A Song of Ice and Fire Cut Short by Dust (RWBY in Westeros)

[Starfox5]

Chapter 31: Interludes II

'Students often have romantic notions of how succession worked in the time of absolute monarchs. Some even now tout the idea of hereditary positions as being more stable and predictable than the current system, often citing a few cherry-picked examples from recent troubles to support their argument. Leaving aside the question of legitimacy by birth, they merely betray their ignorance of history by making their argument as such. Even in monarchies where the line of succession was clear, a determined pretender could easily find a reason or excuse to challenge the heir - provided they could find enough material support to overcome the heir's own. Of course, legitimacy played a significant role in gathering such support, but it was not nearly as crucial as some of the more popular tales might make the unwary and uncritical reader assume. The Targaryens ruled for centuries, but without dragons, they would never have conquered Westeros, nor held the throne long enough, until even after losing the dragons, they had established themselves as the legitimate royal family. And yet, it only took one mad king to undo their legitimacy enough for a rebellion not only to challenge but topple their rule after three centuries. Why should it be any surprise, then, that dynasties that were far younger than the Targaryens' had much more trouble defending their right to the throne? Most ambitious nobles could easily come up with a claim, no matter how far-fetched it might be, and trust their armies to win them the throne. That danger was especially high when the rightful heir to the throne was not a grown man with decades of experience at court but an untried child who would not rule for years while a regent handled the affairs of the realm. Ultimately, despite the pretensions of legitimacy and justice, it far often came down to naked force as might made right - a stance distinctly refuted by the Ruby Order but not many others, at least among the members of the Court.'

• A Treatise On The Ruby Order, by Maester Kennet Bracken

*****​

The Red Keep, King's Landing, Crownlands, Westeros, 298 AC

Sandor Clegane froze. He didn't have to look up to know what had happened - the stupid little shit had blown himself up with the stolen magic powder! So much for knowing what he was doing!

A bit away, the broken windows hit the ground, shattered glass raining down while broken frames and shutters splintered on cobblestones, but his focus was on the four monsters and the wolf in front of him.

"That was a dust explosion!" Lady Weiss blurted out. "My missing dust!"

She glared at Sandor, but before she could say anything, her leader spoke up: "Weiss! We need stairs!"

"Right!" A moment later, the girl's sword flashed, and those magic symbols appeared in the air.

Lady Ruby was the first to jump on them, vanishing in a cloud of petals - Sandor shuddered at the sight - and reappearing on the floating symbol next to the smoking hole in the keep.

"Stay!"

He jerked at the sudden command from Lady Blake. How has she again managed to get behind me without me noticing? he wondered while the girl jumped up as well.

"Prince Joffrey…" Lady Sansa stared at the smoke pouring out of the keep, and Sandor saw the blonde witch who could create a firestorm around her place a hand on the girl's shoulder.

They were distracted by the explosion. Should he make a run for it? But they had already seen the corpse of the thief. And more people were arriving, attracted by the explosion. Guards among them. If he ran… He suppressed a shudder. They could outrun an arrow in flight. And the wolf had been tracking the dead thief. If it could do that, it could track Sandor through the keep. He wouldn't get far, and it would make him look guilty. And a convenient scapegoat for the death of a prince.

No, best to stay and try to shift all blame to the prince. He had just been following the little shit's orders, after all. But 'the Prince told me to kill the thief so she couldn't betray him' wouldn't go over well with the four witches. 'Stopped a thief trying to get to the prince' was much better. No one cared about the smallfolk, especially Fleabottom's gutter trash.

No one but the witches. Sandor could only hope that the little shit was dead so he couldn't contradict him. And that no one had seen him with the thief when he hired her for the little shit. If he had known what the idiot had wanted her for before he had brought her to the Red Keep… He gritted his teeth. It wasn't looking good for him.

"It's Prince Joffrey!" a voice sounded from above them. "He's dead!"

The redheaded chit gasped, then started to weep. The fire witch was holding her, and the wolf was growling.

"Sansa! Lady Yang! What happened?"

And the regent had arrived. With half the Court, or so it seemed. And too many damn guards.

"Prince Joffrey's dead, Lord Eddard," the fire witch told him. "Blown up with dust stolen by the woman here whom Clegane killed."

Sandor cursed as everyone stared at him. He should never have followed the little shit's orders! Not when magic was involved. No money was worth getting killed.

*****​

The Red Keep, King's Landing, Crownlands, Westeros, 298 AC

Grand Maester Pycelle shook his head when he saw the body. You didn't need to be a Maester, much less a Grand Maester with his experience, to realise that there was no way Lady Ruby had been mistaken about the Prince's death - the boy had been all but ripped apart by the explosion that had devastated the royal chamber. At least the face had been mostly whole, so they were not mourning a servant who had disobeyed the Prince's order to leave his quarters. "A dust explosion…" he said as he bent to examine the wounds.

"Not dust, Dust. Magical Powder from another world." Marwyn, of course, couldn't conduct himself with the dignity this situation required. The Prince of the Realm had died, and Marwyn still acted as if this were a debate in the Tower's hall!

"I am aware of that," Pycelle snapped. Lady Weiss had been quite clear about that. And he really didn't have the time for this. Not in the middle of this crisis! "Not that it matters - what matters is that Prince Joffrey is dead."

"I think it matters quite a lot," Marwyn disagreed. "He was killed - and his room wrecked - by the explosion of a single vial of Dust."

"We've already established that," Pycelle retorted.

"One of many that Team Ruby routinely carries around."

Pycelle froze for a moment, then drew a breath through his clenched teeth. If multiple such vials exploded… He shuddered. "That's… We need to know how this explosion occurred. It can't be that easy to set off an explosion, or they would never risk carrying such vials around, certainly not for sparring. It would be like sparring with jars of wildfire strapped to you."

"Yes." Marwyn, for a change, agreed with Pycelle. "We need to ask them how they secure the Dust and how they prevent accidental explosions."

Of course, the man would agree as long as he could learn more about magic! "And how to reassure the Court that they won't be the next victim of such an explosion," Pycelle added because he knew that the four women would never leave their remaining Dust reserves unguarded. Not after two attempts to steal from them, one of which had succeeded. And he was also quite well aware that no one in the realm had the power to keep them from carrying around enough Dust to blow up the Tower of the Hand, but a few might be deluded enough to try. At least Lord Lannister would be too occupied with dealing with this latest blow to his House to focus on that. "We need to talk to them and compare our notes anyway." The regent and the rest of the small council wanted answers. Team Ruby had stated what they knew, and Clegane had told a story with a few gaping holes in it, but the Court would want an unbiased account and was looking to Pycelle to get one.

Marwyn nodded. "Let's go then!"

