Crossovers

Marubie wasn’t a woman overly concerned with the status of her family; they were small and weren’t much in the grand scheme of things, her parents having come with their parents and family from somewhere very, very different to Westeros. Then she managed to marry into a…Larger family, with an assured wealth that would see she and hers comfortable. But not one, she and her family had been sure, of much consequence. Certainly not on par with the Great Houses and certainly with no reason to be involved in their ruthless cutthroat games, regardless of the distant relation to one of those Great Houses, most especially since it was a maternal line connecting them. And most certainly, of her children, did not expect them to mingle with the children of those Houses.

Marubie wasn’t a woman with much concern to status, but was one far more preoccupied with the safety and security of her children, the only thing besides her sisters that gave her the strength to deal with her husband’s family. And beautiful children she had, wonderful children. The eldest, a proudly born son, was almost all of her own family with his dusky skin and bouncy black curls, the soft, sweetly youthful face and dimples and smile. Were it not for the straight nose and soft, almost drowsy downturned shape of his eyes one wouldn’t see anything of his father’s blood at all. Well, she amended to herself, at least until he had gotten a bit older, old enough to grow into a gangly boy with shoulders he didn’t quite fit into yet. He would be as tall as his father’s family tended to be, if just a bit more lean. Her second had managed to come a few shades paler, and had managed for the deep reddish-brown big looser curls of his father, alongside the thin mouth, nose, eyes, and sharp jaw and cheekbones. He was set a bit sturdier than his brother had been, no doubt taking that as well. But he shared the inky black eye color with his older brother and maiden line. Their third was the first girl, taking her curls but her father’s color and with the same drowsy eyes that seemed to power her husband’s family looks over her own. She was the palest child yet, still darker than the sun worn tans of her husband’s family but not in quite the same shade or richness as the dusky color of Marubie’s own family. Her eyes, as well, were dark. And she had quickly shown that she would gain the height of her father as well. The fourth, youngest child was the only one to take her eye shape; wide cat-like upturned and what had lured her husband to her in the first place. But in his startling, striking pale green and against her wheatish tone, almost the same as Marubie’s own- a shade or two off of her eldest brother Cassuc. The color of her eyes, the high cheekbones, her nose, the general shape of her face were her father’s, marked her undeniably of his line. But her thick black curls, the lushness of her lashes, her smaller size that would, like Marubie’s, contain wiry strength and fuller hips, thighs and backside, with a small waist once the girl grew more into her body.

Cassuc, Kerse, Slaria and Heolone were her everything.

And while her husband might be distant to her, he was more invested in their children, quietly resting in whatever room they were playing in, never missing meals with them, silently gifting them things purely because he could and he enjoyed watching them delight in the gifts. She knew to her bones that he adored their children.

Which is, perhaps, why he was so strained in explaining that they were to visit King’s Landing. Supposedly a gift from a somewhat distant cousin from House Tyrell, this invitation.

The Thorns were, after all, evolved from a bastard Flower. They gained what prestige and wealth they have by creating dyes and from that, fabrics and soon some being involved in garment making given the supply they were exposed to. It made them fair money and excellent connections through merchants and had only gained more legitimacy through a marriage with a Tyrell woman two generations ago. They were hardly a noble family though, hardly one of the most notable families of the Reach. More still, her husband was the fourth born son to the youngest brother of the head of house and it gave them a comfortable and quiet, peaceful life.

Peace in King’s Landing, from the whispers of the merchants and their wives and families, was nothing but a thin veil for the deception and trickery. Not something she had ever found herself keen to be involved in, conspiring and plotting away at others when she was perfectly happy to sit and be left alone with her and her own. It was hardly her care who was the newest bastard Flower, or how many bastards the Iron King had sired, and hardly her interest to know scandals and malicious whispers from cruel eyed women and gossiping men who had nothing better to occupy themselves with. Her husband, as aloof and cold he was, did not care for those sorts of silly frivolous things. Even his marriage to her had been whispered about; her grandparents and their ‘strange ways’, the views and medicines and dances of their family done in private and the older customs of their homeland kept safe and close to heart lest they be mocked more than they, as foreigners of the land, were. Even if she had been born on Westeros soil and her parents mostly raised on land as well.

Petty people and petty things and they had made plenty of good enough friends who wouldn’t stab them in the back for a bit of hearsay gossiping. She brushed the comb through her youngest daughter’s curls, a calming thing for her to do when either of them were upset. It had become a ritual during stressful times to care for her youngest- after that awful incident…Her dark eyes glanced down at the lightning strike of a scar on her daughter’s beautiful face. It favored the left side of her face, beginning in the middle of her forehead, jagging into the bolt shape and striking down to end just below her eye. It was pure luck and her grandfather’s quick treatment that she didn’t lose it. It was much better looking now- having been years and years but Heolone had always been somewhat attracted to trouble. Or, rather to say, trouble was attracted to her. The scar had faded- but had not darkened. Instead the skin shone silvery pale against her rich skin, flashing under light rather like an actual bolt of lightning from the healing process to keep her eye intact.

“Do you think we could get away with simply hiding in the gardens away from all the fuss?” Heolone asked her, keen eyes on the flower pressing she was doing. Her flowers always tended to last the best and the most beautifully, much to Cassuc’s exasperation who had taught her in the first place. “Or perhaps to the streets. I wonder what the king’s markets are like?”

“Overpriced no doubt.” she told her daughter, unimpressed deeply with the thought of having to travel there and even more so at the prospect travelling there with the Tyrells and their retainers and the like. The only relief was that her sisters, her parents and her grandparents were also coming; ostensibly because they were medicinally well versed, all of them, and her sisters had been taken in to work with the fabrics and looms. Their pretty faces and charisma also helped to draw in those who might not otherwise look at their wares, both the men entranced by their beauty, men amused at their ploy, women the same, and women who wanted the stylish vivid colors they wore and flaunted in display or those more interested in their exotic looks.

“No doubt.” her daughter said agreeably. Worse still, in some ways, were the Crane members that would be coming and traveling with them to Highgarden, as they and their home were between the two. There were few in that family that didn’t look down upon the Thorns. In the haughty men anyways, but anyone in the Reach knows that it’s the women who rule the family and she much appreciates that at least, even if in law it is the men in power. They know better, from that house, to try to overrule the matriarchy. She wouldn’t call herself close with any of the women but a few of them made well enough conversationalists to spend time with when the chance arose. Hopefully one of them would be among them for her to suffer through the rest that were going.

xXx

Heolone skittered away, giggling in her hands as the Crane girl (“Miriam, muchly preferred as Mir thank you.”) followed, her hair red like fire and with freckles splattered about whatever skin was visible. Heolone could hear her brothers, her sister and the others running about as well. The snotty adults of the Houses and nobility and vassals and all were so dull after all. The children? Once out from oppressing eyes were just as delightful as most other children she had played with.

Thoughts of another redhaired child, one with freckles everywhere and a family to match him are pressed down.

Cleome Potter has no place in Heolone’s life after all. Or at least not when it wasn’t beneficial for her to be. They were to be in King’s Landing very soon- the plentiful greenery and space of the Reach changing as they went along Roseroad. Her mother’s agitation was soothed only by the circle of her sisters and parents and she was somewhat snappish regardless. Her father, surrounded as it were, had become more stony stoic rather than the quiet softness she was used to but he was still gentle away from prying eyes. Only aloof and distant under the intent watchful eyes of others, though no less protective. As she had heard, he’d threatened a man attempting to buy her sister’s hand with castration. And when mother found out, she and the aunts had descended in a flurry of skirts and malicious taunts and gossip. As much as her mother claims to dislike it, she was easily vengeful enough to partake when it suits her. Not an important house, nor with much claim to nobility but powerless they were not.

“Were it Mercy were here I could spy on where they are,” Mir quietly complained, crouched beside her. The cranes that the women so vaulted were left; the dangers of travel and fickle folk of King’s Landing were hardly the place for them. More, those who could skinchange were…Persecuted. One slip and the quiet that kept the Cranes and others safe would be broken the Faith would hunt them down.

“We don’t need to when they’re being so loud.” Heolone pointed out, “Storming through the underbrush like a wild boar as they are, we will hear them long before we see them. They don’t play these games very much do they?”

“Spoiled little things like them? Never.” Mir snorted. “Too busy learning hawking and proper horse-back riding and embroidery for the girls and sword lessons and jousting and armor testing for the boys to be of any fun. Oh. Pardon, not that there’s anything wrong with embroidery and the like.”

“No of course not. But surely there’s time for play like this? How droll their lives must be.”

“Unbearable.” Mir nodded solemnly and they burst into quiet giggles again.

“In the meantime it would be remiss of us to just let them win. They should learn to play and who are we to deny them?”

xXx

The stench of the city was almost enough to overpower the floral and fruity scents the women of their group enjoyed so much, burning incense and oils and mists of scents on their skin. They huddled closer together in defiance of the awful smell, laid their own scents more strongly until it smelled like a grove of ripe fruits and blooming blossoms, wearing belligerently sweet smelling flowers twined in their hair. It was quietly accepted that the men and children also tended to stay a little closer in an attempt to get away from that awful, awful smell. The most populous city in all Westeros, circled by shanty buildings, weak beggars and shifty skin and bone thieves. A disgusting hovel, as large or as illustrious as it claimed to be. Her aunts and cousins crowded together, the scent of melons and fireplums among them especially popular. Kerse held her arm tersely, the stern frown exactly the same as their father’s ahead of them she knew.

This was not, she thought sourly, shaping to be a fun experience.

xXx

She peered at the boy. Snotty and bratty on the surface, she saw past the childish impatience and saw cruelty there. Much like another boy, one with carefully styled dark hair and hateful eyes who made an anagram into his identity, washed away under it. Tom Riddle had never had the coddling and spoiling though and, she thought to herself uncharitably, was far more intelligent than this boy seemed to be. Speaking of the boy though, with his pretty blond curls and his green eyes, he looked nothing at all like the glimpse of the King she’d seen, or of the other Baratheons she’d seen. No, nothing at all like him but almost exactly like his mother. No sign of his father present. But, with the whispers she’d heard, he had plenty of children by his seed strewn about the lands anyways.

