(Dragonstone: 10/17/298) Ned VI

The Warden of the North reclined within his carved wooden seat, watching as the sun rose over the horizon, his features as cold and still as the statues within the crypts beneath Winterfell. He wrung his weary hands before bringing them to rest along the arms of his chair, which creaked beneath him, as he peered through the black silken curtains billowing within the refreshing sea breeze. 'A much welcome change from the foul odor of the capital,' he idled. The various orange and red hues of the rising dawn rippled over the surface of the waters of the Narrow Sea, giving the illusion that the water itself had been set aflame.

'Ting!' a buoy, the Lady had called them, sounded out in the distance. During the voyage to Dragonstone, he had noticed several of the man-sized things drifting along the open waters a day before he had even set eyes on the island.

The guest quarters the Lady of Dragonstone had provided him within the former Targaryen fortress, had been far too spacious and well-furnished for his tastes. Silks and linens from as far as Qarth and Yi-Ti lined every golden chair and bench, each of which possessed sumptuous red cushions with golden tassels.

"It feels like I'm sitting on a cloud," he heard Harwin's rumbling voice commenting to no one, from just outside of his room. The man was always standing guard, though it seemed unnecessary within this place. Unlike the capital, all of the guards he had seen were polite and seemed to be good company, while the servants had been warm and friendly, always eager to please. Some of the servants were old, some were young, others were crippled, and yet all seemed happy. Most were simple folk, poor, and hailing from the streets of King's Landing, all likely never having seen steady pay until being found by the Lady of Dragonstone.

Ned had graciously accepted the room, not wanting to offend the wife of Stannis Baratheon and her hospitality. Despite the uncomfortable opulence, he had to admit that one thing he did not mind, was the view. Four large windows overlooked the docks where he had made port with the Lady and her household, along with his own and those of the Red Viper.

'What is his purpose here?' he wondered on the Dornish Prince. 'Did he suspect as well?' a thousand-and-one disquieting thoughts ran through his mind, and he frowned at them all. The words he had shared with Oberyn Martell and the Lady Azula, over jasmine tea, within the tower of 'the Ozai,' were still fresh in his mind.

"My sister loved him, Lord Stark," the prince sipped from his small porcelain teacup. "The beautiful and noble Rhaegar Targaryen," the Viper of Dorne scoffed, dark eyes staring out from the window near their table. "She bore his children, swaddled them, rocked them, and fed them at her own breast. Elia wouldn't let the wet nurse touch them," a sad smile crept into Oberyn's lips then disappeared the instant he turned to face Eddard with focused black eyes. "Then he left her for another woman and started a war. A war that saw my beloved sister brutally murdered."

"The Lady Lyanna did not leave by choice, Prince Oberyn. And Lord Stark was not responsible for Princess Elia's death," Azula interjected, her golden eyes matching the fire within Oberyn's own, saving Ned from the explanation he was never eager to trudge into. The Dornishman stared at her, then back to him, and partially relented.

"So it is said," Oberyn replied, the intensity never fully leaving his eyes. "And I do not blame Lord Stark for my sister's death, my Lady…I blame others…" the last words came out as a low hiss, and Ned knew who he meant.

"What are you implying? That his sister went with him willingly?" Once again the Lady of Dragonstone preempted his response, holding a curious look in her eyes as she did so, almost as if the thought had never occurred to her.

He remained silent, pondering the Dornish prince's words. Eddard Stark had long considered the possibility that it might have been true. 'I scarcely shared enough words with Lyanna to discern the true nature of her disappearance, before she had died in my arms.'

"Promise me," Lyanna's voice whispered in the back of his mind.

"Perhaps," the Viper answered. "But we were not the ones who found her…"

Eddard felt both sets of eyes, gold and black, upon him. "She had been near death when I discovered her. My sister had been ill-treated," his words were ice, for he cared not to continue this conversation. Both the Prince of Dorne and the Lady of Dragonstone had seemed satisfied at his words, though he saw a certain strangeness swirling within the woman's golden eyes.

A long silence stretched between them before Oberyn finally spoke. "Then you and I share the same pain, Lord Stark," he whispered, a deep sadness readily evident in his tone. "To our sisters," the prince tipped his cup to him.

"Aye," Ned whispered back. "To our sisters."

"Promise me."

'If there was one family that would relish the opportunity to strike against the Lannisters, it would be the Martells,' Eddard suspected. 'Was Dorne allied with Dragonstone?'

'Toot-a-toot! Tut!' an unseen player trumpeted somewhere down on the docks below, drawing his attention. The iron ship which had been his quarters for nearly three days, 'the Ozai,' still remained in port alongside several trading vessels, each varied in appearance and bearing their own colorful sails and sigils. Amidst the colorful sea of cloth, an organized block of ten black sails emblazoned with the sigil of the Burning Stag remained motionless near the metal monstrosity. Sixteen ships lay in formation beside the ten, three bearing Celtigar sails, two bore the stars of Sunglass, and eleven the silver seahorse of the Velaryons. The largest of them, the war galleys, appeared as children's toys compared to the royal flagship.

'Tooooooot!' the horn blared once more. Small figures bearing Dragonstone uniforms scurried along the deck of the iron ship, running to and fro, in a frenzy, entering the large vessel with various instruments and exiting with others. A small group of ten men or women, he could not tell, were all dressed in loose red and white clothing. They bore strange conical hats and busied themselves by washing the steel deck, only diverting their attention away from their duties to fight off any seagulls, which flew too close, with their flaxen hats.

The commotion down on the docks, did nothing to dispel the ill feelings that came over him. He increasingly found his thoughts lingering on the King's supposed bastards, and the closer he got to the truth the more it gnawed at him. He knew this would not end well, especially if Dorne suspected the truth. 'But what choice do I have?' he continually found himself asking. A small part of him wished it was all mere happenstance. That the children had been trueborn, and his former foster father had perished due to old age, but in his heart, he understood that such was a false hope.