Pycelle had to agree. There was nothing he could do here any more - the body was beyond healing; in fact, he doubted that the Silent Sisters could do much to make it presentable for a funeral - and the room was so thoroughly wrecked, neither Pycelle nor Marwyn had been able to determine what the boy had been doing to cause the explosion, whether he had attempted to conduct a magical ritual, as - to the surprise of no one - Marwyn speculated or whether he had simply mishandled the powder and it had gone off like wildfire, only more destructive.

He nodded at the guard posted here to prevent thieves from taking advantage of the scene and left the chamber.

*****​

"Dust in solid form - such as in cartridges - can only be triggered under specific and often unique circumstances. But even loose Dust is perfectly safe when properly stored," Lady Weiss, Team Ruby's expert on Dust, said in a firm but polite tone, though Pycelle could see her eyes narrowing a bit. Either that was a sensitive topic, or she was still quite angry about the fact that the thief who had robbed her had been killed before she could arrest and interrogate the woman. And also, Pycelle knew, about the fact that the thief had been killed, period.

It wasn't wise to press powerful people who were already annoyed or angry, but Pycelle knew his duty to his office and Lord Tywin. "In a vial?"

"Yes." Lady Weiss nodded. "Perfectly safe - unless you spill it."

Lady Ruby coughed. "Which you shouldn't."

"What if it breaks?" Marwyn asked.

"They are quite solid," Lady Weiss replied. "You'd have to exert a significant force to break the vials."

"Like a blow from a sword or hammer?" Pycelle resisted the urge to lean forward. That could have been interpreted as an attempt to push them.

Lady Weiss hesitated. "It depends on the circumstances," she said. "If we carry the vials, we can protect them."

Pycelle glanced at the other members of Team Ruby and noticed them nodding.

"How do you protect them?" Marwyn, of course, the fool he was, leaned forward, an eager expression on his face.

"The same way we protect our clothes and weapons in battle," Lady Weiss said. "We can extend our own invulnerability."

The power that made them shrug off sword blows and ignore acid strong enough to melt steel. They probably could withstand wildfire as well. Of course, as Lady Weiss's facial scar indicated, it was not complete invulnerability, though Pycelle wasn't sure he wanted to know what kind of attack could break such protections. "Do you think that Prince Joffrey broke the vial open and triggered such an explosion?"

"He could have simply opened the vial - it's not sealed shut," Lady Weiss replied.

That threw some shade on her declaration that the vials were safe, in Pycelle's opinion.

"What if he attempted a ritual with the Dust?" Marwyn just had to use his pet theory- albeit Pycelle had to admit that it made some sense. In hindsight, some of the questions the boy had asked him lately were suspicious.

"That is likely," Lady Weiss said. "Uncovered, Dust can be volatile. Even a sneeze can set it off."

Lady Ruby nodded in agreement. "And it doesn't take that much to blow a crater into stone."

Pycelle felt his stomach drop at the thought that between the four of them, the girls carried dozens of such vials. It seemed that his attempt to be able to reassure the Court and his fellow members on the small council that there was no danger of a repeat of this tragedy had not been as successful as he had hoped.

At least he had the small satisfaction that Marwyn hadn't gained any more information about the girls' magic. The less such dangerous knowledge spread, the better.

*****​

The Red Keep, King's Landing, Crownlands, Westeros, 298 AC

Sitting behind his table - overloaded with parchment - in the solar of the Tower of the Hand, Eddard Stark nodded at Jory. "You say the smallfolk are restless?"

"Yes, my lord." Jory nodded. "They were already riled up after Lady Yang was poisoned, but the death of Prince Joffrey seems to have made it worse."

Ned nodded. To lose both the King and his heir so soon after each other… Of course, the smallfolk would be restless. They must be worried about the future, what with Prince Tommen even younger than Prince Joffrey was, so it would take even more years until he would be ready to be crowned. And yet, despite the tragedy - albeit one the Prince apparently had caused himself - and the daunting prospect of spending even more years as regent in King's Landing, Ned couldn't help feeling relieved as well. Sansa wouldn't have to marry a boy who was likely the product of incest and not the son of Ned's best friend. He felt ashamed about this, but he could not deny what he felt.

But he couldn't let himself get distracted by such thoughts either. "Do you think there'll be rioting?"

Jory nodded. "Yes, my lord. Everyone is on edge. Men-at-arms, guards, even septons. And rumours are flying, or so my men tell me. Sooner or later, someone will start a fight, and the gold cloaks won't be able to handle it before it turns into a riot."

Jory had not yet seen a riot in King's Landing, but Ned agreed with him. So many people being anxious and riled up would lead to a riot. And Ned didn't trust the gold cloaks to handle it. Not with all the scheming at Court leaving the very guards who might reinforce the gold cloaks in an emergency at each others' throats. "We need more guards to keep order," he said. His own wouldn't be enough to turn the tide. Lord Renly, Lord Stannis and, of course, the Lannisters would have enough, or so Ned hoped. But asking any of them for help would see Ned getting dragged into the next conflict at Court. And if such a conflict were to turn violent…

Jory nodded but didn't say anything. He didn't have to. This was Ned's duty to handle. Only he didn't know how. And with all the other duties he had in the middle of this latest crisis, pressing duties… He was already hard-pressed to keep up with all the work and problems. He hadn't even been able to comfort Sansa properly in her grief. To spend days negotiating with the nobles… No, that wouldn't work out.

But there was a possible solution. He would have to talk to Lady Ruby and her friends.

*****​

"You want us to calm down the people?"

Lady Ruby sounded surprised, Ned noted. Was she out of touch with the mood in the city, then? Or was he misinterpreting the mood? No, he trusted Jory. And it made sense that the smallfolk would be concerned about the lack of a king. "Yes, my lady," he said. "The smallfolk trust you." Almost worshipped them, or so he had heard - at least the followers of the New Gods. Ned didn't really have much contact with the worshippers of the Seven in King's Landing, and neither did his men. If Cat were here, it would be different, but she was back home with Robb and the others. "The death of both King Robert and his heir, and the culprit still unknown, is causing a lot of worry among them."

Lady Blake's face didn't show any reaction, but both Lady Yang and Lady Weiss were frowning. "We can't promise them that we'll watch over them until a new King is crowned," Lady Weiss said.

"Yep." Lady Yang nodded. "We're not going to stay here for years."

Ned knew that, of course. "You don't need to. The smallfolk fear unrest and a war over the crown. If they're reassured that neither will happen, they will calm down."

"For now, you mean," Lady Weiss said.

"Yes," Ned admitted as he put his elbows on his table. "That's all the city needs right now. A period of calm so we can adjust and stabilise the realm."

The four girls exchanged glances. "And what if we find a way home and have to leave?" Lady Weiss asked.

"What are the odds that this will happen in the next few weeks or months?" Ned met her eyes. "I do not ask you to stay forever, or even delay your departure. I merely ask you to help out in this time of uncertainty and potential unrest."