What a waste, she thought to herself. A waste of a king, a waste of a queen, a waste of a prince, sitting in the heart of a city of squalor harping about an old throne of a mad king in the blood stained halls of the Red Keep. Heolone would never understand it, just as Cleome never understood the thirst for glory or fame so inherent in the people of her own world. It wasn’t glory or fame that had kept Cleome alive after all.

“Well hello kitty.” she greeted in a coo. The huge black beast of a cat spared her a narrow eyed glance. At first glance he had only one ear- but beneath the matted thick fur she could see the stump left of it. She offered the back of her hand and he stood watching her, slightly crouched for a few moments before slinking forward to sniff inquisitively at her hand. “Oh, let’s see now. Are you going to be spiteful and attack me? Are you looking for someone in particular?” she asked the cat that was still busy inspecting her fingers. She didn’t often get to speak so properly, given how very young she actually was. “I might not be whoever it is you seem to be waiting for, but I hope maybe you can keep me company awhile. My brothers have been swept away to play with the other boys and my sister stolen away to be cooed at. She’s of marriageable age now after all and, in my opinion, quite pretty. Course, should she hear me say something like that I’m sure she’d hiss and spit like you had earlier. She’d much rather be left to her wood carving after all. Oh! Look at that, we have matching scars. It’s very hard to find someone with a lightning bolt scar in right the same place you know. Or, really, a lightning bolt shaped scar at all.” the cat seemed to huff before butting up under her hand demandingly. “Hm? Decided I was tolerable company for now?” she stood and carefully with her tiny body, scooped him up against her chest and twisted her nose. “You are a very dirty cat. Most cats I’ve met tend to be very precise about how clean they keep themselves. No worries, Beasty, that is easily rectified.”

“Are you sure you want to be befriending that particular cat?” came the question from one of the men in the white cloaks. His hood was down and- ah, yes, a blatant Lannister. She turned to the men with the very large cat held against her with her two straining little arms and raised her voice to be heard.

“Well even beasties like Beasty here needs a friend. And, perhaps, a good washing.” she declared, watching with her sharp pale green eyes as eyes flit to the blatant pale scar on her forehead and dripping down her eye. “I am sure he will be a handsome beastie once he’s been cleaned and brushed.”

“Beasty?” one of the other men asked. “Well, I can’t say that old bag of fur isn’t a beast.”

“Cats generally are.” she agreed easily. “It’s what makes them such great hunters. I am sure Beasty is an excellent hunter.”

“With a particular taste for ravens.”

“Bird in general I think.” another stifled a snicker. “Most particularly when he shouldn’t.”

She blinked and cocked her head to the side. “When has a cat, or really any feline, ever had a care for what a man should think it should and should not do?” she asked.

“There is that I suppose.”

“Heolone!” came the call and she turned to see great-grandmother, with her long silvery-white braid and her dark smiling eyes and wide grin with lots and lots of creased wrinkles. Her accent was a whisper in her words, so long in Westeros. The drapes of her dress seemed to shimmer somewhere between reddish purple and blue when she held out an arm. “Come, we shall be unleashing your aunts soon out into the markets.” her eyes sparkled in unbridled mischief. “The vendors shall not know up from down once they are through with them, my kitten. It is best to ask for things now, so they may hunt them down with the appropriate vigor.”

“Yes great-grandmother.” she beamed wide with clean straight white teeth before turning back to the men and offering them the same smile. “I’m going to bring Beasty with me and the next time you might see him, you’ll only recognize him by the missing ear and scar!” she told them before trotting off to her grandmother.

xXx

“I think perhaps the dark blue with the black stitching suits you best.” she contemplated, eyeing the huge beast of a cat. She’d managed to spirit off in a quiet enough place with no prying eyes (a spell to find such a place had taken her winding down and away- eyes and ears everywhere it would so seem, and another few spells to ensure her privacy) under a table in some lost room to spell him clean and groomed. Charms and the like from years in a dorm with a frizzy haired girl who would sometimes foist care of her cat onto Cleome when she was too busy in a studying frenzy. “Or maybe something a bit more striking? No no, you’re too surly for that aren’t you?”

Fur clean and long and silky, the cat was no less massive in size, though he looked far less like an old feral hermit of the halls now. The snout that had looked grisly and mean was actually somewhat dainty and cute and the massive paws with the razor sharp claws and their soft pads far more distracting. The excess fur had been trimmed a bit and he looked far more regally imposing for a cat than he did a surly skulking creature. A snap of her fingers had her embroidery stitching itself into the deep blue bandana. Around the edges, carefully to sit as seamlessly as possible once it was around the cat, a ring of thorns was embroidered in black, the thorns in dark poisonous red purple. The Thorns had no crest to lay claim to but often enough they wore a ring of thorns somehow in their garments. Beasty might not be a Thorn but it wouldn’t hurt to show off the splendid dye job of the fabric and the wickedly precise embroidery work. The Thorns weren’t exactly widely known across Westeros but perhaps if word should spread a little farther it wouldn’t hurt.

“My goodness Beasty, I’d say you were the one with royal blood here. Honestly I think the whole place might be better off ruled by a cat anyways.”

xXx

She had spoken to the boy-prince exactly once in their stay and what an adventure that had been. The children, many children, were playing as children were wont to and had at some point the boy-prince had decided her hiding spot was the one he wanted to occupy. He squished at her to fit and she silenced her squawk of indignation- they were supposed to be hiding from the other children after all. “Move over!” he commanded and in the dark of this tiny hiding hole that she had managed to squirrel out, she shot him an incredulous look. She did still move a bit, as she could, since she didn’t want the boy sitting in her lap- he seemed heavier than she was after all and it wouldn’t be comfortable. She hadn’t known the prince decided to play with them.

“Well it’s hardly my fault you decided to crawl in here with me!”

“I saw you find this place- no one would think to look here and I refuse to lose to people below me!” he hissed back.

“Wha- you do realize that even if someone found you, they would just move on right? Everyone has heard how much you like to blame other people and get them in trouble!”

“I do not!”

“You got that boy thrown from the Red Keep entirely because he was better at skipping stones than you!”

“He cheated!”

“How can you cheat at skipping stones?” she felt her mouth move in a disapproving frown, not that he would see it anyways. “And be quieter or you’re going to get us found and I haven’t lost a game yet.”

“I know.” she heard the scowl that must be sitting on his face. “That’s why I followed you here.”

“You followed me?”

“Well obviously you knew how to win so of course I was going to learn that!”

“But you’re not learning if you’re just copying what I do! If you learn something that means you can do it on your own!”

“I’m getting there! I could do it just fine on my own!” he insisted. “It’s not like I need some ugly scarred up bitch to win a stupid game!”

Vaguely, she thought that she wanted to put soap on his tongue. Then remembered that the soap that she had thought of was from Cleome and certainly not something she could get here. Or, for that matter, get away with putting soap in the young prince’s mouth for foul language. Still, at least with Cleome she had the knowledge that this little brat was just lashing out because he was an arrogant little sod who didn’t want to accept that he’d needed help finding a hiding place for a child’s game of all things. And, certainly, she had heard worse about her scar and looks as Cleome and with whispering folk.

“Whether I’m ugly or scarred up doesn’t matter in hide and seek.” she pointed out. “And whether or not you need me to win a child’s game, I have no idea; I’ve never met you before. For all I know you could have been dropped on your head as a babe and suffer limitations on intelligence. Or you could secretly be cleverly trying to find the best places to hide dead things or stolen things in, I don’t know.”

“Wha- wait, no, did you just-” the boy spluttered before pushing her further against the wall and she let out a hiss of surprise, grabbing his arm as the wall gave and she fell back. He made a small squeaking noise and fell on top of her very rudely and then had the audacity to whine about how it hurt to land cushioned on top of her, and not against the stone floor with a heavy whiny boy knocking all the air from her lungs.

“Get- off!” she twisted until he was dumped beside her with a grunt. “You’re heavy!” she chided him. “And- wait, where are we exactly?”

“How should I know? It’s utterly black!”

She frowned and conjured a candle to her hand, quickly lighting it. His small pale face leaned back, blinking. “I found a candle, how fortunate.” she smiled thinly before looking around. “Is this a…Secret passageway?”

“How should I know? Not like anyone ever lets me go into secret passageways.” he grumbled but looked around too. She rolled her eyes.

“Well, I’m not surprised. Big old castles always have some secret places hidden away in them.” she got up and dusted off her dress. It was in a muted pretty shade of soft green, the thorns circling the bottom of her skirt and with butterflies painstakingly embroidered in delicate detail in fine purple and blue. “But it looks like it hasn’t been used in years and years. I wonder where all it goes?”

“Well of course there’s only one way to find out.” he snorted, snagging the candle and it’s saucer from her fingers. “Of course, since you’re a girl and all, I won’t be surprised if you stay here.” he sneered back at her and she narrowed her eyes at him.

“Please, I expect a spoiled princeling like you to shake in your boots the first time a mouse so much as skitters over your foot.” she huffed, storming forward and, while she was out of the direct bubble of light, conjuring another candle. “Oh look, another candle, how useful.” she said as she lit it and he scoffed, which apparently marked the beginning of a long walk through dark, cool stone corridors hidden in the castle and sometimes, crawling through some spaces as the case might need be. Thankfully with their tiny bodies it wasn’t much of a problem.

It didn’t take overly long for the young prince to tire, protesting that he had swordsmanship practice earlier in the day and it was very exhausting. And well, he was very young after all, and not able to rely on freakish stamina like she was so they found another sort of hole in the wall and followed it until they popped out somewhere else.

“Where are we now?”

“I…Think we managed to get to the rookery?” he said uncertainly, walking over to a tall window that reached low enough for them, even in their small bodies, to see from. She trotted over beside him. “But we haven’t climbed or gone up any stairs?”

“It was probably an incline we didn’t notice looping us around.” she pointed out. “Or through one of the crawling parts. So…How far have we gotten?”

“…Probably too far.” he muttered, putting the candle down and she blinked and did the same. “I think they’re looking for me.” he pointed out and she leaned up on her toes to see gold and white cloaks rushing around everywhere.

“Were we really gone that long?”

“No. It was probably mother.” he grit his teeth.

“Well. We should go let them know you haven’t been kidnapped or fell down a set of stairs or something.”

The moment the prince was in sight, they were surrounded by them and the both of them were ushered around straight to the king and queen in a large room.