"Is this what it has come to Jon?" he asked the specter, the memory, of his former foster father. "How did you plan to tell Robert?" Ned ruminated for what he knew to have been some time, as he had observed the sun having crawled slightly higher into the sky. Once he heard the gulls squawking in the distance, he had finally turned from the view, returning to face the desk with gilded trim and rearing stags emblazoned along its edges. A pile of letters awaited him. Letters he had written, upon his arrival on Dragonstone, though he knew deep down that he had been delaying if only to gather his wits on what must be down once he saw the children for himself. He took note of those he had written all with the wax seal of the Hand of the King, "Lord Tully," he moved it aside, "the Bronze Yohn and Lysa, Catelyn and Robb. Umber, Karstark, Cerwyn, Mormont, Glover, Manderly, Hornwood, Dustin, Howland…." Ned frowned, shaking off the memory of his sister. He grasped the last letter in his batch, and held it, as if it was something terrible to behold before he felt his face tighten, "Bolton," he muttered finally.

The Lady of Dragonstone had informed Ned that she would not be calling for him until midday to tour the Grand Academy, which was, by his estimate, several hours away. The Lord of Winterfell sighed and withdrew from his desk, gathering the collection of sealed letters into his arms, and strode towards a large chest at the foot of his bed. Small rays of light shone through the flowing curtains, forming strange shadows along the floor. Taking care not to crumple the pieces of parchment, he placed them upon his recently made bed which was laden with thick blankets and large velvety pillows. Ned reached down, beneath the collar of his tunic, and retrieved an iron key that hung by a small chain around his neck. He gazed upon the little piece of metal, watching as it swung idly in his grip before he knelt down and placed a calloused hand over the foreboding case. Ned maneuvered the key into place along the small opening at the center of the container, and twisted until he heard a soft 'click.' He lifted the heavy cover and saw an old wolf skin scabbard containing his family's Valyrian steel sword, 'Ice.' Shifting the large weapon to one side, he rose to grab at the letters atop his bed and placed them neatly along the length of the sword.

"Letters that would start a war, resting alongside a weapon of war…." He frowned, muttering to himself as he felt an icy chill crawl up the middle of his back. He stood over the iron box and felt himself sway, his body seemingly having finally realized that it had spent the past four days bereft of sleep. Ned looked past the oscillating curtains, mentally noting the location of the sun in the sky, before turning and walking to the entrance of his chambers. He pulled at the iron door handle bearing the likeness of a rearing stag, and opened it, revealing Harwin, who immediately shot up from his cushioned seat.

"My lord?" he beckoned and awaited his command.

"I will be resting, Harwin. I do not wish to be disturbed unless the Lady of Dragonstone herself calls for me," Ned massaged his eyes, the quiet fatigue creeping ever faster into his body.

"As you wish, my lord," the Northman nodded. "Any other messages you would like me to pass on while you are indisposed?"

"No," he answered, then closed the door. Ned braced himself along the entryway a moment, then wobbled to his bed before everything went black.

He opened his eyes and found himself laying on his back, clad in his usual clothing, and staring up at a bright cloudless sky. Eddard's confusion was immediate, and it began to swirl around in his mind. "Where…" he had scarcely begun his words before seven great bells unexpectedly thundered discordantly all around him.

'DIIINNNG! DOOONNNG! DIIINNNGGG! DOOOONNGG!'

He scrambled to his feet, the exhaustion having evidently left him, and found himself amidst unrecognizable surroundings. As far as he could see, were rolling hills of green grass, but no identifying constructions or manmade edifices of any kind.

'DIIINNNG! DOOONNNG! DIIINNNGGG! DOOOONNGG!'

The ringing rose louder and louder, reaching an almost deafening crescendo that he could do nothing but cover his ears, desperately attempting to quiet the noise.

'DIIINNNG! DOOONNNG! DIIINNNGGG! DOOOONNGG!'

He felt a warm wetness began trickling over his hands, as the pain grew ever more pronounced until it finally brought him to his knees.

'DIIINNNG! DOOONNNG! DIIINNNGGG! DOOOONNGG!'

He brought his face to the grass and closed his eyes in pain. The moment his eyes were shut, Ned heard his own heavy breathing, and soon thereafter found he could hear the bells no longer. He cautiously opened his eyes and found himself at the steps of the Great Sept of Baelor. The massive marble dome sparkled in the sunlight, casting its great shadow upon him. The seven crystal towers surrounding the dome held a portentous quality that Ned could not place.

'Clack. Clack,' he heard long talons scuttling along behind him.

Ned whirled around, instinctively reaching for a weapon that was not there, and spotted a large black hawk. It stared at him with burning golden eyes and was perched atop the marble pulpit where septons would address the people. The hawk remained still, watching him as he watched it. The winds churned around them before the hawk opened its mouth, and let loose blood-curdling screams.

"Stop! Please!" the large bird kept its mouth open, the screams coming from within its black gullet. "Stop! Please!"

'Sansa's screams!' he realized, remembering the sound from when she would argue with Arya, but recognizing them to be different and full of anguish. Blood seeped from beneath the hawk's great talons, sliding down the face of the pristine pulpit, and pooling at its base.

'DIIINNNG! DOOONNNG! DIIINNNGGG! DOOOONNGG!'

Blazing golden eyes remained fixed upon him, as the screams emanating from the creature's dark maw finally quieted. Ned felt a certain familiarity with the strange bird's gilded stare. "What are you?" he asked, feeling foolish for asking an animal such a thing, but feeling the need to do so all the same.