"Well, Huntresses protect people," Lady Ruby said. "So, telling the smallfolk that shouldn't be a problem. We've already told them that, anyway."

"It bears repeating," Ned said, earning him a frown from Lady Weiss and a raised eyebrow from Lady Blake even though Lady Ruby nodded.

"We'll do it. But we're not going to stay here forever," she said.

"Thank you, my lady." Ned bowed his head.

"Oh! Since we're here anyway," Lady Ruby said. "What's going to happen to Lord Clegane? He did admit to killing Taisha."

Ned managed not to wince. The man stuck to his story that the thief had tried to get to the prince, planning to kill him with a stolen vial of magic powder, and so he had killed her in defence of his charge, but Ned had his doubts about that. Sure, he could see Joffrey picking up the vial and sending Clegane away with the dead thief, but… Clegane was a skilled warrior, the equal of many knights, and the thief had been, but for the vial, unarmed and unarmoured. Of course, one couldn't take many risks when magic powder was involved, much less with the life of the Prince, but it was a bit too convenient.

On the other hand, that the woman had stolen the vial was beyond doubt - the Four Maidens themselves and Lady had proven that - and who could fault a guard for killing a thief trying to accost the Prince? "We're investigating the incident," he said. "We need to find out who hired her."

"Clegane was seen with her in Fleabottom a few days before her death," Lady Blake said. "And she told a friend of hers about him."

This time, Ned did frown. "Then there will be a trial."

"Good." Lady Ruby nodded firmly. "Taisha may have been a thief, but that doesn't mean she deserved death."

Ned agreed with her, even though this would add even more work for him.

*****​

Ned could do without meeting Lord Tywin - he was buried in work - but he couldn't refuse a meeting with a Lord Paramount without giving offence. "Lord Tywin." He greeted the man with a respectful nod - Lord Tywin was known to be prickly about any insults, no matter how minor, and to hold grudges.

"Lord Regent." Lord Tywin returned the nod as he took a seat in Ned's solar. "You are quite busy," he commented with a glance at the parchment on Ned's table.

"You've been Hand before; you know how it is," Ned replied.

Lord Tywin scoffed at that. "Things were different when I was Hand."

Ned nodded. They had a mad king - although Aerys's madness had not been obvious yet, when Lord Tywin had served as his Hand.

"But I won't keep you from your work, Lord Regent. I am here to discuss the betrothal between the heir to the throne and your daughter."

Ned tensed. "Prince Joffrey is dead," he said, "The betrothal was with him."

"The betrothal was to unite the Baratheons and the Starks," Lord Tywin replied. "Now that Tommen is the heir, it follows that he should be betrothed to your daughter, to forge closer ties between our families."

Between the Lannisters and the Starks, Ned thought. Robert had wanted to unite his and Ned's families. But Robert was dead. And Ned had doubts about the legitimacy of the prince and princess. But he couldn't tell Lord Tywin that - the implication alone would be an insult worth a feud. And with Team Ruby insisting on ˆproof beyond doubt' for any claim against the royal children, Ned couldn't tell whose side they would support if it came to war. He had to gain time to sort this out. "Sansa is still grieving over the death of her betrothed. To push her into a new betrothal would be cruel," he said.

Lord Tywin frowned, and Ned half-expected him to scoff. But he slowly nodded. "What about your other daughter, then? She would be closer in age to Tommen."

"Arya?" Ned winced. Arya was still dreaming of a life as a Huntress - or a warrior woman, or 'Lady Knight'. She didn't dream of a royal marriage, much less becoming queen. If Ned told her she was to marry, she would make her displeasure known very loudly. But to tell Lord Tywin that would embarrass Ned and his family. "She's still very young," he said instead.

Tywin scoffed at that. "She's old enough for a betrothal. And the marriage wouldn't be until both are of age, of course."

Ned didn't want to tie his family to the Lannisters. Honour had kept him from breaking the betrothal between Sansa and Prince Joffrey, but he was not bound by it to betroth Arya to Tommen. Or Bran - or Robb - to Myrcella, if Lord Tywin would go there.

But how to refuse without insulting Lord Tywin and potentially drive Team Ruby to the Lannisters? Oh! He suppressed a smile when the solution presented itself. "My children are close to Team Ruby, Lord Tywin." The other man's expression turned into a puzzled frown. "So, they have been influenced by their views - even with regard to marriages. And, as you undoubtedly are already aware, Team Ruby's members are used to choosing their own betrotheds."

Lord Tywin's frown turned into a scowl. "Surely your children will listen to you."

Ned spread his hands, "Indeed, they will - but, as you surely know from your own experience, children, especially young children, do not always obey their parents. And even if they do, they often complain about it. If Lady Ruby and her friends were to hear Arya or Sansa whining about a betrothal, they might be moved to intervene. They are still very young themselves, and, therefore, more likely to side with those close to their age rather than their parents." He nodded gravely. "Their support can be a two-edged blade. As embarrassing as it is, it's best to step very lightly around them."

Lord Tywin's jaw muscles trembled briefly - he must be clenching his teeth, Ned saw - but he slowly nodded. "I see. Indeed, one must step lightly around them. I will consider this carefully, Lord Regent."

"Thank you, my lord."

Ned waited until Lord Tywin had left his solar before he smiled with relief.

*****​

Street of Steel, King's Landing, Crownlands, Westeros, 298 AC

Prince Joffrey was dead. Gendry Storm - not Waters, Storm; the late King, his father, had named him so - wasn't sure what to think. His half-brother was dead, slain in an explosion. It sounded like an assassination, and there were rumours that a faceless man had infiltrated the Red Keep as a servant, stolen magic powder from Lady Ruby and her friends, and used it to kill the prince. And yet, other rumours claimed that it had been the Prince who had stolen from the Four Maidens, and the Seven had struck him down for the sin. The latter rumour was much more popular amongst the volunteer guards outside the smithy. Was his half-brother a thief or a victim?

Gendry didn't know. And he wanted to know. Because if the Prince had been killed by a Faceless Man, then his other half-siblings were the obvious next targets. And Gendry might be next - the poison that Lady Yang had drunk might have been aimed at him. And the guards outside - half a dozen to a dozen depending on the time of the day, and he still didn't know what to think about that, either - wouldn't be able to stop a Faceless Man, would they?

"Boy! Stop daydreaming and finish that crossguard!"

"Yes, Master!" Gendry jerked and hastily started to work on the piece again. He couldn't do anything about the assassins or whatever had killed his half-brother. But he could smith.

But he couldn't finish the crossguard before he was distracted again, this time by Lady Yang and Lady Blake visiting. At least, they entered through the door instead of jumping over the wall without warning - Lady Yang had done that a few times in earlier visits, and Gendry doubted that she had done that merely to 'test his situational awareness', whatever that was. "Yo!"

"My ladies." Master Mott nodded at them without stopping his work on the sword.