“I was playing a game.” he scowled at his parents. She, safely seated away from all of this and thankfully easily overlooked, watched and kicked her feet while a few lowly handmaidens cooed at her and fed her fruit bits.

“Hiding from your guard?”

“I was in the castle all the time.” he huffed next. “And it was a game of hiding. It’s not my fault they can’t beat me in a child’s game.” he crossed his arms moodily, wrinkling his fine clothes.

“The children were playing by the kitchens.” one of the cloaks offered.

“Then why was he found by the Grand Maester and rookery?” the Queen asked sharply.

“I said I was playing a game.” the boy spoke up again, absolutely not an ounce of regret, shame or embarrassment for making the entire castle throw themselves in a frenzy looking for the lost prince. “I was just playing it better than any of them.” he boasted.

“Come now sweet child, let’s find your parents. They must be worried.” one of the women crooned, taking her hand. The movement of her hopping to her feet apparently caught the prince’s eye because as she was being quietly ushered to a small side door, he turned his whole body and pointed very rudely at her.

“You! Ugly scarred girl!” he snapped out and the woman trying to escort her froze and she swears she heard someone hiss something derogatory under their breath about the prince’s manners and she turned to the boy, giving him a blase look.

“Whether or not I’m ugly is purely subjective, princeling.” she said with a sniff.

“Well you can’t be pretty with that big scar on your face.” he snorted.

“The scar on my face is the prettiest scar I’ve ever gotten to see.” she huffed.

“Scars can’t be pretty.” he argued.

“But mine is still the prettiest I’ve seen, it doesn’t mean that the scar is pretty, only less ugly than other scars.”

“What? That doesn’t even make any sense!” he narrowed his eyes at her before puffing air through his nose like an enraged auroch. “Your nonsense aside, girl! Next time you come I’ll find an even better hiding place than this time!” he pointed at her again.

“Even better?”

“That’s right, so you better be ready girl!” he nodded, satisfied by this outrageous claim.

“I do have a name you know.”

“Well I haven’t heard you say mine, why should I say yours?”

“Well everyone knows your name, you’re the prince.” she scoffed, cocking her hip out and setting her fist on it in a familiar move that probably only looked unbearably cute in her tiny body.

“But you still haven’t called me by my name.” he scowled at her and she looked at him incredulously.

“You’ve called me ugly scarred bitch twice now.”

“So?”

“So why should I call you by your name?” she narrowed her eyes at him, now setting both fists on her hips. “I’ll call you prince, because you are a prince as you’ve decided to call me scarred because I am scarred.” she huffed again, now crossing her arms over her chest.

“Since I am the prince, I say you call me by my name!”

“What?” she spluttered, “Why?!”

“Because I said so! Don’t question your prince!”

“Joffrey.” she hissed at him. “Baratheon, your princeliness.”

“No no no! Say it nicely!” he demanded next and she reared back.

“Nicely?” she puffed up in outrage, arms going straight as she fisted her hands to keep her daintily painted nails from lunging for the boy’s neck. Nail paints were practically nonexistent and she hadn’t brought the little pot and brush with her and if the paint chipped because she was scuffling with the prince, she couldn’t neatly fix it.

“Yes nicely, not all like- like that.” he gave her a cross look as though she were being outlandish. She paused, closed her eyes and counted backwards for a few moments. “Don’t ignore me!”

“Prince,” she began in a saccharine, overly false tone, “Joffrey,” she drawled out too sweetly, “Baratheon.”

“No!” he shouted.

“What do you mean no? I said it nicely!” she shouted back at him and he blinked at her a little bit, startled before an offended look of fury overcame his face, making it turn red.

“No, you ugly scarred bitch!” he snapped, ignoring the gasps and few aborted laughs, “I want you to say my name properly! I am your prince!”

“What do you even mean, you absolute toe-rag!” she seethed back. “I said your name properly twice!”

“Wh- did you just call me a toe-rag?” he reared back at the same time his father burst into gut-jiggling laughter, along with choked off surprise laughter of a few others in the room. “How dare you! I am the prince!”

“Yes, I know! That doesn’t mean you can’t be a toe-rag!” she raged right back. “And for your information, my name is Heolone, you rude boy!” with that, she turned and took off running through the open door, ignoring the king’s continuous laughter and the prince’s cry of rage at her escape.

And that was her first time meeting Joffrey Baratheon.

xXx

“You’ll take care of Beasty?” she asked warily, eyeing the tall Lannister in his white cloak and clutching at the large cat. He gave her an amused smile.

“Yes, we’ll make sure he’s cared for properly and cleaned. He really does look like a different cat entirely.” the man mused.

“Well…Beasty doesn’t really want to leave the Red Keep.” she said sourly, eyeing the cat that sat pointedly ignoring her look in her arms. “And I can’t make a cat do what it doesn’t want to do. It’s just not a thing to be done to a cat.”

“Of course.” he agreed amiably.

“Oh alright. I’ll see you again Beasty, of that I am absolutely sure.” she told the cat sternly. He purred, a deep vibrating sound and kneaded at her shoulder. She rolled her eyes. “Yes, I am sure you shall be awaiting my next appearance anxiously.” she huffed and slowly let the man gently take the large cat from her. He grunted in surprise with his hearty weight. “And I will miss you terribly in the meantime I suppose, languishing away without a beast to embroider fancy cloth for.”

“Did you embroider his handkerchiefs?” the man asked in surprise and she frowned up at him scoldingly.

“Well of course I did! I am a Thorn, thank you. I dyed his fabrics myself too.” she sniffed and he took on that amused look again. She huffed at him.

“Of course, my apologies little lady Thorn.”

xXx

Heolone was a witch- casting spells and the like came with an ease she found she quite liked and she, of course, knew better than to flaunt it too much, or too obviously, lest she catch unwanted attention. That being said, she does like to make things easier on herself and her family. Warming charms encompassing entire rooms, spells to keep drafts out and food fresher for longer, even if they were never in any danger of running out. Cleaning charms, brooms spelled to sweep when no one was watching, pots and cloths to clean themselves properly so no one would get sick, healing spells and charms and what potions she could make she did. Cleome had been an educated woman- something some might frown upon in Westeros and regardless of how well off her family was, there were certain things only being a ‘noble’ house could get a child, most especially, a female child. Not, she decided, that she wanted what passed for high end education here. The Faith were something she could sneer down her nose at and, thankfully, her family felt quite the same.

Her great grandmother was well versed. Business, medicine, maths, what biology could be done in such a world as theirs. Her great grandfather was her handsome vagabond lover, as she was fond of telling. Not that there were many who would listen to a woman having held business and land and the like. She still wasn’t sure entirely why her great-grandparents had decided to relocate to Westeros honestly, but all she really knew about the actual where of their homeland was just far, far to the east. But she had taught what she had known to her children, her grandchildren and her great-grand-children. Her great grandmother and great grandfather were some of the healthiest, spriest people she knew.

People were startled when they saw her great-grandparents, how very old they were. Long lives were most certainly uncommon, a rarity. Strong, spry and healthy in older age? Near nonexistent in Westeros. In many places, but it seems Westeros especially just delights in dying young and fast. Perhaps she was biased of course, living only in Westeros and all.

(She hasn’t seen a winter yet; not as Heolone. The seasons changed oddly here. More, there was a strange sense of feeling in that much of Westeros resembled the early modern period as Cleome knew of it but without things like…Gunpowder, cannons and print presses. The thought of such fantastical things were both old hat and entirely refreshing. Not so refreshing to think of the damage the Great Houses would do to eachother should such weapons come about, so for that Heolone would be grateful. The printing presses on the other hands, sounded like a wonderful idea. In other ways, it more resembled the high middle ages- the strange in between of times in Cleome’s perspective, the branch off of differences despite how similar some things were was enough to keep Heolone quiet and contemplative for days. The prevailing thought was how the people of the lands had to plan so drastically around the long long seasons they have to endure, setting back certain progress that might otherwise happen. But for all she really knew, it could be a fluke or mere chance that meant they hadn’t discovered certain technology. And in thinking about the weather came even more strange thoughts, things like comparing the Doom of Valyria with Krakatoa- the volcanic eruptions disrupting weather on a potentially global scale. The Fourteen Fires caused a string of tsunamis and earthquakes as well, why not a lasting climate change? And this wasn’t accounting for the rest of the world that was outside of what was called the Known World either.

On the other hand, if this world, this planet happened to orbit the sun and cut through an asteroid belt on its travel around and got smacked about with a meteorite that could also explain winters that last years, even entire generations as the fabled Long Night and for all they know, part of that darkness could be from dust clotting out the sky.

Or it could be an entirely magic reason; she knew those of Sidhe and their hidden Mound how their own fluctuating weather depended on which Court they were in- the Summer or Winter, or if you’re visiting a different kind of sidhe, then the Spring and Autumn Courts and they could control the absolute of it because of the inherent magic in those hidden spaces. Dragons were widely known and who knew what sort of other creatures existed that she just didn’t have immediate access to?)

Of course, Heolone wasn’t the only one with magic. Just that she had…Special, more diverse magics. While Westeros believed any magic that had been to have faded away, it was not so for her great grandparent’s homeland where it still ran strong. Her great-grandmother favored earth elemental magics- and ones to help their significant gardens and supply of herbs and the like for pastes and potions and dyes. Great-grandfather was far more fond of shadows, pulling them around as he liked and playing mischievous tricks and pranks when the mood struck him. Grandmother had instead devoured what text and teachings she could about fire magic that great-grandfather provided. Her Dothraki-born grandfather didn’t have as much talent for fire, shadows or earth but had a strange talent for animal speak that Heolone ‘inherited’ for more…Serpentine creatures. (Of course there were snakes everywhere at her great-grandparent’s home just off and hidden half in the ground- and some in her own household, haltingly.)

Her aunts and mother were more varied, learning a little of everything but of course with strengths and weaknesses each.

Great-grandfather likes to share stories about the dragon caves hidden in their homeland, scoffing at the snobbish Faith and Maesters in Oldtown that declare all dragons gone.

The practice of magic in Westeros was…Unadvisable, to say the least but certainly not impossible and easily contained to their own stretch of land away from peering eyes. Still, Heolone’s magic was…Different. Her own, from a magical core and not the teachings of magic, an aberration.