He felt the feathered thing eying him with mild interest, before the emerald field surrounding him withered away into frozen gray. A freezing wind swept through him, and snow began to fall. The bird opened its beak, "Winter is coming," his own voice warned him, before a black serpent burst forth from the bird's unnaturally stretched bill, a burning skull clenched between its large venomous fangs.

Eddard kicked out of his drenched sheets in a start, barely managing to stop himself from falling off the bed by grasping at a gilded bedpost. His head was throbbing, the embers of the ill dream lingering longer than he would have wished. He sat at the bed's edge, cradling his damp head within his sweaty hands.

'Knock! Knock!'

The sudden noise had startled him, yet he quickly collected himself and grabbed at a nearby red cloth that was folded neatly on a small table near his bed.

"Just a moment," he replied, before unfolding the cotton napery and drying off his face. Having served its purpose, he pulled the damp material away and spotted a black teardrop flame with three prongs stitched at its center. Ned held the thing in his hands for a moment, staring at the emblem, before he set it down to the side. The bed creaked as he rose, his body feeling as if he had just run the length of Westeros a hundred times. His legs shuddered as he walked, but gradually they steadied themselves as he grew closer to the iron door of his room. As he opened the entryway he saw Harwin, clad in chainmail. The Lady of Dragonstone was clothed in her usual attire and stood just behind the Northman, hands at her back, a simple smile gracing her attractive Yi-Tish features.

"Pleasure to have you with us, Lord Stark," the woman beamed.

"Apologies, my Lady. I underestimated the depths of my exhaustion. Did I keep you long?" he asked, looking towards his house guard.

"Only an hour, Lord Stark," the Prince of Dorne replied from somewhere within the hall, his form obscured by the walls of Ned's room. Without a hint of irritation or frustration at the unexpected wait, or Oberyn's interruption, the woman continued watching him with a courteous smile. He glanced to Harwin who simply nodded, affirming the Dornish Prince's words.

"I am truly, deeply, sorry, my Lady," Ned hung his head, embarrassed at having kept her waiting when he had originally been the one to ask her for a tour of the Academy.

"Don't worry, my Lord, there's no need for that," she playfully waved away his apologies. "I enjoyed speaking with him," she gestured to Harwin. "He has many interesting stories about his life in the North. I found the tales 'Old Non' would tell him of the Others, to be especially fascinating,'" she regarded Harwin with an odd expression in her eyes.

"Old Nan, my Lady," the Northman chuckled.

"Oh yes! Old Nan," she turned to the Northman, her smile still beaming brightly. "Thank you, Harwin."

"It was a pleasure, my Lady," the man nodded, a soft grin lining his normally hard face.

"So, Lord Stark, are you ready? Or do you wish to rest a bit more?" the woman graciously inquired. "I have no urgent need to tour the Academy this day. If you still require some time, I would be more than happy to reschedule." The Lady of Dragonstone held a bit of concern in her eyes, but she smiled nonetheless.

By then, Prince Oberyn had come into view, taking his place behind the Lady of Dragonstone, and embracing his paramour, Ellaria Sand. "As would we," the Dornishman grinned, placing a soft kiss along his olive-skinned lover's neck. The Prince wore a yellow tunic, with copper disks at its shoulders, and light brown leggings, while his companion bore an orange dress with a low neckline.

"That will not be necessary," he nodded his head, his words coming out colder than he had intended, causing the Dornish Prince to raise a brow. Eddard looked back into his room and decided he needed to bring nothing with him. His gaze lingered on the chest at the foot of his bed, before he turned back to face the woman and his sole retainer. The rest of his retinue had been allowed time to rest and wander the town near the docks, until midday, where they were to meet near the southern gate of the Academy grounds. Stepping out into the hall, he had found it strangely empty, the servants from earlier having inexplicably vanished. 'Likely dismissed by the Lady Azula,' he thought. The only signs of life he saw now, were five Yi-Tish soldiers and ten of Prince Oberyn's Dornish retainers, standing at the gallery's far end. He remembered the Red Viper's guards coming aboard the Ozai after the King had departed, though had forgotten their names, his mind instead being preoccupied wondering on the state of the King's bastards. The Lady Azula's countrymen were clad in armor and open-faced helmets similar to those worn by the scarred female he had met briefly on the docks of King's Landing before they had set-off for Dragonstone. Ned reached for the door handle and pulled, closing the door shut behind him. The woman seemed to notice his hesitation, yet said nothing.

Together they marched down within the vast halls of Targaryen fortress, passing many doors and stairwells while treading alongside the Lady of the keep, who kept her hands clasped tightly behind her back. Only their footsteps could be heard echoing throughout the sparsely populated halls. Surrounding them, carved into the black walls, arches, and pillars were gargoyles, dragons, and other beastly forms. 'No, not carved,' he thought, 'they were part of walls. Fused into the smooth black stone.' Eddard traced his hand along a serpentine form, a trick of light having given the chiseled image an almost lifelike quality. He felt eyes upon him and withdrew his hand, the image of the snake with the burning skull flashing in his mind. Ned shook his head, suddenly realizing the shadowy stronghold was foreboding and uncomfortable. He felt the immediate urge to do nothing more than leave its suffocating confines, which he settled on doing the moment his investigation was complete.

"The Targaryen's really did enjoy their monstrous motifs, didn't they?" the Lady broke the eerie silence that had descend upon them, causing all of those present to either chuckle or attempt to stifle one, save himself. "I never truly cared overmuch for this kind of gaudy architecture."

"And what do you prefer, my Lady?" the Dornishwoman asked mirthfully, her arm intertwined with Prince Oberyn's own.