"We wanted to check up on you." Lady Yang looked at the wall surrounding the yard, then at Lady Blake before smiling at Gendry. "How's it going with the guards?"

Master Mott scoffed. "They're still standing around uselessly."

Gendry winced. "They have been quite polite and they don't prevent customers from entering," he said with a glance at Master Mott.

"Good, good. We asked them to, ah, tone it down a little," Lady Yang said.

Gendry was aware of that. And thankful - the shop had counted fewer customers when a bunch of armed people had surrounded it. But even with that problem solved, he was still in danger. Quite a clear danger, in case the Prince had been assassinated instead of having been struck down by the Seven for stealing.

He hesitated, then swallowed. There was no reason not to ask. The Four Maidens were friendly and helpful, even with smallfolk and bastards, not arrogant as most nobles. "If I may ask, my ladies… What happened to the Prince? I've heard many rumours…"

"Ah." Lady Yang winced. "He got his hands on Dust stolen from us and accidentally set it off." She shook her head. "The blast destroyed his room."

Gendry grimaced at the thought of what that would have done to a boy, and even Master Mott winced. And yet… "So, he wasn't killed by a Faceless Man who had taken the shape of a servant?"

"No," Lady Blake spoke up. "The servant was a thief hired by the Prince's sworn sword, Lord Clegane, who killed her under circumstances that we have yet to clear up. But she wasn't a Faceless Man in disguise."

"So, she stole from you?"

"From Weiss," Lady Yang said.

Ah. Gendry was no noble; he was a simple smith and a bastard who had met his father just once before he was rendered an orphan again, but he knew enough not to press for more explanations.

But he could correct the guards' rumours next time they came in to get their training weapons repaired. Master Mott didn't like it, but Gendry thought repairing their training weapons was the least you could do for people who volunteered to guard you. Especially if they were sent by the Faith of the Seven at the request of the Four Maidens.

Even if Lady Yang and Lady Blake had not said so out loud, it was clear as day that those who had dared to lay their hands on the Maidens' property had died as a result, and brutally so.

Sometimes, the Seven's justice struck quickly and harshly, and Gendry certainly would never scorn them or their followers.

But that still left him torn about what he should feel about his half-brother's death.

*****​

The Great Sept of Baelor, King's Landing, Crownlands, Westeros, 298 AC

"...and we know you're worried about the succession, with the King and the Prince both dead, and all those rumours, but you don't have to be afraid. Team Ruby's here! We'll protect you to the best of our abilities. We know our duty as Huntresses!

"So, don't give in to fear, don't lash out at others - focus on staying calm and help each other if there's a need. Think positive thoughts! You're not alone! It might take a while, but there will be a new king, and you have a regent until then. If we all work together, this won't be a problem at all!"

Seated behind Lady Ruby, the High Septon nodded as she spoke to the gathered masses - the faithful - in the Great Sept. Yes, the people would find solace in the fact that the Blessed of the Seven watched over them. Who could be afraid of the uncertainty of the current succession with such obvious proof of the Seven's grace here? Why would anyone have to fear the future king - or a violent succession - with Team Ruby protecting them?

"No one - not me, not my team, not anyone else - can do everything. But together, we can!"

Lady Ruby smiled as the gathered people broke out in cheers. It lifted the High Septon's spirit to see the smallfolk, formerly unruly and afraid, now enthusiastic. And no hecklers had sneaked in!

"Team Ruby will punish the wicked!" someone yelled from the back. Well, he wasn't a heretic who still doubted the Blessed by the Seven. Probably.

Lady Ruby shook her head as the people quieted down again. "We're here to protect you, not to punish anyone. That's what the courts are for. Might does not make right. The more powerful you are, the more responsible you have to be! You cannot just force your will on others, you have to…"

Lady Weiss, seated next to the High Septon, sighed and muttered something he didn't quite catch - or understand. What was a 'cartoon'? But the Maiden was still smiling when Lady Ruby finished her speech, so it couldn't have been important.

Lady Ruby took a few deep breaths when she stepped down from the pedestal and turned away from the crowd. "Ugh!" she muttered. "I blew it!"

"You didn't," Lady Weiss spoke up. "You said what you wanted to, and more or less how we planned it."

"More more or more less?" Lady Ruby asked with a lopsided smile that looked endearingly innocent on her face.

"I'd say about in the middle," Lady Weiss replied before looking at him. "What do you think?"

Was he asked to judge the Chosen of the Seven? He smiled. "I believe everyone here took heart and felt relieved from fear and anger by your words."

Lady Weiss grinned. "See? You did it."

"Yes!"

"Thank you for letting us speak to your congregation, High Septon," Lady Weiss said with a small bow.

"Yes, thank you again!"

"It was the least I could do," he replied - honestly. As if he could refuse to let the Blessed by the Seven address the faithful! The High Septon knew he wasn't a saint, not even a truly good man - he was too weak to the pleasures of the flesh for that - but he was still a man of the Faith, and he could see a messenger of the Seven when they appeared and do his duty.

How anyone, especially a member of the Faith, could doubt the divine nature of the Four Maidens was beyond him. They had power beyond a mortal's ken - power beyond anything magic could achieve, as those who studied such matters had assured him. And yet, for all their power, they were humble and polite, never took anything for granted, and were friendly to everyone, no matter their station. They truly cared for the smallfolk and stood for what was right even when it went against the wishes of the most powerful nobles in the realm. And those who went against them were punished by the gods. Even if they were princes. The Maidens hadn't told him so, but the High Septon had heard enough to know the truth about the Prince's death.

How could anyone not follow their example, within the limits of their own means? Work together, protect each other, help each other - the Seven's will was clear, and even a sinner like the High Septon would do everything to obey, be it sending faithful to Essos to investigate the slave trade or arm the faithful to better protect those in need.

Lady Ruby might not have ordered the return of the Faith Militant - the High Septon was well aware of how controversial such a decision would be - but neither had she forbidden the faithful from arming themselves to do their duties.

And if a man was in his right to fight under a noble's order, how much more would he be in his right to fight on the orders of the Seven Above as told by the Divine Messengers?

The High Septon knew his duty. Should the Four Maidens have a need for men-at-arms, the Faith would answer.

*****​

The Red Keep, King's Landing, Crownlands, Westeros, 298 AC

Varys knew how to smile and hide his true feelings. He had honed this skill for decades, and it had let him survive the Mad King's reign as well as the rebellion that ended it, with none privy to his true thoughts - not even his closest contacts. But it was getting a little more difficult than usual to keep up the facade when it seemed fate itself was conspiring against him.

Safely in the privacy of his office, Varys allowed himself to scowl.