Heolone was a witch- the only witch.

xXx

Beneath the house, in what had only been packed earth was a tunnel. In the tunnel grew her basilisks. What were called basilisks here were…Very different according to what they had on them in Oldtown. With four males so far and two females, she had separated one of each to place in a…Special enchantment. It would compress the time around and have them grown and carefully connected to her own magic to make sure they weren’t stunted for it. Coincidentally it would make them far more intelligent, far more clever and, well enough for her, extraordinarily devoted to her.

They weren’t the only creatures she was experimenting with in this world so different from Cleome’s though. Since she had heard there had been widespread dragons she had…Well the progress was slower and she had barely managed to take the dragon’s skull from Red Keep when she had been there small and watched most of the time. No trouble for someone who could use disillusion spells and confounding charms.

The problem, she thought with a frown, was that her magic was trying to use necromancy instead of merely taking samples to make what would amount to a copy of the blood so she could create a viable egg. She could hide a lot in the ever growing tunnels she was making deep into the earth below but a fully grown dragon? If she had more time to herself rather than having to sneak out in the nights lest her family become suspect was grating, she thought to herself sourly. That her magic’s first response was necromancy was also somewhat aggravating but not entirely surprising. Cleome, in later years working for a mysterious sect, had fully embraced family roots. That is, a secretive history of necromancy and obscure magics. The next problem, once she had an egg, would be hatching it. In Cleome’s world, it needed an appropriate magical fire. She could create that of course- but she wasn’t sure if this magical fire was good enough to hatch an egg. She had read about the Mad King, about his attempts with the green flames. She still wasn’t entirely certain they were magical in nature though, so there was a chance.

(She’s not certain entirely what she would do with a dragon to be honest. From whispers of travelling merchants, King Robert absolutely hated anything to do with his cousins the Targaryens. That would include dragons. Not to mention, she would have the only living dragon in Westeros. But until she had the egg, she supposed it didn’t really matter anyways.)

She had clambered back up to sleep for a scant few hours.

“Heolone,” her eldest brother called faintly. She blinked up at him groggily.

“You shouldn’t come into a lady’s rooms.” she chided faintly, sitting up and rubbing at her eyes. She didn’t need much sleep to be entirely honest but it would be nice to sleep in every now and then too between her busy self-appointed schedule. Cassuc smiled down at her from his sweet face, dark eyes sparkling.

“Good for me then that you aren’t a lady then isn’t it?” he teased in good nature and she shot him a dark look. “A cousin will be taking a few of our aunts north. Kerse was thinking of joining, and I do know how you and Kerse like to travel together.”

The second son was very protective of the second daughter, most especially after that accident when she was young.

“And Slaria?”

“She’s afraid one of the aunts will try to find her a husband in the north to travel with them.” he waved off, tugging her out of bed.

“And you think they won’t for me?”

“They’re too hung up on Slaria yet to think about marrying you off.”

“All the better for it.” she snorted inelegantly, undoing the braids she kept her unruly curls in to sleep.

“And I am sure Kerse will keep any thoughts of marrying you off to thoughts alone. Most especially so far north.” he took the comb from her fingers to brush out her curls gently. “And I am sure father’s heart would not be able to take it should you go too far.”

And neither spoke about how mother would react, hissing and spitting and furious and that would set the entire maternal line aflame with righteous fury until they reclaimed her.

xXx

“Dreadfort.” she mused to herself, bundled in a soft plush bluish-black fur. Her aunts had dyed furs in bright colors and Kerse beside her had gone for a deep indigo coloring. The towers were unusually large, truly massive things and the stone walls thicker than some of the forts they’d passed and visited in their long journey. Even in the distance it was rather intimidating looking in the cold. She wanted to explore it.

“I should hope we won’t have to go there.” Kerse grunted beside her, standing guard as it were. “I rather don’t like the name of it.”

“Hm.” she offered noncommittally. He eyed her for a moment before letting it go. “We’ll be stopping at the little village won’t we?”

“Of course, kitten.” one of her aunts cooed to her lovingly, the feathers and silk flowers wound in her hair vivid and eye catching. “We won’t be putting out our finer works, they are smallfolk after all, but we shall entice them I am sure.”

xXx

“He stole our perfumes.” Heolone said loftily. “I think I even saw him trying to drink some of them.” she glanced at the body on the ground and scooted a little farther away again. He smelled just as foul dead as he did alive. The flowers in his hair did nothing to abate the stench. The boy, a handful of years older than her own perhaps six or seven if she had to guess, watched her with pale, pale eyes. Some washed out shade between gray and blue and it he weren’t so…Terrible looking, it might have been striking. As it were, his blotchy skin, strangely overfull lips with his small mouth and the fleshiness of him even hidden beneath his cloak and his lank dry hair made him rather unappealing.

It didn’t take much to find the little thief- his stench was a blatant marker of where he was and where he’d been.

She’d cut off his fingers first. And then the entirety of his hands when she’d gotten annoyed at his blubbering. When he’d tried to run after managing to somehow loosen the rope around his ankles, she’d taken a heavy stick and broken his knees before cutting off his feet and burning them. They had their own particularly awful smell so she couldn’t just let them sit. And when his screams had gotten shriekingly loud even beneath the cloth she’d stuffed in his mouth to quiet him, she’d cut out his tongue and broken in what crooked teeth he had. He’d bled out quickly after that and she’d been in the process of collecting his parts to burn them when this boy found her. She tossed the heady, pleasant smelling herbs onto the pile. When burnt, they overpowered whatever else was being burnt and she held faith that it wouldn’t fail her now. As a plus, it smelled absolutely lovely and light.

“It’s his fault, for trying to steal from strangers.” she added and lit a small carefully made match to toss onto the pile, glancing back at the boy who was still silently watching her. She turned entirely to narrow her eyes at him. “Are you going to say anything? If you are, I doubt anyone would care for his death anyways. His stench was unbearable.” she sneered, flashing straight pearly white teeth. She turned back to the fire, making sure it would burn hot enough to melt away everything. When a hand grabbed her wrist and yanked her back she snarled, turning and swiping with sharp nails at the boy who snarled, grabbing at her again. “Get off!” she snarled.

“Be quiet, wench!” he growled back, trying to pin her to the ground. She felt something hard poke at her and she nearly heaved in disgust, a quiet terror hidden beneath it. She threw him off with a blast of magic, pinning him to the ceiling.

“You utterly foul little twat.” she hissed in fury, bristling and cutting a harsh line through the air with her arm, muffling his scream as she castrated him. “I should skin you alive.” she rumbled threateningly, the finest tremble she hid under her skin.

“Heolone!” she spun in place, blinking at her older brother who glanced at the fire and then at the boy on the ceiling dripping blood from the crotch. “Heolone…” he said slowly, turning his dark gaze back to her. “What’s going on?”

“H-he…He tried to-” she could feel herself tremble in anger and her eyes pricked with tears. She wasn’t scared. She wasn’t afraid, she thought angrily, rvrn ig for a few moments there had been an absolutely horrified feeling of fear in her.

She was utterly disgusted and absolutely seething. Kerse stepped into the small abandoned hut cautiously, glancing up at the pinned body writhing above them before gently taking her shoulders and pulling her forwards into a tender hug.

“Hush Heolone, hush.” he crooned soothingly. “Go find our aunts. I will take care of this.” a dark steely note crept into his tone and she glanced up at him but his eyes were unerringly on the body above them.

Kerse had mostly researched defensive barriers and shields. But grandfather had versed him in more violent acts, brutish and cruel and he had adapted his magic to those as well.

A few days later and a hesitant miller woman was asking about her son around the small village. She seemed somewhere between hopeful and distraught with his disappearance.

When Kerse came back to their cluster of aunts and cousins, he had a small garnet shaped as a drop on his ear. A small trophy, he told her after they’d retired for the evening. Their aunts shared sly looks and their Thorn cousins quietly ignored it.

xXx

“I think he might have been a bastard.” she murmured to her brother.

“He doesn’t seem terribly upset with the news.” he offered back easily. “I am more concerned with how his eyes linger on aunties.”

“They are more than able to handle themselves, you know they won’t be caught alone. We aren’t here for long and neither is he.”

“It doesn’t take much time for men like that to take their pleasure.” he said uncharitably.

It didn’t matter, since they were gone within the day after supplying clothes and linens to Dreadfort.

xXx

They hadn’t made it all the way to the Stark hold, too cold for the more warm weather faring Thorns but Heolone didn’t mind. She still would have liked to explore Dreadfort but since that incident with the bastard son, Kerse and the aunties have not let her out of their sight. More trouble than it was worth, she thought sourly. It would be lucky if she got to travel with the family at all after this.

xXx

She stared at the egg in her lap. It had taken her some time to do it, but she had managed it. Finally. She looked around and frowned.

Dragons were meant to be raised in nests with nest-mates. To deprive them stunts their social growth. Cleome may not have had any children, but the creatures she took were well taken care of. Heolone could not bring herself to dishonor that.

She could find dragon eggs. The fierce magical talent she had could easily find them for her and steal them away to be hers- she had just wanted a specific project to come to fruition with this particular egg.

If she even wanted to hatch it.

(She did. She really, really did. The thought of a dragon the likes of which Cleome knew were incredible.)

xXx

“You are an utterly wretched boy, you know that?” Heolone’s arms were crossed and he tensed up from where he was threatening some worker boy while he was out with the red haired Stark girl. There were whispers of marriage for the two but Heolone couldn’t see it, not one bit looking at them. Well. Not like it was any of her business anyways.

“You!” he whirled to face her, sword pointed directly at her face. She scoffed and reached out to delicately lower it with one notably clean longish nail painted in burgundy purple. “Where have you been?” he snapped at her, the boy and the Stark girl and the other Stark girl forgotten for the moment.

“Where have I been?” she raised her brows at him, settling her hands on her hips. “What is that supposed to mean, princeling? What, disappointed I didn’t come see you first? Poor little princeling.” she cooed condescendingly and he scowled ferociously, pulling his sword back up at her.

“I can have your entire family thrown into cells for your attitude.” he threatened, sword tip just touching her throat. She leaned forward just slightly so a bead of her blood could bubble up and watched his eyes go even darker in fury as he quickly moved the sword back and away from her. She laughed a little, pulling a handkerchief out to dab the small bit away.