"I enjoy my silk draperies, beautifully carved wooden furniture with gold-leaf embellishments, the usual. My tastes might seem extravagantly boring, or is it boringly extravagant?" the woman asked no one in particular, and after a moment she simply shrugged. "But I live within my means. Our trade agreements with the Free Cities have seen my house's fortunes expand far more than even my husband thought possible for such a lifeless little spit of land. Still, I must confess that the Master of Driftmark did help us somewhat in that regard. Of course, in so doing, he increased his own fortunes as well. So perhaps he wasn't doing it out of complete altruism?" Azula sniffed in good humor. "Now he is one of Dragonstone's most steadfast, and richest, of allies."

"I've heard a rumor that he is 'the Sea Snake' come again," Oberyn stated.

"If his trade negotiations with Qarth and Asshai are any indications, then that would be a fair assessment," Azula replied. "Perhaps in a few years' time, I will make formal requests to the King to begin construction of proper trading barges? Those would certainly make the old Sea Snake's hauls pale in comparison to what those could bring in, especially from Asshai. They treasure food and water, more than gold and gems, which I am told they have in abundance for exchange. My people have methods to preserve food for such long voyages, but we would need a proper fleet for the journey home to deter some of the more 'enterprising' pirates," the Lady of Dragonstone shared a knowing look with him.

'Euron…'

"However, right now, King Robert's Crowned fleet is spread far too thin for something of such scale to be feasible without leaving Westerosi shores defenseless."

"A wise decision, given the poor state of the Greyjoy and…" Ned lingered on his next words, "Redwyne fleets."

They turned a corner within the ominous halls, and finally laid eyes upon Dragonstone's household servants once again. A small girl and a boy no older than Bran, worked alongside an elder woman, replacing old candles and checking torches. The boy pushed a small wooden cart filled with candlesticks and a small jar of oil, while the girl held a long metal stick with a cap at its end. Spotting them, the woman and her two young charges bowed their heads as they passed, with only the little girl stealing a glance at the Lady of Dragonstone.

"Um-hmm," the woman nodded and smiled at the girl, unperturbed by the fact that she herself had much more to do with the state of both houses, than anyone else. "And after that incident aboard the Ozai," Azula growled, after leaving the two children and old woman behind, beyond earshot. "I will never trust Braavos or its Sealord, or any enemies of Westeros having a clear path to King's Landing. Not so long as my people and I draw breath. We owe King Robert our lives, for giving us a home, and I will not leave his kingdom open to enemies for my own gain."

"Have you ever held any dealings with Braavos?" Oberyn questioned, while Eddard remained somewhat taken aback by Azula's simple, yet sudden proclamation.

"Only the barest of dealings," the Yi-Tish woman answered simply, in a manner that brokered no continued discussion on the topic, though the woman sighed after a moment as if realizing her mistake. "Apologies for my tone, Prince Oberyn, Lord Stark, the matter of Braavos continues to be a sensitive subject for me."

"I understand," the Red Viper replied, a surprising amount of concern laced in his words.

Their group came, at last, to a large set of double doors emblazoned with the mark of the Burning Stag. A mess of voices could be heard arguing on the other side. Azula's Dragonstone guard, stepped forward and opened the set of doors, revealing a large hall with stained glass windows. All manner of boxes and steel pipes lined the back edge of the room. A group of three uniformed Yi-Tish men surrounded a wooden table where a flat-faced Yi-Tish woman dressed in a white gold-trimmed tunic and black pants stood at its center. All had been looking down at a roll of parchment before the noise of the opening doors had drawn their attention.

"Fire Lord!" they rose in surprise, all presenting their salutes of palm-over-fist.

"At ease," the Lady spoke, before stepping forward. "Has any progress been made in the renovation, Tarsersa?"

"None as of yet, Fire Lord," the woman politely responded. "The Targaryens were…" Tarsersa seemed to search for the correct words, "not of sound architectural mind when they constructed this place. The lowers floors are a madhouse of dead-end turns, and doors that lead to nowhere. They make absolutely no sense, so its not a wonder why they haven't seen activity in some years. We are still discovering hidden chambers within every other room. Even managed to discover a clutch of stone dragon eggs concealed in a small vault under the eastern wing. We had them moved to the caverns for safekeeping."

"Very good," the Lady Baratheon looked around, "and where is Merah, and the rest of his team?"

"Merah, along with four of our number ventured into the library of the fortress, searching for more information on a set of locked rooms we encountered underneath the main hall. The others were sent out to map several sections below the western corridor."

"Hmmm," Azula nodded in understanding. "Keep me apprised of your efforts, I would like the plumbing to be completed at some point within my lifetime. Preferably before I grow too old to properly utilize them."

"As you command, Fire Lord," they answered in unison, presenting palm-over-fist once more.

Their group pressed on, past the odd Yi-Tish group, and encountered a set of twisted black iron doors. Appearing more like a gate of writhing metallic snakes, than mere doors, the mass of iron groaned in protest as Azula Baratheon's guardians opened the entryway.

"Plumbing?" the Dornishman inquired, the smooth voice sounding more scholarly than usual.

The Lady of Dragonstone stood before the door a moment, seemingly paused in thought. "Yes, Prince Oberyn," she answered simply, then led them into the spacious, though sparsely furnished, hall. A string of tall windows ran down the length of the room, allowing much-needed sunlight into the wide corridor.

"Ah yes, the many wonders of running water and proper drainage…" the Prince stated with a sly grin across his face.

Azula stopped, turning to face the Prince of Dorne with a stunned expression. "How did you…"

"During my time at the Citadel, I recalled seeing such a concept written about within their books," the Viper clarified, gazing into his paramour's eyes, before turning to face the Lady of Dragonstone with a smirk. "Though, I would be remiss in not making mention of the practice not taking root in Westeros." Oberyn shrugged his next words in disappointment, "Unfortunately."