That idiot prince had gone and blown himself up trying to copy the witches' magic! Varys didn't mind that the Prince had died - sooner or later, the spoilt brat would have had to die - but he very much minded that the idiot had died now. His mere existence had driven a wedge between the witches and the Starks and Baratheons, and once those bridges were truly burnt, it would have only taken the right timing and a few disposable minions to expose the boy's depravity to the whole Court. That would have forced the witches to abandon the prince lest their facade of benevolence be revealed as the act it was, and so would have turned the Lannisters against the witches. Lord Tywin would have either stubbornly stuck to defending his grandson's claim against all reason or disposed of Joffrey himself - and that would have turned him into a kinslayer. As a result, the Lannisters would have been isolated, and bereft of the witches' protection, and the Baratheons would have made a move against them. No matter who won that war, the victor would have been weakened, and after setting both Baratheons against each other, Varys could have secured the support of the Martells for the Young Griff to move in and take over the weakened realm. (After disposing of the witches, of course, but that went without saying.)

But now? Lord Tywin would push Tommen onto the throne, Lord Eddard would have a much more malleable boy to marry to his daughters - the man might hold out a bit, but would cave sooner or later, with the witches protecting Tommen's claim. And with Prince Oberyn so friendly with the witches - the rake was, no doubt, fooling himself into thinking he could seduce them so they would support his House - Varys couldn't work on bringing the Martells into the fold as long as the witches were still ruling the court. Prince Oberyn was a fool, but not as much of a fool as to put his house against them no matter the prize.

Things would be bad enough if this were all that he had to face, but he knew that the witches were not content with ruling the court - they were also taking control of the Faith. Whether they planned to rule the realm through a reborn Faith Militant, using the crazed zealots to kill anyone they might not personally bother to hunt down, or wished to have the Faith and the Court destroy each other so they could install their own rule on the ashes, Varys didn't know yet - the witches themselves might not yet be sure which would be the most appealing course of action.

But he knew they had to be stopped. No matter the cost. He had already reached out - through many proxies, of course - to the House of Black and White, but he wasn't as foolish as to trust that this would suffice to deal with the witches. No, he had to use everything and everyone to do this.

*****​

The Red Keep, King's Landing, Crownlands, Westeros, 298 AC

Petyr Baelish was in a good mood going over his ledgers - after checking the window, of course; the odds of Lady Blake peering inside were low, it was barely after noon, but he hadn't reached his current position and wealth by being careless.

He had reached it by grasping every opportunity that presented itself and holding on to it, then squeezing it dry. Just as he would with this opportunity. A funeral for the Prince of the realm, taken tragically from all of them before his time.

Before the time Petyr could have properly exploited the little sadist's temper to further his ambitions. He hadn't even yet decided whether he'd supply the Prince with suitable victims to build his influence on the boy or denounce him to Team Ruby to gain their trust. Or both, depending on how discreet the boy could be - the fact that he had managed to conceal his nature from the four girls proved that he had a modicum of discretion.

And that, for all their power, the girls were as naive as any other girl their age. His smile widened. Who better than honest Lord Petyr, hardworking Master of Coin, a humble Lord from a tiny landhold, doing his best to keep the realm afloat despite the spending habits of the Court, to help them see through similar facades? Certainly not Varys, the Master of Whispers, who kept failing to find the assassins and thieves riddling the court despite his decades of experience and network of informants.

But for that, Petyr would have to expose at least some of the late Prince's inclinations. Or, perhaps, wait for the girls to turn to the cat-loving simpleton now suddenly being first in line to become king and hear from him and his sister just how cruel their elder brother had been.

He leaned back, rubbing his chin. Maybe he needed to be a bit proactive about that. Approach the girls, voice his concern about some rumours going around about the dead Prince, inquire about his siblings… Yes, that should present the correct mix of informed and concerned. The kind of person foreigners with more power than sense or knowledge about the Court could trust.

He nodded at his thoughts. Yes, he would arrange for a coincidental meeting, as he had before, and point them at the prince and princess, now more isolated than ever, with only their grandfather and their uncle, both unsuitable for consoling them in their grief, to support them in their time of need.

Right after he finished his preparations to skim as much gold as possible from the money Lord Stark had ordered set aside for the funeral. Between the businesses he controlled, he could already get the lion's share of the allotment, and if he played his cards right, he could perhaps even get Lord Tywin to pay for a grander funeral, one more befitting his grandson. That would not only net Petyr more coin but also pit Lord Tywin against the Regent, who obviously had been unwilling to pay enough for a 'properly respectful funeral'.

And if the naive Regent wouldn't realise that he had made an enemy in Lord Tywin, then honest, hardworking Petyr would not hesitate to point it out, and earn even more of the fool's trust.

Smiling, he started to write down bills and expenses, both factual and fictional.

*****​

The Red Keep, King's Landing, Crownlands, Westeros, 298 AC

"Brienne, as tragic as the death of Prince Joffrey has been, and even though it might be a bit disrespectful to talk about it on the eve of his funeral, I doubt I have to tell you that his death affects the whole realm."

Brienne Tarth nodded. Lord Renly, clad in finest silk that complemented his handsome face and hair, was stating the obvious, as Lady Weiss would put it - the death of the future King had thrown the realm into… not turmoil, but it had caused some unrest. Of course, Lady Ruby's speech at the Great Sept of Baelor had managed to calm the waters somewhat, but the currents had not disappeared.

"Prince Joffrey had seen two and ten years. It would have been three more years until he could have taken the throne," Lord Renly went on.

"At least. More like four or five if what we heard about him is true," Ser Loras muttered as he put down two flagons with wine and three goblets on the table in Lord Renly's quarters.

What had they heard about the Prince?

"Well, he's dead, and so we might never know if there was any truth to the rumours," Lord Renly took one goblet, filled it and passed it to Brienne.

"Thank you, my lord." She nodded, still wondering about the rumours they mentioned - should she ask?

But Lord Renly was already going on: "However, Prince Tommen is just seven years old. We'll be looking at a regency of almost ten years until he can take the crown."

"Yes, my lord." Brienne nodded again. Anyone who knew their numbers was aware of this.

"Ten years over which the boy will grow and learn to be a king." Lord Renly raised the goblet Ser Loras had handed him in a toast.

Brienne raised hers almost out of reflex, drank with the others - and then had to school her features. That was arbor gold! Or a wine of similar quality - she was no connoisseur; she might be able to afford it occasionally, but a knight should not get drunk, and neither should a Huntress, as Lady Ruby and Lady Yang had mentioned once. Still, if Lord Renly went to such an expense, it would be rude to refuse.

"That is, if he is raised right. Cersei was said to have spoiled Prince Joffrey rotten, and who knows what she did to her other children?" Lord Renly shrugged with a lopsided smile that made him appear even more handsome.

She realised he was waiting for an answer - fortunately, he was still smiling, so she hadn't angered him with her lapse - and nodded. "Lord Eddard is said to be just and honourable, and from what I know of his children, he's a good father as well." Lord Bran, Lady Arya and Lady Sansa all agreed on that, as did Jon. "He will raise the Prince right and teach him how to rule fairly and honourably." Team Ruby might have some issues with Lord Eddard, but they didn't deny that he was honourable to a fault - 'according to the custom of the realm', as Lady Weiss liked to put it.