“If you absolutely must know, my mother and aunts pulled my sister and I into buying out every pretty dye we could find in the market. I wasn’t ignoring you.” she teased. “Look here, I even made you a little gift.” she pulled the magically dense amulet from her pocket. The shimmery golden exterior was shaped as a lion head, as he was clearly a Lannister more than he would ever be a Baratheon. Small malachite made the eyes. That wasn’t the important bit though- the stone the interior was made from had so many small interlaced runes in it that if it were in Cleome’s world it would be a veritable beacon of magic. “It’s a protection charm.” she gloated as he snatched it from her hand to examine it.

“And what would I need protection for that this could prevent?”

“Ugh, you’re as terrible as you ever are, aren’t you princeling? I give you something I painstakingly made just for you and you don’t even appreciate it. I can always take it back and scrap it for parts for another project.” she offered loftily but watched as his eyes gleamed greedily as he clutched the charm closer to his chest as he sneered at her.

“Since you’re being so sentimental about it, I suppose I can indulge your womanish feelings. It’s about the only womanly thing about you after all.” he stared down his nose at her. She only barely refrained from rolling her eyes. Under the recent style of dress, the full hips and backside she was growing into and her small waist were lost, as were her shapely legs.

“I’ll take it from someone with more womanly wiles than I, little princess.” she offered with demure mockery.

“Forget having your family thrown into the dungeon cells, I’ll throw you into one myself.” he snarled, getting into her space and looming over her. This time she did roll her eyes.

“You’re being more rowdy than normal, princeling. It usually takes a bit more than that for you to threaten chaining me to a dungeon wall. You even outright skipped banishing me from the Red Keep even.” she peered up at him unflinchingly. Not like anything he could do would hurt her and if he tried to threaten her family, she’d just put a mental block around that so he wouldn’t even consider touching her family. So far she hadn’t needed to. She peered past him to the others and the large wolves circling close. “Is it because you’ve made new friends? How absolutely terrible, I’ve been replaced.” she feinted a swoon for a moment.

“They’re not my friends.” he protested quickly. “And for that matter, you aren’t my friend either. As if I’d be caught with a merchant’s daughter.” he sneered, adding it on after a thought and she shook her head before grinning at him.

“You’re as charming as always, princeling, truly your social nature is the most shining thing about you. Well, since you won’t be caught with a merchant’s daughter, I’m going to go visit Beasty.” she said easily and as she turned he caught her wrist and she glanced back at him, raising her brow. His grip became punishingly tight.

“Did I give you permission to leave?” he hissed and she turned to face him, still caught in his grip.

“You’re such a contrary creature, princeling.” she scolded. He scoffed at her, releasing her once he was sure she wouldn’t just leave.

“I know you keep supplies with you in a hidden pocket. This is just in case my clothes need catering.” he turned up his nose and she snorted at him.

“I should only wonder what you get up to on leisurely walks that would leave your clothes in need of mending, princeling.” she leaned over to peek at the red haired girl. She seemed willowy, with fair skin and a pretty enough face. The wolf with her was stately looking and she peeked over to see the boy and other girl and her wolf had hidden themselves away. “Not to mention, if your mother found out you’ve ruined your clothes and not gone to one of the royal tailors she would be upset with you.”

“As if I care about my mother’s fits.” he tossed his head dismissively. “And you’ll be a royal tailor soon enough.” he waved off and she rolled her eyes.

“Deciding my life for me, princeling?”

“And you should be grateful for it.” he came back with, sneering down at her. “A place in the royal tailors instead of wasting away out in the pitiful little garden you come from.”

“It’s better than the Red Keep- all I can smell here, even now, is death and human waste and it’s so crammed here there’s no space at all. And that castle, heed me now, is cursed as anything. That hideous throne is haunted. It was a Targaryen throne anyways wasn’t it? When you become King, why don’t you make your own throne?” she coaxed and he narrowed his eyes at her but wasn’t spitting insults.

“It is rather hideous isn’t it? Why should I have to sit on the throne of a mad man anyways? I should have it melted for metals.”

“It would be the best that over glorified chair could hope for really.” she crossed her arms with a nod.

“It really would be.” he agreed, copying her pose. The wolf grunted and they both turned to where the girl was watching them with wide eyes.

“Ah, pardon me. I never introduced myself. And I will have to, since the princeling either refuses to remember my name or otherwise is just being as belligerent as he ever is.” and the prince shot her a dark look. “Heolone Thorn, at your service.” she swept into a grandiose bow. “You are Sansa Stark, yes?” the girl nodded slowly. “Your family comes all the way from the north.” Heolone contemplated. “It is much warmer here I suppose. How are you faring with the change, if I may?”

“It is…Far different.” the girl allowed, glancing between the prince and her. That seemed like all she was going to say and Heolone almost sighed. No, she could not see the arrogant, slightly sadistic princeling with this meek wallflower. She glanced at him and he looked like he was trying to appear anything but entirely bored. By the twitch of his fingers, he was beginning to get impatient as well.

“Hm. If you ever have the chance, you should see the Reach. It is far more resplendent than the Red Keep, and far less foul smelling.” she offered a charming dimpled smile.

“And full of poisonous creatures.” the prince scoffed. “Like those snakes.”

“Snakes are harmless unless you provoke them, princeling.” she sang, a broad grin overtaking her features sunnily. “And poking at them with a stick when they would prefer to be left alone is most certainly provokingthem.”

“I thought it was dead.” he bit out in a familiar excuse.

“And when it hissed at you and you poked it again?” she was quick to retort, a sly grin coming on. “You’re lucky she wasn’t venomous.”

xXx

“I’m told you are the closest thing to a friend Joffrey has.”

Heolone looked up from where she had been staring out into the cold where Joffrey was being a prat to whoever sparred with him, a mouser cat comfortably curled in her lap. Or perhaps not look up. Tyrion Lannister stood before her.

“I don’t think Joffrey would agree to that but I’d suppose I am, yes.” she agreed and watched as he sat in the chair opposite her.

“Which is how you’ve come to accompany him all the way here.”

“Which he’d lie about if asked, but also yes.”

“He cares more about your opinion than his own mother’s.”

“He has…Very rebellious feelings when it comes to how Queen Cersei smothers him.” she said delicately. “And to be honest, I don’t think he cares for anyone’s opinions outside of the King’s.”

“Hm.” he tapped his fingers along the arm of his chair. “He keeps a very Lannister pendant on him at all times. One that it’s said you made for him.”

“Ah.” she nodded. “He’s very reckless sometimes so I made him a protection charm.”

“Protection charm?”

“Yes.”

“And it’s cased in gold with fine gems, as a protection charm.”

“Do you think he’d wear a plain one?” she raised her brows.

“My sister is concerned about how close he seems to you. And how you might abuse that power.”

“Me? I’d say it’s Joffrey. He said I’d be a royal tailor without even asking me. I don’t like the Red Keep, all it smells of there is death and suffering.” she wrinkled her nose. “And that castle is cursed. I certainly wouldn’t want to stay in it.”

“She is also concerned you might try to sire a bastard from him and use his familiarity to put yourself on the throne.”

She could feel her face screwing up. “I adore Joffrey, really, but…To bed him?” the thought made her shudder. He was violent and fickle on a good day. She couldn’t imagine trying to take him to bed. Or that he would even really be interested in that sort of merrymaking at all. He’d never had his gaze linger, never commented on the forms of those around and looked at most everyone with derision. He didn’t seem interested at all. “No, that’s not something I can say I ever wanted. I think we’d be more likely to try to strangle eachother than to lay together.”

Just the thought of Joffrey trying to be seductive or charming towards her made her gag a little bit.

xXx

She blinked a few times at the canopy above her. A pale lean arm was wrapped around her firmly. She was naked, Joffrey was naked and she was pleasantly sore and she could feel the bruising on her hips and love marks all over her shoulders and neck. She snuck out and away.

A week later, and no one seemed to know anything that happened, not even that plump gossipmonger that hung about. Including Joffrey, aside that he’d slept with a woman that left thin welts down his back and bruises all across his throat and chest, even teeth prints! And left the faint scent of blackberries in his bedding according to the whispering workers.

Good for her that her hair was usually up in a tight braid that meant her blackberry scented hair oils weren’t detectable unless it was down. She changed it for vanilla mint scented oils just in case.

xXx

She had beardburn on her thighs, she thought to herself idly. In some part of her brain, she hoped Tyrion didn’t get rid of his handsome facial hair. Most of it was gold like his Lannister hair but there was a black section just like the hair on his head that made it look especially distinguished. She felt him stir beside her, then freeze.

They’d been drinking and had ended up talking about the history of dragons as it was known at the gathering last night, and they had continued drinking as they spoke and then…She vaguely remembered bits and pieces. Her body felt wonderful and tingled just thinking about it. Thirteen years older than her is a lot better than what some girls had to deal with at any rate.

“Heolone?”

Rough, raspy morning voice.

“I’d say good morn,” her voice had a grit to it. She had been loud last night. “But I have no idea what time of day it is.”

She heard him mutter a curse. “Joffrey isn’t going to be happy if he finds out.” he said darkly.

“I suppose finding out your uncle slept with your closest friend probably wouldn’t be the best thing to learn.”

“No, that’s not…” he sighed. “What are the chances we were discrete?”

“If I had to guess? No one has come barging in or shouting yet, so hopefully we were discrete enough.”

She still had no idea how no one had caught on that she and Joffrey had managed to tumble into bed together. Unfortunately more than once. She should really know better than to trust that thick syrupy alcohol they served sometimes. She was sure he still didn’t know it was her though and Joffrey’s guard Hound didn’t seem inclined to tell.

xXx

“Liar.” Heolone said, strong and sure and steady. In the quiet of the room around them, she was stared at.

“And what would you know? You’re just the Prince’s whore-”

“I don’t care what a useless sad man that can’t keep a wife because he’s too busy eyeing the goats thinks about me.” she stared down her nose at the ape across from her in the room, arms crossed across her chest and expression neutral as he bristled in fury and indignation. Then she turned her attention back to the worm that tried to lie. “Liar.” she said again.

“I’m not-”

“It would have to be you wouldn’t it?”