"Except for Winterfell," he pointed out, remembering the hot springs beneath the keep and the pipes that kept the heat flowing within his family's ancestral home. 'Why did she bring us down this direction instead of the one she had used to introduce me to my quarters?' Ned wondered, eying both the Prince of Dorne at the Lady of Dragonstone as they conversed and their reactions to his words, their pace having been resumed.

"True enough, Bran the Builder was... ahead of his time, shall we say?" the woman replied with a quaint smile. "I wish you to know that my visit to your home did leave a mark on me, Lord Stark," she tilted her head. "Though record does exist of your ancestor having built your castle, thousands of years ago I might add, no record exists on how exactly he accomplished such a feat of engineering. A feat that has yet to find true purchase on the continent. The Wall was already astounding, but Winterfell, and possibly Storm's End, and however many other rumored constructions he was given credit for? Well, he was quite the storied man."

"That he was," came his simple and truthful reply. Whatever drawings or records of Winterfell's construction had indeed been lost to history, with only its continued habitation serving as testament to the one of the Builder's greatest works.

"That being said," the Lady of Dragonstone pursed her lips in thought. "The question still lingers on why the rest of Westeros has not followed his example in subsequent structures?" Ursa's mother questioned, the look of surprise had given way to one of curiosity, her boots padding softly in the long hall.

The second son of Dorne and his companion drew closer to the Lady Baratheon. Both Eddard Stark and Oberyn Martell noticed the slight downward motion of Azula's hand, a signal that held off her retinue and prevented them from stopping the approaching Dornish couple.

"Laziness? Cost? Lack of interest? Who knows, my Lady?" the Martell shot a questioning glance towards both Eddard and the Lady Azula, though Ned cared not. "Dorne has not adopted the practice because of the cost. My brother is not one to spend on such things, especially with only the limited knowledge provided by the Citadel."

"Other than Lord Stark's esteemed and very ancient forefather, from where did the concept originally hail? As high in regard as I hold the Builder and his accomplishments, your history seems to imply men went from living in huts to ruling from vast keeps overnight," Golden eyes narrowed, almost knowingly. "Though perhaps that's a question I should pose to the Citadel?" the woman chuckled.

"Yi-Ti, it's been said was great when these, aforementioned 'men' were still living in huts," the Red Viper replied, sharing the same surprise the woman had shown only moments ago.

"Well, perhaps the Builder was Yi-Tish in origin?" Azula Baratheon cupped her chin thoughtfully. "Heh, wouldn't that be an interesting twist in your history?" she looked to them and saw the Red Viper with a strange look in his eyes. "Yes?"

"I would have thought you to have known about Yi-Tish history…"

"Will all due respect, Prince Oberyn," she sighed, "my people and I are not of Yi-Ti. Nor are in any way related to it, despite our likeness of appearance," the foreign noblewoman informed them. Eddard heard a slight sharpness in her voice. "I very much loathe being called as such. It demeans the worth of my country of origin, in exchange for one entirely different. I am, and always will be, Fire Nation."

Eddard quirked his brow, making note of the request and recalling all the times he had referred to her and her people as such.

"My apologies, I meant no insult," a quick Dornish tongue replied.

Azula sighed, "It is a common thing, for you Westrosi, to confuse my people as Yi-Tish. Just as my people had trouble telling you lot apart when we first arrived. The only difference I saw between your peoples," her eyes drifted between Eddard and the Martell Prince, "was a slightly darker tone of skin. Your faces all looked the same to me, but even so, I took great pains to ask my advisors to confirm who I was going to be speaking with before I spoke to them. I'm sure you can understand how aggravating it would have been for you to have me continually mistake you for a Riverlander or Northman when you have nothing in common with either?"

A thoughtful expression grew on the Red Viper's face, "It would be most irritating."

"And there you have it," she waved her hand. "Sadly, it appears my diligence was not shared by others when addressing me and mine," her formerly confident stance slumped slightly, eyes glistening in the soft sunlight provided by the high windows. Azula shook her head, "It is quite alright, Prince Oberyn. Please do not take my words for insult. I just sorely miss my homeland, is all. I simply wish it to not be forgotten or lumped in with some other country that shares nothing with it. Spirits know I have tried to create some semblance of home here, for what remains of my people, but it is difficult."

"Such things are never easy, my Lady," the gentle hand of Ellaria Sand rested upon the woman's shoulder. Azula's guards tensed but remained still with a mere glance from their Lady. "While I am far removed from my ancient Rhoynish ancestors, I know the chronicles of the Princess Nymeria, by heart. I know that she too suffered as you do, and emerged stronger for it. You are one of the strongest women in this country, my Lady, and I know that you will also become greater because of the burden that you carry. Your people give you strength, and your people get their strength from you."

"Thank you for your kind words, Lady Ellaria," Azula's hand came to rest upon the other woman's hand and presented a thankful smile. "It's nice to have some womanly wisdom from time to time," Lady Baratheon and the Lady Sand smiled with each other before Azula gently removed the Dornishwoman's hand from her shoulder.

"I am curious, my Lady," Oberyn began with a thoughtful sort of countenance upon his sharp face. The light from the open windows repeatedly illuminated the group as they passed, before shrouding them in shadow for an instant, only to be exposed to sunlight once more. "When you first beheld your children, how did you view them?"

"You mean in regards to my early inability to tell the physical differences between Westrosi?" Azula tilted her head in thought and paused. "Funnily enough, I do not actually remember what had gone on in my mind. I remember the feeling, but not my exact thoughts. I only recall being confused."

"Perhaps due to the stress of childbirth?" Ellaria suggested.

"Possibly, it was almost as if a part of me was able to tell they were mine, but another was on the verge of accusing my husband that they were his bastards from another woman. Obviously, that was somewhat moronic, seeing as I had just given birth to them," the Lady Baratheon chuckled. "But they looked nothing like me," the woman continued laughing at her own words, stealing a glance at him mid-laugh. "The only thing they have of mine is my eyes. Unfortunately, even now, I still find myself looking at them with a minor bit of doubt. Not always, mind you, but sometimes," Azula uttered with a slight catch in her voice, before they continued on down the hall.