"But as Regent, and not merely Warden of the North, can he truly spare the time to raise another child?" Ser Loras tilted his head. "My own father did his best, but there were many times he was busy with the duties of a ruler."

"And," Lord Renly took over before Brienne could say anything, "Lord Eddard would not be the only one to influence the boy. His grandfather undoubtedly will do what he can to mould the boy in his image; he tried that with Prince Joffrey already. And Lord Tyrion has already spent much time with his nephew and niece - when he's not carousing in brothels, that is."

Brienne blushed. She was aware of Lord Tyrion's… inclinations. He was a drunkard as well, according to Team Ruby.

"So…" Lord Renly smiled at her, and she felt her heart skip a beat. "Do you think we can count on Lady Ruby and her friends to look after the boy? It would remove quite the weight from my shoulders if I knew he was in good hands."

Ah… Brienne resisted the urge to bite her lip. "Team Ruby has not said anything about raising the Prince." Lady Yang had joked about already having raised Lady Ruby, but that was not the kind of comment Brienne would tell anyone else. "They are planning to return to their world. I doubt they will stay ten years here." That was - or should be - known. They certainly didn't attempt to hide it.

"Of course. But as long as they are here?" Lord Renly cocked his head to the side. "Do you think it would be too much for you to ask them to spend more time with our future King?"

"Certainly not!" Brienne replied, and his smile widened. It would be no burden at all to ask them in the morning, when they trained together. But then she wondered. Why wouldn't Lord Renly ask them himself? It was a perfectly reasonable request, after all, and Team Ruby was known to care for children, whether they were nobles or smallfolk.

Why would he want her to ask them?

She found no answer to the question during the rest of the afternoon, while Lord Renly and Ser Loras chatted with her about a variety of topics - not a few of them related to Team Ruby.

*****​

The Red Keep, King's Landing, Crownlands, Westeros, 298 AC

Jon Snow - Jon Snow, not Jon Waters he reminded himself - waited until he had left the training yard before rubbing his aching limbs. They were just bruised, and he didn't want to look weak in front of Lady Yang and the others. Or give them the impression that he couldn't train with them. He could! Bruises were the price you paid for getting better, as he had been taught. Whatever Team Ruby did in training, he could take it!

As long as they held back, of course, but that went for everyone who trained with them, including Ser Barristan. Jon just had to keep at it and keep getting better so he wouldn't slow them down. He didn't want their pity, he wanted… Well, what he wanted from Lady Yang he wouldn't get. She might tease him - though she had cut back on that, quite a lot, actually, since they arrived in King's Landing - but she wasn't interested. He knew that. If only his heart accepted it as well! But except for that, he wanted to help them. Meaningfully.

And he could. He knew that as well. He was a very good swordsman. That wasn't childish pride talking - or his 'ego', as Lady Yang called it - but true; Ser Barristan himself had told Jon that he had a rare talent. As long as he trained hard and honed his skill, he could expect to become a master with the blade.

He couldn't expect to hold a candle to Team Ruby, of course, but he could make a name for himself. An honourable name. If he found an honourable position, at least. But with his uncle staying regent, at least for a few more years, it wasn't unreasonable to expect some opportunities to open up. Although he would not…

"Jon! Here you are!"

…stop paying attention to his surroundings, he vowed as he turned to face his… cousins. Lady Blake had made it clear that any of their friends might be in danger and should be alert. "Arya. Bran."

Arya grinned. "We sneaked up on you!"

"We didn't," Bran disagreed. "He was lost in thought."

"Still counts! Lady Blake said if your opponent makes a mistake, you should capitolise on it!"

"That's capitalise!" Bran corrected her.

She ignored her brother and smiled at Jon. "Anyway, were you daydreaming about Lady Yang again?"

"No." Jon hadn't been. Not really. That he had been thinking of her was only natural when she had given him most of his bruises.

Arya snorted but, for a change, didn't push. "So, what were you thinking about?"

"My future," he told her.

"Oh!" Bran smiled. "Were you thinking about the offer to squire for Ser Gerald?"

"I won't accept it," Jon told them.

A year ago, he would have jumped at such an offer. Now, though? He knew better than to think a knight who had barely exchanged more than a greeting with him would be impressed by his skill; Ser Gerald wanted to use him to get closer to Team Ruby and his 'father' the Regent. Or rather, Ser Gerald's family wanted to use them both. And Jon wasn't interested in playing these games.

No, if he were to squire for anyone, it would have to be for someone who wanted Jon Snow, not Jon the friend of the Four Maidens. Or the bastard of Lord Eddard.

"Good!" Arya nodded firmly. "That would have taken you away from King's Landing. And you can't leave us!"

"He will have to leave us sooner or later," Bran pointed out. "That's how it works. Jon can't stay with us forever; he's almost a man grown."

"Many men stay with us forever! Like Ser Jory!" Arya told him with a scowl.

"Ser Jory left to squire as well." Of course, Bran would be aware of that; Jon's cousin had been planning to become a knight since he had been able to talk.

Arya huffed. "If Jon leaves, I'll go with him!"

Jon winced. Lord Eddard would not be amused, as Lady Weiss would say, if Arya tried to run away with Jon - and he would blame Jon since Jon was the eldest. "You can't."

"Why not?"

"You can't be a squire," Bran spoke up before Jon could. "Only boys can."

"That's stupid! And I'll be a Huntress, anyway."

"You can't be a Huntress either; Team Ruby said so," Bran said.

"They said they can't give their power to me - but they didn't say I couldn't become a Huntress!" Arya sniffed. "I'm learning how to fight! And I've got talent!"

"There is no need for Huntresses in Westeros," Bran said with a frown. "We don't have Grimm."

"There are other monsters I can hunt. And there are a lot of people to protect!" Arya stuck out her tongue.

That was true; Lady Ruby had mentioned it herself. But still… "Westeros isn't used to Huntresses," Jon tried to explain. "You wouldn't be able to get 'missions'."

Arya, of course, shrugged. "I can take my own missions. I'll be a Huntress in Westeros and protect the innocent. Like a knight, just better!"

Bran pouted at her. "That's not how it works!"

"That's how it will work!" Arya sniffed again, stuck out her tongue again and left with a huff.

Bran shook his head. "Father won't be happy about that."

"She's not going anywhere for years," Jon said. Team Ruby had said she wasn't nearly ready for, well, anything yet.

"You think that will stop her?" Bran sighed.

Jon knew better than to think that. But Bran was right - Westeros wasn't like Team Ruby's home. Things didn't work like that here.

On the other hand, Lady Brienne proved that women could become warriors, and she was planning to do the same as Arya. To travel the land, go where she was needed and protect the innocent.