“The royal taster-”

“Ate such a small piece that any effect it might have had would be entirely ignored or thought of as an exotic spice.” she cocked her head to the side, watching the nervous man. “It wasn’t the cooks. It wasn’t the serving staff. It was you. Who else had unrestricted access to the royal family’s food? You said it yourself earlier.”

And soon a man was put to death after nervously blurting out the truth uncontrollably. That she had perhaps pushed his mind to admitting it couldn’t be proven after all.

Later, Tyrion found her again and they spoke again and it somehow ended in his bed. Again.

xXx

“Your mother seemed especially set on the Stark girl.”

“My mother doesn’t control me.”

“Your mother is still the Queen.”

“And I am her eldest son, the next to inherit the throne.”

“And your father? He likes the Starks.”

“There’s still Myrcella and Tommen.”

“I suppose. Well, I can’t say I’m surprised that you and Sansa won’t be wed. She seems like a nice girl and all but…” she shrugged.

“She was dull.” Joffrey continued easily. “I can’t imagine having to live with her as a wife.”

“I can’t imagine you living with a wife at all.” she snorted. “Too busy off fighting and conquering and letting her wither away at the Red Keep.”

“Why wouldn’t I bring my wife with me to fight and conquer?”

“I’ve yet to see any noble families that come around would want to have their daughters on the frontline of battle rather than sitting safe and holding court in the Keep.”

“…Those girls they parade around.” he lips curled up in a sneer. “None of them are fit to be queen or to stand by my side. Worthless.”

“Surely you’ve got to marry one of them? You need a wife to have a proper heir recognized.”

“I’m still only an heir.” he rolled his shoulders in aggravation.

“Can’t you marry one, lay with her a few times and then just leave her alone?”

“I don’t want that.” he glared at her.

“And what do you want, princeling? What does the heir to this kingdom want for a wife?” she threw up her hands in fond exasperation. He stared at her for a little while before grunting and turning back to his pacing. “Maybe you could marry an Essos woman? Or someone Dornish?”

“Oh yes, because the last Dornish woman to marry the heir went wonderfully didn’t it? The Dornish aren’t fond of us.” he rolled his eyes.

“Glad to see you know some sort of history. I’d been getting worried the only thing you knew was your own nameday and how to swing a sword.” came a dry voice and Heolone stifled a laugh. Joffrey sent her a dark look before scowling at his uncle. “Thinking about the queen-to-be are we?”

“He doesn’t want any women here, he doesn’t want a Dornish woman.” she sighed, plopping her chin on her fist.

“Doesn’t want any women here…” his gaze wandered back to the prince. Said prince had tensed up, hands curling into loose fists. “Essos women. Isn’t your mother from Essos?”

“No, no. My mother’s parents came with my great-grandparents. And they came from much farther east.”

“Even farther?”

“Yes. I think they lived in the Shadow for a while before making their way here though.” she hummed thoughtfully. “I’m still not entirely sure what drove them to Westeros and they were always very vague about it all. There are a lot of traditions from them and from my grandfather though.”

“Your grandfather?” Tyrion breezed closer to sit in the chair near hers. Joffrey bristled.

“He was Dothraki born and raised.”

“And he left them?”

“For my grandmother. After her mother slaughtered another Dothraki for trying to steal her and then stealing him because my grandmother liked him. It’s his favorite story to tell.” she grinned nostalgically. She shook her head. “Old stories aside, perhaps an Essos woman would be best? Someone different from the sort around here.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, someone with different views, someone with a different look on a society than the nobles that are being shoved at the princeling, perhaps one with the same views on religion as him too. He’s going to be a shock to Westeros when he takes the throne, I’m sure, so it would go hand in hand that he wouldn’t pander to the families trying to tie into the throne around here. I know it was a scandal when my father married my mother, I can’t even imagine how big a topic it might be for someone as important as Joffrey.” she mused aloud.

“That seems very…Chaotic.” Tyrion said thoughtfully. “It would certainly make things interesting at any rate. And a queen uninterested in the Faith?”

“That entire religion is nothing but hogwash. The only higher power there is, is Death. Higher mysteries.” she rolled her eyes.

“Ah yes, I’d forgotten how much you dislike the Faith.” Tyrion raised his brows.

“Forgotten?” Joffrey said suspiciously before turning to them with an accusing expression. “Have you been talking?”

“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, princeling, but I talk all the time.” she raised her brows at him.

“To eachother.” he bit out.

“Here and there. Tyrion is a wonderful conversationalist.”

“And Heolone says things that are intelligent, which is a rarity here in the Red Keep I’ve found.” Tyrion agreed and she smiled at him. “Not long ago we had a discussion on the impact the ironmen have had on the people of the coast.”

“And before that about the inbreeding of both the previous ruling family and their dragons and how that might have weakened their overall bloodlines.”

“What does any of that even matter?” Joffrey bared his teeth at them. “It’s all done and over with anyways.”

“I swear princeling, all you ever think about is conquering and swords.” Heolone thumped her back into her chair, crossing her legs under her skirt. “If they didn’t inbreed their dragons so much, there might still be Valyrian dragons in Westeros.”

“Ah, this again.” Tyrion said sagely.

“If there were Valyrian dragons, it stands to reason that there are other species of dragon existing and if there were dragons there, who’s to say they aren’t out in the unknown of the world?”

“Just like there’s magic still in the world.”

“There is!” she shot back hotly. “Just because it’s been hunted and feared and dismissed in Westeros doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist!”

“Perhaps in pockets far away, but not in-”

“What about beyond the Wall?” she leaned forward, narrowing her eyes at the man.

“What about it?”

“The land of the First Men, sectioned off for so long where the tales of giants and ice dragons aren’t really tales?”

“The giants have been extinct-”

“On this side of the Wall. Who’s to say they haven’t survived on the other?”

“Even still, something like ice dragons would have surely come up before even if, by some chance, there are still giants roaming the other side of the Wall, which I am very doubtful of.”

“The giants and dragons don’t care whether you believe in them or not, they are still there in the world beyond here.” she said, steely eyed and Tyrion watched her. A heady tension roiled between them and she knew it was the same kind that somehow landed them rolling around together.

“What’s the point if they’re not here in Westeros anyways?” Joffrey’s snide voice broke her out of it and she blinked a little to come back. She watched Tyrion turn a frown on his nephew.

“The point, is that they are somewhere near Westeros and that there are surviving members of a race considered extinct.”

“Then if they should ever come to Westeros, we kill them.” Joffrey said stubbornly as though that was the only logical answer.

“And how do you propose to kill a giant, princeling? Or fight against an icedragon? Those Valyrians took over Westeros because they had dragons. Fire dragons. None of which we have in Westeros today to potentially combat the ice dragons.” she shook her head. “You can’t just expect to murder everything in your path.”

“I wouldn’t murder everything. I need subjects to have a kingdom.” he scoffed.

“I’m glad that’s what’s keeping you from decimating everything in sight, princeling.” Heolone huffed a laugh.

xXx

It seemed that whenever she drank that thicker honey wine she ended up in Joffrey’s arms. And whenever she was talking and arguing with Tyrion, she ended up in his. She wondered if this was becoming a problem and then acknowledged that yes, it very clearly had become a problem because she had to heal all the love-sucked marks Joffrey seemed so fond of and the finger shaped bruises he left on her. And then healing the marks and beardburn Tyrion left.

With Joffrey however, she also had to continuously change the scented oils she used in her hair which was a pain as well since his hands were deft in undoing her plaits or braids.

She supposed as long as she wasn’t ending up fumbling with Sir Jaime or the Lannister squires, it wasn’t as bad as it could be.

“Whenever you drink that specialty honey wine, that Prince always has his guard take you to your room.” Slaria told her one day and she paused.

“The Prince’s…You mean Hound? He’s not meant to leave the princeling’s side.”

“I suppose when the Prince orders it there isn’t much to be done.” she shrugged, carefully setting herself down and sighing in bliss before glaring down at her huge belly. “I am sure it’s twins again.”

“I’ll put coin on triplets.” Heolone said idly, mind elsewhere.

“I don’t need three more to add to the three I already have running around.” Slaria groused irritably.

“You said he has him take me to my room?”

“Yes, wherever that might be. I have no clue where they put you since you’re over there so often anymore. And soon after you’re gone he leaves as well. I guess everything is boring without his only friend there to entertain him. You are a rather endearing drunk, Heolone.”

“Am I?”

“You sing so beautifully when you drink.” she sighed, this time happily. “You sing in a strange tongue to unfamiliar tune but your voice is so lovely it doesn’t much matter. And the way you dance!”

“I what?” Heolone turned, aghast.

“You move as though in a breeze, twirling so smoothly. I wish I could have that sort of grace and light foot.” she smiled dreamily.

Which led to the conversation later at the Red Keep of,

“I sing and dance when I drink that honey wine?!”

“You do, yes.” Joffrey was smirking at her in blatant amusement.

“Why hasn’t anyone told me I do that?!”

From where he stood, Ser Jaime coughed slightly to cover his laughter and she would swear Hound was staring up at the ceiling in an effort not to laugh either. She wasn’t sure what he was doing with Ser Jaime near given that Joffrey didn’t much care for his uncle but she had more pressing matter to attend to.

“Heolone!” came the cheerful greeting, a round face and sweet blond curls heralding Tommen and his silent minders. Five years younger than she and Joffrey, he knew not to much bother or aggravate his older brother. But Heolone liked the sweet boy.

“Tommen! My, you’ve grown again haven’t you?” she cooed at him, turning from Joffrey to pinch at soft round cheeks. He was eleven, just barely if she recalled. He smiled up at her bashfully. He and his sister were all the kindness and sweetness Joffrey lacked. “One of these days you’ll be taller than me!”

“Not that it’s much to be taller than you.” Joffrey said snidely and she shot a glare over her shoulder at him. “The only one over ten and two years shorter than you is Uncle Tyrion.”

“I still have no idea what it is you have against your uncle.” she rolled her eyes and smoothed some of Tommen’s curls. She knew she was on the shorter side, thank you. Not that he seemed to mind given how often she woke in his bed she thought to herself darkly.

“He’s condescending and sleeps around in brothels.”

“The King is known to visit brothels.” she said after covering Tommen’s sweet innocent ears for it. He blinked up at her with his wide green eyes. So much kinder, so much more sympathetic and softer than Joffrey’s sharp gaze. “And he’s only condescending because we all know that you are much smarter than you show yourself to be, constantly starting fights and talking of warring.”

