched gaze scanning the room for the woman he sought.

The door shut behind him, and Aya stood there, curls brushed to one side and unbound from the small braids she'd been wearing earlier. It was a sheet of sunlight against the tan of her skin, her deep blue eyes resembling the sky it shone against.

Her fingers brushed against her neck and with a simple pull her dress came undone, falling to the floor in a heap as she stood there, wide-eyed, innocent, pure.

Tyrion moved forward and grabbed her hand, the shakiness of her fingers not going unnoticed by the man.

She was nervous. Just like any whore with their first time.

He found it surprising she'd lasted this long in Flea Bottom without selling herself. Perhaps her father had been a wealthy merchant, her or mother had worked in the castle, able to supply her with money until they'd...well, the small folk never lasted long in King's Landing.

"Lay down," He ordered, the demure girl following his orders and a sense of satisfaction rose in his chest. If nothing else, at least whores listened to him. He began to unbuckle himself, shedding his outer tunic until he was only in his shirt, belt abandoned on the floor.

A pair of lips pressed against his and Aya pulled away quickly, a soft blush on her cheeks as she lowered her gaze once again.

A nervous tick.

Tyrion returned the favor, the kiss chaste and sweet, jasmine and citrus filling his nostrils as he sunk deeper, moving from her lips to her neck, to her shoulders, his body heating up with each press.

He could feel his face grow red, his loose shirt feeling like a prison, entrapping him in an endless sea of warmth. He froze, Aya's demure smile replaced with a victorious smirk.

Liquid trickled down his face and Tyrion brought his hand underneath his nose, crimson staining his fingertips as he realized too little too late the trap he had fallen for.

He collapsed onto the bed, Aya rolling out of the way with a scoff.

The world blurred and black spots danced in his vision. A knock was heard at the door and he saw a blur of brown and gold open it.

"Hurry," a slurred accent spoke to the intruders, "We only have a few hours before the antidote needs to be administered."

"Why don't we let him die?" A harsher voice spoke, deeper but just as slurred, "Take Tywin Lannister's precious heir from him while we still can."

"Because that is not the plan," the first voice spoke again, "If we kill Tyrion Lannister then there is nowhere we can hide from the Old Lion."

"Tyene's right," A third voice spoke up, accent more pronounced than the other two, "Papa entrusted us with this task, not the Prince. We're at the tipping point, killing him will only exacerbate things further."

The last thing Tyrion saw was the blonde whore standing over him, dressed in red once again, all innocence gone from her face.

The world went black.

ARYA STARK

She'd lost track of the cat she'd been chasing hours ago, now she was sifting through the mud and shit of Flea Bottom, trying to find her way back to the Red Keep. If the constant heat and clanging of hammers against metal was any indication, she was near the Street of Steel, and unlike Sansa, she could never sit still long enough to remember how far away it was from the Red Keep.

Arya vaguely remembered learning it was near Visenya's Hill, where the Dragon Pits resided. The girl perked up at that thought. Maybe she could catch a glimpse of those magnificent dragon skulls she'd heard so much about.

Maester Luwin never taught her family much about the Targaryens beyond the horrible reign of the Mad King, but she knew their words and their history as Dragonriders.

It had been the reason they'd conquered the Seven Kingdoms.

Arya smiled as she recalled asking about Queen Visenya, the warrior Queen a model like Queen Nymeria had been.

"Get out boy!" A rough voice yelled, the crash of metal heard in a tent just a few paces away from where Arya was standing.

A tall boy in a tunic was pushed out of it, bag in hand and face covered in grime and dirt. "I don't understand, I've been a good apprentice, I'm the best one you got—"

The man who yelled was a balding, ugly, thin man, with a crooked nose and a sneer that almost matched the Queen's.

"I said, get out, or I'll call the Gold Cloaks on ya to take ya away below the Red Keep." The Blacksmith shoved the boy away and retreated back in his tent.

Arya could only stare.

Blue eyes met grey and the boy sniffed, "What are ya looking at?" He yelled, like the boys in Winter Town had done back home. Arya flinched but said nothing, grasping tightly to Needle.