*****​

The Red Keep, King's Landing, Crownlands, Westeros, 298 AC

"Ah! Lady Melisandre."

"Lord Varys." Melisandre didn't tense when she turned to face Varys, but she was ready for anything. Varys presented the image of a weak, effeminate man who could barely hurt a fly without needing help, but no such man would have survived as long as he had as Master of Whispers. He might not have slain as many as Melisandre had, but his hands were not clean; Melisandre was certain. Though it was unlikely that the man would try anything next to the Great Hall. They were too far from others to fear being overheard, but not out of sight.

"What a lucky coincidence to meet you here," he lied. "With both of us so busy in these troubling times."

She slowly nodded again. She doubted he knew everything that she was up to - she knew how to be discreet - but he certainly knew she was not merely spreading R'hllor's word. Though, of course, in a way she was. The Red God had sent her a vision, and she was doing what she could to understand it so she could heed his call. Sooner or later, she would succeed. "The death of the heir affected us all," she said.

"The death of Prince Joffrey, indeed. Though it seems everyone has already accepted Prince Tommen as the new heir."

Was he trying to see if she would betray anything about Stannis's intentions? "He is next in line," she said.

"Of course. No one would dare challenge that, not with the Four Maidens backing him. Who, no matter how just their cause, would dare face their powers in a trial?" Varys smiled. "It certainly makes my duties easier; fewer nobles will plot against the throne."

"I am glad to hear that. Unrest often spells disaster for a kingdom." Melisandre kept smiling, though she could not help wondering what Varys's goal was. His blatant hinting that Team Ruby was all that stood between Stannis's claim to the throne was nothing more than stating what everyone at Court who paid the slightest attention to rumours already knew. And Varys would be aware of that. Was that a veiled offer of support? But who would trust a man who had served both the Mad King and King Robert? Varys obviously was only loyal to himself.

"Of course, few have the knowledge to understand just how dangerous those powers are," Varys went on. "And what price they demand. Otherwise, many would be plotting anyway."

Ah. "Indeed." Melisandre nodded once again. She was well aware of what price magic demanded - she had paid it herself, many times. And she also knew that Team Ruby was not using trickery and sleight of hand to make themselves appear more skilled at magic than they were - quite the contrary, actually. And yet, was Varys truly unaware that the girls' magic was different from the arts Melisandre had learned herself? Or was that what he wanted her to deduce?

She had to consider this carefully. Though not as carefully as her visions from R'hllor. She still needed to find out whether she was meant to help or hinder Team Ruby and the flood they were supposed to bring that would wash over the land. Though she was now all but certain that the four girls were genuine about their stated aims, which made her task a little easier.

"Good day, Lady Melisandre."

"Good day, Lord Varys."

*****​

The Red Keep, King's Landing, Crownlands, Westeros, 298 AC

Lord Renly Baratheon, Master of Laws, sighed. "Why couldn't Joffrey have blown up Clegane alongside himself? That would make my life a lot easier."

Loras, his love, looked up from the letter he was reading in his favourite seat in Renly's chamber. "Are you still working on his trial?"

"Yes." Renly sighed.

"I thought there were no doubts about it," Loras said. "He has killed the thief when she approached the Prince with the stolen magic powder, and while he carried the corpse away, on the prince's orders, the prince must have mishandled the powder. Did he tell another story?"

"No." Renly shook his head. "But witnesses who saw him with her days before the incident - in Fleabottom - have appeared."

Loras blinked. "That's… unusual."

Renly knew that. Usually, anyone from that part of the city avoided coming to the attention of the guard, much less the court, and for good reason. "It's the fault of Team Ruby."

"Did they find the witnesses and take them to you? Or did their presence encourage them to contact you?"

"A bit of both, I assume." Renly shook his head. "So, it looks like the trial won't be as smooth as Lord Eddard hopes for."

"That's good, isn't it?" Loras looked puzzled. "It means Lord Eddard will be publicly casting doubts on our dear departed prince's reputation, angering the Lannisters further."

"He will assume that Renly, Stannis, Lord Eddard and Team Ruby are behind this," Margaery spoke up, putting her needlework down. "But he also knows that without Team Ruby, House Lannister would lose all claims to the throne." And more besides, Renly knew. "So, he won't make a move. And if he did, he wouldn't move against us but against Stannis."

Renly wasn't quite so certain. Margaery was cunning, but she didn't have that much experience at Court or with Lord Tywin. And he didn't know what was her grandmother's opinion and what her own.

"Either way, if Tywin makes a move, he loses." Loras shrugged, and Renly took a quick breath at the supple ways his muscles moved his shoulders.

"As long as Team Ruby doesn't support him," Margaery said. "Did you manage to get Brienne to talk to them?"

Renly grimaced slightly. "She said she mentioned my concerns." But she had been a bit distant lately - from him, not from Team Ruby or her other friends. If he lost her loyalty…

"Well, the trial will only serve our interests. The more people hear about how mad Prince Joffrey was, the more damage the Lannisters' reputation suffers," Loras said. "And the more doubts about the other bastards' legitimacy will spread."

That was true. But… "Not as long as Lady Ruby defends them."

"Then we work on splitting her from the Lannisters." Loras shrugged again. "Grandmother will know how to do it."

Margaery nodded in apparent agreement.

Renly didn't share their trust in Olenna Tyrell. The Queen of Thorns had a formidable reputation as a plotter, but she lacked direct experience with Lady Ruby and her friends. And she was said to be stubborn and quite convinced of her own judgment. If she misjudged them and didn't listen to others… The last thing Renly wanted was to drive those girls into the arms of the Lannisters. Maybe he needed to take some steps to ensure that wouldn't happen.

He should talk to Clegane and see if he could impress on the man that the trial could have a wide range of outcomes depending on Clegane's testimony. After all, even if Tommen took the throne, he was a little boy and pliable - Renly knew his 'nephew' and how to talk to him.

The problem was Tywin.

*****​

Harbour District, Pentos, Essos, Westeros, 298 AC

"...and then the fool turned around, and screamed louder than a newborn baby - his voice was higher too."

Loswell laughed with the sailor telling the crude and most certainly untrue story and refilled the man's cup to the brim while he faked filling his own. "A truly great experience, my friend. Did the fool survive the experience?"

"The seal was only after the fish I had slipped into the fool's pants, and so he survived with a few holes in his pants and a few more scars on his arse!" The sailor - Brodrick, according to him - downed his cup, and Loswell was quick to fill it up again.

"That must have been a memorable voyage. Do your passengers often cry out like that when they discover that the sea is not just a great lake?"

"Oh, all the time!" The man chuckled, and downed the next cup, then burped. "Well, those who can still cry, you know."

Loswell hoped the sailor was too much in his cups to notice how he had suddenly tensed. That was what he was after. Now to prod the drunk without being too obvious about it. "There are passengers who cannot cry? Those 'Unsullied' I heard about?"