'She already knows…' Eddard now grew confident in his suspicion of how much the woman knew. The words he just heard and the look she gave him was all he needed. He remained silent, thoughts working furiously in discerning why she had not spoken out.

Whatever other purposeless exchanges occurred between the Lady of Dragonstone and the Dornish couple had been muffled by his own thoughts. "My Lady?" he finally asked, patience tested with this new revelation, and the seemingly elongated path Azula had chosen to lead their group down.

"Yes, Lord Stark?" the woman paused mid-step and regarded him with a certain inquisitiveness. The Prince of Dorne and his paramour did as well, while their respective guardians simply stood by watching their surroundings, and each other.

"This route? Why have we taken it? Why did we meet with your architects?"

"I was 'killing two birds with one stone,' as it were," Azula presented an innocent grin, the previous conversation seemingly forgotten. "I had been planning to address my master architect, and his entire team, before we set out for the Academy. However," the woman paused, lowering her gaze like a freshly scolded child.

"I delayed you," Eddard sighed, a pang of regret coming over him for snapping at the woman. 'She knew I was here for reasons of the crown. Reasons that I did not explain, but had assured her would be worth putting her family in danger, and still, she accepted my request all the same. But if she already suspected…' his mind lingered on the thought. 'Was that why she sent her daughter to Winterfell? To be safe? Was that why she pushed for Lyanna's Bay? A counter for the Lannister fleet? It couldn't be. Could it? She would have to have known since at least the end of the Greyjoy rebellion! If not sooner,' Ned furrowed his brow and looked to the smiling lady clad in her crimson uniform.

She gave a gentle nod, a soft twinkle in her golden-eyes. "Rest easy, Lord Stark, I will speak with them all another day." Their padded footfalls stopped at another set of double doors bearing the same features as the ones before.

"The clutch of Dragon eggs your architect spoke of?" Oberyn questioned over the sound of the groaning doors. The group shielded their eyes as the entire hall was flooded with bright light. When the rays of the sun hit the woman, she seemed to grow greater, in a way he could not describe. "How many?" The Prince of Dorne continued through squinted eyes.

Ned surveyed their surroundings as the Dornishman spoke, a stone path led up to a modestly-sized courtyard with a small pond at its center. A tree bearing white and red blossoms shaded the pond and a bench that rested underneath. The long shadow of the castle's towering northern walls nearly eclipsed the small enclosure. Despite the calm quietness of the area, there were no people present, save for a single servant watering a series of trees, similar to the one by the pond, at the far end of the square.

"They were 'stone' dragon eggs, Prince Oberyn," the Lady Baratheon cast a quick look back to the Prince of Dorne, raising a finger to clarify her point, as they walked. "And I would assume at most three or four. I doubt my architect would have said 'clutch' if it was only one or two, but I will find out an exact count and inform you if it puts you at ease," she suggested with a mischievous grin which the Dornishman mirrored.

In spite of himself, Ned found the strange trees oddly comforting, despite having never seen their like in the rest of Westeros. He turned away from the Red Viper and the Lady of Dragonstone, watching the Dragonstone servant as she watered the copse of trees, whose branches swayed quietly in the soft breeze.

"I would be most appreciative of the gesture," the Viper bowed. "Truth be told, even as stone, dragon's eggs are very valuable, my Lady. Both for study and in terms of coin," the Martell prince added, his interest apparently peaked at the mention of dragon eggs.

"Enough gold to procure the services of a small army of mercenaries. Or so they tell me," the lithe Yi-Tish woman shrugged.

"Cherry blossom trees," the Lady Azula specified, having caught him in his trance. She reached up and plucked a blossom from the bush, once they came upon to the tree shadowing the stone bench. "Do you recall the woman you met at the docks before we left the capital, Chi-Ha?"

"Yes," he answered, unable to forget the slight, but imposing woman who carried herself like a man twice her size and bearing a scar that merely added to her dangerous visage. He had held no doubts that the woman was a warrior and a seasoned one at that.

"The seeds of these trees were hers. She had carried them for good-luck, a gift from her little sister. I had her part with some so they could serve as a tribute for those we have lost," Lady Baratheon stared at the myriad red and white blossoms, a mixture of sadness and determination blazing within her golden eyes. The woman blinked in surprise, then tilted her head as if in the realization of something, before she turned her gaze to Oberyn yet again. "During your time in Essos, I am told you were in a sellsword company, is this true?"

"Founded one, to be precise, my Lady," he answered, grasping a falling blossom, before smelling it.

"Wonderful, so your words hold more weight than most in this regard. Would a dragon egg truly be enough to procure the services of a sellsword company?"

The Red Viper frowned in thought, then nodded his head. "Depends on the company, but I would say so. More oft than not."

"Interesting. I will, of course, confer with my advisors on their precise worth, but thank you," she smiled. "It should go without saying that I will first give it a go in trying to hatch them."

"People the world over have tried countless times and in countless different ways, my Lady. Forgive me, if I hold little faith in your endeavor," the Prince supplied.

"Oh, I'm sure the attempt will fail, but what kind of person would I be if I didn't at least try?"

Ned quietly agreed with the royal Dornishman. 'Even the Targaryens kept failing at hatching them, with often tragic results, after the Dance. And that's because they once rode the beasts!'

"Hmmm, well I wish you the best of luck your pursuits. Though sadly I possess no high hopes for the cause. Especially since, well, you are not of Targaryen blood. And if such blood was in fact required to hatch and tame one, then you would not gain much from the effort. Except for wasted time," Oberyn's eyes seemed to narrow, in anticipation of the Lady Azula's response.