“What an odd way to compliment someone.”

“Ah, Tyrion.” she greeted.

“Heolone. Jaime, Sandor.” he nodded to them. Then smirked as he looked to Joffrey. “Princeling. Tommen.”

Rage immediately turned Joffrey’s face red. “Don’t call me that.”

“If a merchant’s daughter can call you that, why can’t I?”

“Isn’t it because Heolone is his favorite?” Tommen posed innocently. Heolone’s lips curled in a Cheshire grin as she turned to the older prince.

“I’m his favorite? I’m so flattered.” she preened teasingly. “From being called ugly and scarred to favorite. What a long way we’ve come princeling. I still always found the best hiding spots though.”

From his quite embarrassed state to squawking a denial out, Joffrey was always so refreshing when he wasn’t being all cold and serious or furious and quietly scheming revenge for made up slights.

“You did not!”

“Hiding spots?” Tommen tugged her attention back and she beamed at him.

“Joffrey and I here became the best at hide and seek games when we were young, most especially here in the Keep. Though it was usually me that found a hiding space and then he came barging in with me to steal it.” she said slyly.

“I found plenty of our hiding spaces! And I found our best hiding spot!” he argued as though they weren’t practically adults.

Fifteen, sixteen year old adults. Cleome would disagree.

“Just because you accidentally found a secret sliding wall-”

“A secret sliding wall?” Tommen interrupted with sparkling eyes. The two remembered that there were other people around then- when they got to arguing they tended to get absorbed. Ser Jaime was starting to frown in concern, the Hound’s brow- or the one brow he had was raised and Tyrion was watching them with a contemplative look.

“There are quite a few false walls and hidden areas in the Keep.” she explained to the starry eyed younger boy. “Once, however, Joffrey did find one that really was the best spot we’d ever found between us.”

For a few moments a smug look took over Joffrey’s face.

“I suppose if someone really made a huge comprehensive map,” she and Joffrey shared a glance because they had, “It might not be so hidden. But there’s a small courtyard hidden from view. Even though inside looking about it should seem there are windows looking over it, but they’re actually part of a secret passage around it. Joffrey activated a trigger for a section of wall to slide away and we were suddenly there.”

“There were a terrible amount of vermin and overgrown things in the walkways.” Joffrey crossed his arms. “It had taken some time to kill most of them while not destroying the flowers.” Joffrey shot her a pointed look.

“Those flowers have survived so long on their own, it would have been a waste to cut them all down. Dust and grime was very thick in the passages, no one had been in it for a very long time. Still not sure why it was hidden away like that. The secret passage was, I think, meant to go somewhere near the Great Hall and a few towers but the arches to go through had been filled with stone to block them off.” she frowned thoughtfully. “I think it had something to do with the bones there.”

“Bones?”

“Tiny bones. Child bones.” Joffrey said threateningly to his younger brother.

“The vermin had stripped them clean.” she said idly. “And the sun had whitened them.”

“Some had cracks in their skulls, when they were even whole.”

“It made such a gruesome tale, those bones. Sitting there, blocked off and forgotten about.”

“Heolone, sentimental woman she is, took them to bury.” Joffrey said mockingly.

She didn’t bury them. There were plenty of potions and rituals that called for bone of a child. Some of them were worked into the protection charms on Joffrey’s protection amulet.

“Where…Is this courtyard?” Ser Jaime asked slowly.

“Hm? Oh. Shall we show them princeling?”

“I suppose. They know it exists now anyways.” he said disapprovingly.

xXx

“So what brings you to the Red Keep this time?” Tyrion asked on their way.

“What? Ah! Right, yes, that honey wine!” she turned with flashing eyes to Joffrey. “Why did I only find out from my sister that when I drink it I sing and dance?”

“It’s far better behavior than most other drunkards I’ve seen.” he snorted at her, inelegant and informal. “At least when you sing it doesn’t sound like the death wails of a dying auroch.” he said pointedly and she winced. Yes, there was that one courtly woman that sounded like she was a dying auroch when she burst into drunken song.

“Honey wine…How much did you drink to go into a fog that you couldn’t remember?”

“No, it’s the poppy honey wine.” Joffrey corrected idly.

“She’s given the rare Lannister wines?” Tyrion’s brows seemed to fly into his hair.

“Rare Lannister wines?” she frowned and Tyrion turned back to her.

“A little family secret, the painkilling poppies are tended to by domesticated bees and the honey they make made into a fine powerful wine in Lannisport. It is exclusively only given to Lannisters and sometimes, Lannister bannermen.”

“Who I choose to share my bottles with is my choice. Mother gives hers away to her friends.” Joffrey said defensively. “And Uncle Jaime gives his to the other Kingsguard.”

“Hmm.” Tyrion hummed noncommittally.

“Share I think is not the right word. You never drink any.” Ser Jaime said then and her mind came to a shrieking halt. “I suppose you make up for it in other spirits though.”

“The honey wine is too sweet to taste for me.” Joffrey’s nose scrunched up and she calmed down. Joffrey never did spend much time censoring how much he drank. Just because he wasn’t also drinking the honey wine didn’t mean he wasn’t as intoxicated as she was. And he’d never spoken a word or given indication he knew they ended up twined around eachother.

“I think you sing very prettily Heolone.” Tommen said sweetly. “You’ve sung lullabies, I think, to Myrcella and I.”

“You do seem to sing in a strange tongue.” Ser Jaime added in. Strange tongue. Cleome’s tongue, no doubt. “And you always are popular with the young children, dancing around and singing to them. The ladies of the court are always relieved that they can stop entertaining them quite so much when you are with them.”

She felt the red under her richly colored skin and covered her face in her hands for a moment.

“I suppose a fine mother you shall one day make.” Tyrion said idly. “And speaking of mothers, your sister is expecting isn’t she?”

“She thinks it will be twins, but I think it will be triplets.”

“Doesn’t she already have three?”

“Our family tends to be very fertile. Kerse and his wife are already onto child five and Cassuc...” she shook her head. “The last time he came with his family, there were five totting around and three more still in his and his wife’s arms.”

“Why do you know about her sister?” Joffrey interrupted.

“This again?” Heolone huffed. “Joffrey, do you even know my sister’s name?”

“…Why would I?”

“Which is why I can’t talk to you about how my brothers and sister and family are doing.” she shook her head.

“Her name is Slaria, isn’t it?”

“You see this, Ser Jaime knows my sister’s name. I think he’s met her three times?”

“We did talk at the last gathering she came to. I had asked about the tongue you sing in but she wasn’t sure what it was either. She did say you sometimes write with a strange language as well.”

“Yes well, when there’s nosy siblings about it’s best to write in a language they don’t know.” she said irritably.

“Tyrion used to do that, to practice.” Ser Jaime recalled, smiling handsomely at his younger brother. “You seem very close with your siblings?”

“With all my family, really. For all the aunties want to marry us off, they don’t look too far. We prefer living in large families.”

“And you are the only one not yet wed?”

“And they won’t let me forget it.” she groused, scowling. “My nieces and nephews can distract them for a little while and my brothers and sister do try to shield me from their pestering at least.”

“You do come to the Red Keep often. I could ask about procuring a husband for you here.” Ser Jaime offered and almost immediately, Joffrey was glaring at him heatedly and Tyrion looked at his brother incredulously. The Hound, quiet usually, let out a beastly snort of laughter.

“I would marry Heolone.” Tommen said then, sweet and kind. “She makes very delicious things, and sings, and is very pretty.”

“Oh Tommen, you’re such a sweet lad.” she said fondly. “You’ll be having women swoon over you.”

Clueless earnest charm and a cute face. What a dangerous combination.

“Make delicious things? Heolone, have you cooked?”

“I do on occasion make breads and sweet fruit pies.” she crossed her arms. “We have orchards and plenty of crops in our home in the Reach.”

“I like the applecakes and lemon bread best but the one with blackberries is also very good.”

“I am terribly fond of blackberry.” she admitted. “Wines, breads, pies. We can make oils from them too, to soften skin and hair. My grandmother taught us that from her mother, and to make small solid bars that smooth the skin as well as give a nice scent.”

“You do always smell nice.”

“Tommen, you are an absolute charmer.” she cooed over him, turning and pinching his cheeks again.

“You coddle him too much.” Joffrey said irritably and she rolled her eyes at him.

“You say that, yet you are fawned over by the noble girls and women anytime you are in eyesight of them. I’m surprised none have tried to steal a piece of clothing or lock of hair at this point.”

He scoffed. “I would cut their hands off for touching me.”

She stared at him for a moment before grinning sharply, leaning over and reaching up to tousle his hair in a fast messy way, setting his diadem askew. He made a loud sound of indignation and she laughed at him, darting away behind the Hound, and then twirling behind Ser Jaime when he chased her.

“Perhaps,” she said between snickering, “If your hair were not so long, or if it was kept back they would be less inclined to want to touch it. Tyrion keeps his long hair back, and so does Ser Jaime.”

He feinted and then rather expertly pulled out the pin that kept her long braid coiled up at the back of her head. It slid far down her back, releasing a cinnamon-vanilla scent faintly and she gasped in mock-affront.

“Prince Joffrey! Touching a woman’s hair, the scandal!” and then laughed again.

“Please, that braid of yours comes down whenever we come across a door with a lock. I still have no idea how you use this to open them.” Joffrey scoffed, handing back her pin.

“Well how else are we supposed to get into those unused rooms? We can’t finish the map if we’ve got blank spots in it.” she chided, coiling her long braid back up in a quick, practiced flick of her wrist.

“Your hair is so long Heolone!” Tommen marveled.

“You think mine is long, you should see my mother’s.” she said. “We don’t need to wear our hair up at home, no bizarre taboo about a woman’s hair there.” she rolled her eyes. “What a strange thing to fixate on! Men can wear their hair down and yet I can only do so in the safety of my home? Ridiculous.”

“You’d start a terrible scandal if you went about with unbound hair here. They’d think you a loose woman.” Ser Jaime cautioned. She flapped a hand at him flippantly.