"What? No! We never transported those cockless freaks." More chuckling, and another cup of wine vanished. Loswell wasn't worried about the cost - the wine was cheap, and their funds were generous; the High Septon had made it clear that this was a mission directly on the Four Maidens' request. "But we've been transporting mute… passengers."

Yes! Just what he had hoped - this was the third ship they were investigating that regularly travelled west from here. "Mute passengers? An order, like the Silent Sisters?"

The sailor laughed out loud. "No, no. Just a bunch of children with their tongues cut out so they can't talk anymore. They can still scream, but it sounds weird. Pretty funny sometimes." He shrugged.

Loswell forced himself to laugh. "You are joking! Who would want to send children without tongues to Westeros?"

The sailor frowned. "Oh, I don't know who wants them, but I'll have you know that there's a decent demand for such children. Every few years, we ship a dozen over, straight to King's Landing!"

Loswell held up his hands. "Alright, I'll believe that - that city is a cesspit bereft of all gods and justice," he lied before he added more liquor to the wine.

It was better that the sailor was too drunk to return to his ship - one less pair of ears and eyes that might spot Loswell and his friends when they investigated the ship later. They needed more proof than a drunken tale, after all, for the Four Maidens. They already knew who mutilated and 'trained' the poor children, and once they had the transport papers…

*****​

Haunted Forest, The North, Westeros, 298 AC

"No! Joffrey! My poor boy! They have murdered you, and soon your siblings will follow! And then they'll come for me! With dark magic and vile curses! They will kill my children and then me! Why? Why are you letting this happen? Let me out! I need to flee!"

Brynden closed his eyes as he withdrew from the crow that was peering through the narrow, barred window of the former queen's room - a prison cell in all but name. The woman hadn't taken the news of her eldest child's death well. Not at all. Brynden had watched as she had tried to run in the middle of the night, only to be caught by her fellow Sisters. For all her arrogance when she had been queen, Cersei seemed to have no dignity left at all.

But that wasn't his problem. Whether the woman stayed or fled, whether she lived or died, she wasn't of any consequence any more.

Unlike those girls who were responsible for sending her to her current lodgings. The girls who had defeated the Others.

"Did you see anything new?"

He opened his eyes and smiled emptily at Leaf as he shook his head - as far as he could move his head, at least. "No. I watched the former queen debase herself, but that was it."

"Nothing of the messengers?"

He frowned. They didn't know if those girls were messengers of the Seven. A lot hinted at that, not the least the support from the Faith of the Seven, but, as was usual with the New Gods, there was no straight confirmation.

And yet, what else could they be but instruments of the Seven? They appeared in the North and killed the Others before going straight south, to King's Landing - the heart of the New Faith - and quickly established themselves there not only at Court but in the Faith as well. They certainly weren't messengers of the Old Gods.

But Leaf was waiting for an answer. "Nothing," he said. "They went training with their followers but I couldn't observe any important meetings." And he couldn't risk getting too close; they knew he was watching through the crows and had killed one bird already when Brynden had flown a bit too low to get a look at their weapons. He had to assume that whatever he saw of them was what they wanted him to see. "Have you found out anything?"

Leaf hesitated, and he raised his eyebrows. "We have… remembered parts of a legend. Said to be older than time, mentioning that the Gods used to visit certain places," she said.

"But where those places were…" She shook her head, her big eyes meeting his. "The knowledge was lost to us in the invasion."

He slowly nodded. Perhaps that was well - if they knew such a place that the four girls sought, they would have to decide if telling them would lead to them leaving or playing into the hands of the Seven. It might be cowardly, but Brynden couldn't help feeling a bit of relief.

And then Leaf went on. "But we're reaching out to others, who might have preserved the knowledge."

And Bryndon winced.

*****​

The Red Keep, King's Landing, Crownlands, Westeros, 298 AC

"Sit straight and look me in the eyes when I talk to you, Tommen! You'll be King one day, and a king does not cower like that!"

Tommen - Prince Baratheon, heir to the crown, as people kept telling him - flinched. He tried to look at Grandfather, but the man was scary. And Angry. Even though Tommen hadn't done anything. Actually, he was angry because Tommen hadn't done anything, and that made no sense. Tommen had never gotten into trouble for not doing anything in his life!

"I said look me in the eyes, boy!"

Tommen sniffled and raised his eyes, whimpering a bit at the cold expression. Grandfather was not nice. Not like Mother was. Or father had been. He was scary. Almost like Jofrey had been.

Joffrey, who had killed Tommen's fawn and said he'd kill Tommen's cats. Joffrey, who had hurt him often when Mother hadn't been watching. Joffrey, who was dead.

Tommen shuddered. Joffrey was dead. Killed by magic. Uncle Tyrion said it was an accident, but Tommen had overheard people saying it had been the punishment of the gods for stealing. Or murder.

Grandfather grabbed his chin and lifted his face, forcing him to stare into his eyes. "Don't test me, boy! We cannot afford any such foolishness. If you wish to keep your throne, you need to do as I say!"

Tommen felt his eyes grow wet. Grandfather kept saying this, and it made no sense! Keep his throne? He had no throne! Joffrey had been the heir! And Joffrey was dead! As dead as Father was. As Uncle Jaime. And Mother was gone as well! But Grandfather wasn't listening!

But Grandfather was talking. "You'll need to be nice to the Stark girls. Talk to them, make them smile. Compliment them. They are the key to this. You need to win them over if you want to be king."

Win them over? Tommen didn't understand. But he understood that he was in danger. Like Joffrey had been.

And he didn't like it.

"But I don't want to be king!" he yelled.

"What?"

He blinked, he was crying, everything was blurry, and he sniffled before saying: "I don't want to die like Joffrey! I don't want to be king! I don't want to…"

His head flew to the side. Then came the pain, and he gasped, holding his cheek.

Grandfather had hit him!

"Don't talk nonsense, boy! I won't tolerate any more of this foolishness! You will be king! Do you understand?"

Tommen couldn't stop his tears, couldn't stop the pain, but he could nod. Anything to keep Grandfather from hitting him again.

*****​

"Prince Tommen? You have a visitor."

A visitor? Grandfather! Tommen tensed and tried to curl up. He didn't want to meet his Grandfather. Not again.

But before he could find the words to tell the servant that, someone entered.

"Prince Tommen?" That wasn't Grandfather.

He glanced up and froze. That was Lady Weiss! One of the Maidens! Her powder had killed Joffrey! They had made Mother go away and killed Uncle Jaime! What was she doing here?

"I wanted to visit you and…" He heard her gasp. "What happened to your face?"

Once more, a hand grabbed his chin, but gently. He tensed up anyway and looked away, trembling. He didn't want to get hit again! He didn't want to die!

"Tommen…" she whispered. "Who hurt you?"

*****​