"True enough," the woman agreed, humming as she did so, and placing a finger upon her lower lip. "However, my husband and children would be. As would King Robert and Lord Renly, given their Targaryen heritage."

Eddard almost stopped in his tracks, at the mention of Targaryen heritage. Jon's form flashed in his mind, as did the words of Ned's dearest sister. 'Promise me.' He shook the image off, though the words lingered on. Eddard's eyes darted left and right, wondering if he had given anything away, but the conversation between the Prince of Dorne and the Lady of Dragonstone had them preoccupied with each other and dismissive of those around them.

"And the Martells," the Dornish Prince hinted in a less than subtle tone.

"Well, if I manage to hatch them, I'll be sure to give one to your brother as a gift," a smile started playing at the woman's lips, a smile whose meaning was lost to him.

"A most gracious offering if ever there was one," the brother of Doran Martell smiled back, having grown closer to the Lady of Dragonstone during their discussion. "Certainly capable of matching any royal dowry that could be offered. Unless, of course, it was two dragons?"

"Don't push your luck, Prince of Dorne," the Lady Azula flashed a sharp toothy grin to the Red Viper.

"I wouldn't dream of it," the man laughed. "And what of these caverns?" Oberyn held a sly smile across his lips and embraced his paramour ever closer. "Will we perhaps pay them a visit, my Lady?"

"Oh my, I do not believe I've ever heard of someone being eager to visit them," the Fire Nation noblewoman tittered. "But yes, we will be visiting them," Azula looked to him, then continued with her words. "I think it would be a most informative experience. But first, the Academy."

As they drew closer to the outer walls of the courtyard, Ned heard a strange rumbling coming from the other side of the black stone barrier. When they came upon the towering iron gates leading out of the enclosure, the noise grew louder. He grew hesitant as the muffled din bore the sounds of some great beast, and to his side, he saw all the others, save the Dornish Prince himself, share in his unease.

"Did you perhaps already achieve success in hatching a dragon, my lady, and were simply being coy with your words earlier?" Oberyn grinned.

"Of course not, Prince Oberyn," she answered with a grin of her own. A wave of her hand saw one of her guards step forth and pull at an iron lever at the left side of the gate, which opened slowly to reveal a familiar metal monster. The mass of steel that had seen Mace's grand host laid low outside the walls of Storm's End, during the rebellion, had been waiting for them on the outer confines of the Targaryen fortress alongside six Dragonstone men each mounted atop their own black, armored, Coursers. The thing was composed of two parts and bore a slight resemblance to the small pinching caterpillars that the areas south of the Neck were infested with.

The largest, of the mounted men, was clad in full plate and skull mask, while the others wore black and dark gray segmented armor with simple golden latches trailing along the chest area. Each of them had dark gray conical helmets with crimson face plates bearing four V-shaped slits along the eyes, nose, and mouth. Only once had he seen armor of their like during the Greyjoy rebellion, but after that, he had not seen it since. 'Not even in King's Landing,' he recalled, only ever seeing the Dragonstone guard at the capital in full plate or Fire Nation garb. 'Levies?' he wondered as he kept a cautious eye on the tank. It had often been spoken of in hushed whispers and he had never seen it up close, yet now that he stood before it, it appeared all the more dangerous. Three of the Lady Azula's Flameguard bore skull masks and suits of plate and stood by the metal carriage. Ned noted, however, that unlike their current escort all three were unnervingly quiet.

"It would take more time than we have to spare to go on foot or mounted, so I thought to expedite our journey," the woman looked to him and smiled. "Yes, I wished to speak with my architects, but my decision meant much more than that. The northern entrance, while farther from the Academy, was the only area where the Tank Train could be properly parked and maneuvered out of."

"Marvelous!" Ellaria giggled excitedly and embraced the Red Viper's arm tightly, before they hurried to the side of the tank, alongside their retainers, and observed the metallic red and grey mass with looks of dumbfounded curiosity. The Prince of Dorne crouched down and touched the rumbling steel carriage with a predatory smile.

Eddard spied the woman as she raised a brow and muttered something under her breath before they, and remaining Northmen behind them, stalked forward to the side of the armored wheelhouse. As they approached, a large ribbed door lowered to the ground with a 'thunk' forming a ramp up into the metallic beast. He looked to his side and spotted Harwin with a speechless look splashed across his face. The frontal piece of the carriage, from whence the steady rumbling originated, kept its doors closed.

"Bloody hell," his fellow Northman sputtered.

As Ned peered inside he saw three of his men already present, grasping at a series of leather straps hanging from the ceiling, with looks of equal parts fear and excitement. All had been clad in silver mail and steel caps, like those at his side, but within the armored behemoth he felt it almost redundant.

"Lord Stark!" he heard one of his men shout from within the metal thing. The voice held a certain familiarity with him before he recalled the man's name, Cayn. At his side were the tall and squat forms of Desmond and Jacks. The smaller man, Jacks appeared pallid and sick and clung to the leather strap with shaky legs.

"Oh come now, little man, stop your whining. This is no worse than a simple carriage ride," the taller man mocked, his bearded smile missing a single tooth at the left edge of his mouth.

"What are you lot doing here?" He questioned, looking at the stocky, sickly-looking Northman, as he walked up to the metal ramp. Ned clasped their hands in greeting, though he had refrained from shaking Jack's hand, as the man appeared ready to empty his stomach of its contents. "I had thought we were to meet at the southern gates of the Academy?" Ned continued, though not in anger, but in mere surprise.

"We were on our way, my Lord," Cayn began, casting a glance at the nearing form of the Lady Baratheon. "But…"

"It's my fault, Lord Stark," the woman interjected and apologized in a respectful tone, a slight sweet smell drifted along with the soft wind as she spoke. "I spotted them along the path from the docks, where I had been conducting business of my own. I offered them transport aboard the tank-train on my way back to the castle."