“It’s hair. Perhaps if I was off lifting my skirts or something I’d understand the fuss. My grandmother liked to weave shimmering golden or colorful silks in her hair, sometimes small bells or glass beads on the ends. It was beautiful.” she sighed. “Hair can be such a wonderful thing to express style and it’s squandered here. Braids and the like, sure, but it’s not nearly so liberating.”

“Well…” Tyrion drawled and Jaime this time moved to cover Tommen’s ears. “It is associated with a woman lying under a man in bed.”

“And who’s to say a woman has to lie under a man anyways?” she scoffed. “Living so close together, I’ve had the very unfortunate luck to have walked into a scene most terrible to see your sister in.” she made a face, “And I tell you, she wasn’t under him.” then she frowned. “Of course, Slaria keeps her hair very short, too short to put in any tail or braid.” she waved her hands dismissively. “Either way, hair is hair.” she huffed then shuddered, making a face. “Ugh, I’d been able to forget about that for so long and now I remembered it again.” she gagged. Jaime uncovered Tommen’s ears.

“Your family wear their hair down in your home?”

“With the exception of my grandfather. He keeps his hair in Dothraki fashion.” she nodded.

“I’ve been to your insignificant home, they didn’t wear their hair down.” Joffrey frowned.

“Not with royals roaming.” she said easily. “Too much fuss. But most of time I don’t need to worry about pinning up my hair or keeping it in a braid all the time. Playing with our hair is family bonding, more like. Cassuc was always the most gentle with a comb but Kerse always made the most complex looks. Mother liked twining flowers- all the aunts do, really. Grandmother liked wrapping in silks. Slaria always hated the weight and liked to chop it all off. Still likes to, whenever she feels it’s getting too long. Helping put the oils in our hair is also a very soothing feeling, both putting it in someone’s hair or having someone else do it.”

“It seems that would require trust.” Ser Jaime pointed out.

“I suppose so, yes. Which is also why it is bonding.”

xXx

She grit her teeth, the protective dome of magic around them keeping them safe as a boiling, furious anger threatened to turn into a roaring inferno. Above them all, the sky turned and twisted into dark thick clouds as thunder growled while lightning struck the tallest trees in reproach.

“You sniveling worms!” she thundered, swiping her arm across and watching in grim pleasure as the men were tossed into trees, some crying out as necks and spines broke at the force. Her skin felt electrified, the power in her bubbling forward eagerly enough that the weather pulled it in to suit her mood. She was always comfortable with storms. Sheets of rain threatened to obscure her vision but the flashes of lightning lit the suddenly dark world often enough through it. In their dome, they were dry and electricity skid along the outside of it in case someone tried to get close. She felt her hair threaten to burst from her braid to fly up and around her in the winds that lashes around them. Attempting to attack the royal princes on their way to the Stark family, worse made that Tywin, their grandfather, had a group of his own men to protect them as well. Hound didn’t seem to enjoy having his brother and his men around and more than once has she decided to hide among the few other working women to avoid the stares of a few of them.

They had managed to ambush them, and somehow managed with heavy weighted chains to hold down The Mountain, Hound and some of the other larger men.

And apparently they weren’t even specifically after the princes. No, it was Ser Jaime and Tyrion that they wanted to steal and ransom. The moment that Tommen cried out from a cut on his face though, and she had been inflamed. The rain, in this cold, quickly turned to pellets of hale. She stormed forward, outside of the dome and didn’t even feel the way the electricity arced to and from her lovingly. It didn’t hurt her, didn’t scar her, didn’t impede her. Lightning was her element. She snapped her fingers and one man came rushing forward as though on a string and floated before her, horror twisting his face at the likely demonic glow of her eyes. He was their leader.

“Who sent you?” she snarled at him and when he blubbered she ripped through his mind, leaving him a drooling mess after a minute. Pale green splintered out from her outstretched hand, killing the rest of the raping, pillaging disgusting wastes of human skin. The storm whirled around them while she attempted to calm down enough not to accidentally murder or electrocute anyone she didn’t want to kill. These men had been prepared for them, had been waiting for them, had known exactly who would be in the group in terms of fighting skill. Had known how to most efficiently stop the most powerful members in the quickest amount of time.

“Someone,” her voice was a low growl only she could hear the howling winds and furious thunder, “Has been verynaughty.”

She turned sharply on heel, disappearing into the forests surrounding their paths. She came back a few minutes later, notably calmer and the storm quieting. The hail stopped and the lightning stayed in the clouds, lighting them up. The dome fell harmlessly and she made a beeline to Tommen’s teary face, casting a healing charm and watching the bloody cut heal itself. She didn’t even turn to look as she cast a stronger spell at the other Prince, and then spooling together a ball of healing magic and tossing it in the air. It burst in a shower of soft glowing light, healing everyone within the vicinity.

“I am glad you kept that protection charm, princeling.” she said in the hush. “But it looks like I’ll need to make some for Tommen and Myrcella, whenever I next see her.” and with that done, and before anyone could stop her, she once again disappeared into the forest.

xXx

She came back a day and night later. A shiny gold ring with a lion’s face and very tiny green gemstones was handed to Tommen, who had spotted her first and leapt up to hug her tightly.

“It will grow as you grow.” she told him, petting his hair and then turning to where Joffrey had stood up, watching her carefully. “I want to see the one I gave you. I want to put more protections on it.”

“It really is a protection charm isn’t it? That’s why when there was the poison I wasn’t sick like mother, Myrcella and Tommen.”

“You didn’t think I’d just given you a shiny trinket, did you?” she raised her brows and smiled, strained with the intended joke before her smile fell. “Yes. The stone beneath the gold is carved and covered in protections against all kinds of things. I had thought of making some for your siblings and mother with the poison but the security had become better and it fell to the wayside. And the King for some reason just seems immune to poison I guess.”

“He used to get bitten by snakes often as a boy,” Joffrey waved off. “Said it built an immunity.”

She wasn’t entirely sure that was a thing, but let it slide.

“You have magic.”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? We probably could have finished that map ages ago.” he demanded with a frown and she blinked at him before bursting into laughter, practically curling around Tommen where he still held onto her as though afraid she would disappear again.

“Oh princeling, I should have known you’d be more concerned with something like that.” she sighed happily, wiping a few stray tears from her eyes and grinning at him brightly.

“And that was how you opened those passages that were full of rubble isn’t it?” he asked next and she grinned wider, nodding.

“That castle may be cursed,” she said loftily, “But that’s mostly concentrated in a few places rather than the whole castle.”

“It is really cursed? And is the throne haunted like you always babble about?”

“Rituals involving sacrifice- the death of the one performing the ritual, more specifically- are the main part of the curse. While the last few Valyrians didn’t really have much magic to them at all, they did still seem to know a few rituals.” she hummed thoughtfully. “Cleansing a few of them are easy and when I come across them I do try, but certain deaths…They linger, and stain the castle with the ritual they used being stronger or having a larger resource to make it stronger.” she sighed, rubbing her face. “As for that over glorified scrap heap,” she scowled. “There are three souls that cling to it like parasites.” she bit out. “I suspect they were what drove the Mad King mad, especially with his forays into experiments with the rituals passed down in their family. They draw power from those killed in the Red Keep and when the Mad King murdered so many there, it powered them even more. They are nasty, disgusting bits of soul that deserve to be shred and devoured by shrouds.” she finished in a menacing snarl. “Which is why I advocate so strongly for the royal family to go out among the lands, away from that chair.”

“Is that why you always insist I should have my own throne made?”

“That and, even if we can get rid of those spirits, it’s a hideous metal chair.” she sniffed snidely.

“That…Thing you created,” Ser Jaime then said slowly, looking to her nervously. “It was a…Shield I think?”

“The dome? Yes.” she gave a short nod.

“And you gave a protection charm to Joffrey, and now one to Tommen…”

“And a third is on its way to Myrcella. I trust you and Tyrion don’t need them and if you do, that you would tell me.”

“Those men that you…”

“Those wastes of human skin I kindly purged from the land.” she said primly and one man, pretty faced from the Mountain’s men, snickered. “I’m sure you noticed how well prepared they were for our exact entourage. Which means a traitor of course.” she stroked through Tommen’s curls. “Unfortunately, they used a middle man, and that man doesn’t know who he was working for. Only that it paid supremely well and that it came from Braavos.” she frowned. “Though why they would target Ser Jaime and Tyrion instead of the more valuable princes of Westeros…Unless it was personal. Personal against the both of you or against your father? Or as a decoy, a cover for whatever they were really trying to do? There are too many variables here. Not to mention whoever they got enough information from to so efficiently tie down the Sers and more dangerous combatants like they did.”

“Someone from Braavos…” Tyrion frowned suspiciously from where he’d been quietly watching.

“Your…Magic. It’s very powerful isn’t it? Why not use it before?”

“What, so the Faith can hunt us down like they do every magically inclined person in Westeros? No, we keep quiet.” she snorted derisively. “I don’t know if you remember your lessons, but they slaughtered skinchangers and drove mages out and away years and years ago with lies about what they were and what they do. It’s either hide or face false accusations and persecution. It’s so they can attempt to control whatever slivers of knowledge and magic they’re able for themselves.”

“The only faith she has is in death.” Joffrey said for her.

“Death is infinite.”

“You said us. There are more?” Tyrion pointed out, then his eyes gleamed. “Your mother’s family.”

“And if anything should endanger them after this, then I will know it was someone here that is at fault.” she said coolly. “We aren’t the only ones. Your awful Faith of the Seven only taught the skinchangers to hide more effectively.”

“When you spoke of ice dragons beyond the wall, it wasn’t purely theory was it?” he pressed next and she eyed him. This was the Tyrion she had heard more about. There was a sharp cunning gleam to his eye and she was sure he would be less polite with his words if she weren’t close friends with the crown princes and a somewhat regular lover of his.

“No.” she said slowly. “They are much farther north than anything else though, and the likelihood of them attacking is slim to none. Most dragons much prefer to quietly keep in their own territory without the interference of humans. The icy Westeros dragons are also the largest land dragons.”

“Largest land dragons?”

“The ones in the far north seas are by far the largest. Luckily enough they prefer living in the deepest parts of the ocean, far beyond what humans can get to. The ones in the south seas are usually more colorful but just as prone to staying far away from humans. They tend to be bigger and longer than the sea serpents that like to come up and cause trouble every now and again.” she waved off.