"What ailment befalls Jacks?" he cupped his hand and muttered to the Lady Azula, all the while thinking back on the Narrow Sea fleet he had seen from the window of his quarters, wondering if the woman's 'business' had been in regards to them, and furthermore, to what end that they were being gathered in such numbers. He reminded himself to ask her behind closed doors once he confirmed the well-being of the King's bastards.

"Between the two of us," The Lady of Dragonstone leaned in and whispered back, the sounds of gulls carried through the air, "I do not think the short man has the stomach to ride within the tank."

"A sickness similar to one's first time at sea, I gather?" he replied, knowing the look after having seen it from a few of the Northman who had accompanied him to the Iron Islands during the Greyjoy rebellion.

"Exactly right, my lord," Azula muttered secretively, before she withdrew and cleared her throat to speak the rest of their original conversation in a normal tone. "I do hope that was not to your dislike?"

"None at all, my Lady," Ned shook his head.

"What a relief," the Lady smiled, sighed, and then placed a calming hand over her chest. "I didn't wish for you to think me overstepping, or anything of the sort."

"It is quite alright," Eddard assured her, seeing no harm in her having given his men a ride within the armored carriage before he lowered his voice. "I would ask if you would perhaps be amenable to proving a horse for the man?" Eddard replied looking towards the nauseated northerner.

"Of course! I would be happy to oblige," she nodded. "Sergeant!" the woman commanded, her formerly silken voice turning to steel in an instant. A quick look from the Lady of Dragonstone to her mounted men caused the smallest one from the group of six to come forth nearer to them. The woman motioned to the thin man, and he dismounted, removing his helm to reveal a soft face with russet-colored, almond-shaped eyes, dark brown hair, and thin lips. The man, or the woman, as Ned had come to realize, hung the strange helmet on a small notch situated near the base of the courser's neck, before stepping forward with leather reins in hand.

'How many women have taken up arms for Dragonstone?' he wondered.

"Your command, Fire Lord?" the 'Sergeant' lowered her head stiffly, yet with the utmost respect.

The Lady of Dragonstone motioned for the female to come closer and she obliged, leading her steed towards them with a polite sense of urgency. As the woman came to stand near Ursa's mother, Azula lowered her head and whispered something into the woman's ear. When Stannis' lady wife withdrew, the soldier bowed and presented palm over fist to her superior, before leading her mount towards the tank train.

The woman looked to him and nodded, motioning him to speak. "Jacks? Perhaps it best if you travel to the Academy on horse?" Ned suggested, watching as the crimson-clad woman held up the reins to the sickly Northman in the metallic carriage.

"As you wish, my lord," Jacks replied far too quickly and ran out of the armored thing to some nearby bushes, releasing whatever he had eaten earlier in the day behind its green leaves. The soldier who had given up her steed calmly led her mount to the bushes and waited. Quietly, she took only the briefest of time to place her helm back upon her head, before twisting it into place.

Just then, the Prince of Dorne strolled up the ramp, shooting a quick glance at the armored woman and the bushes where Jacks could still be heard heaving. "Hmmm," Oberyn pouted, then smiled, looking back to them. "I can only hope that we do not react as badly riding aboard this thing, as he did, Lord Stark. It would be most undignified for men of our position." The Dornish guard formed behind the Prince, following him into the rather large confines of the steel wagon.

"Aye," he nodded in agreement, sparing one last look at Jacks, before turning to the lady wife of Lord Stannis. Azula remained silent, a quaint expression splashed across her smooth face, and a rosy-sweet scent still faintly clinging to the air.

"If you wish, I could have her accompany him to the Academy grounds?"

Ned watched as Jacks stumbled forward from the bushes like a drunken man, though with a slightly less ashen appearance than before. Then, just as he appeared ready to come with them to the academy, his eyes turned cross and he returned to the bushes once more. "Perhaps that would be for the best," he replied, shifting his gaze from Jacks to the Lady of Dragonstone.

Lady Baratheon's silence lingered for a moment with only the subtlest of nods towards the woman standing near Jacks. The Dragonstone warrior nodded in turn, then stood steadfastly by the sick Northman.

The largest of the mounted men grunted but said nothing.

"Well, my lord? Shall we?" the golden-eyed woman from the Fire Nation smiled to him, then marched into the metallic beast, where Ned followed shortly thereafter.

"As you can see," the woman spoke just above the din of their clanging confines, continuing on from telling them of her and Lord Stannis' domain. "We do not have very many horses. The majority of our lands have been developed specifically for farming, in order to sustain our populace should the need arise."

"And what type of need would that be?" the Viper questioned with a smirk, likely knowing full well what the Lady Baratheon meant but simply asking the question for the reply. Their steel box shuddered a bit then continued on without pause.

"Why, a siege, of course, Prince Oberyn," the woman looked at the Dornishman with a neutral expression before turning out to stare from the windows with a melancholic gaze. The windows, as they were, comprised of three horizontal slits just above his neck, which Ned estimated would scarcely allow his hand through.

"Which would only transpire if an enemy manages to get past the fleet," Ned added, staring out through the downsloping windows of the metal carriage. He watched with the others, as small fields of various fruits and vegetables he could not identify, passed them by in a near blur. 'Faster than on horse,' he idled, very quickly realizing why this beast had routed the Tyrell host back in the rebellion. Metal steps led up to the windows and would allow archers to fire unimpeded at surrounding forces from the safety within their armored, highly mobile, platform. The steel skin of the machine would be virtually impervious to enemy counterattack, while it could harass and smash fleeing or entrenched foes at its leisure. He shuddered at the thought of having to face the thing in battle, while at the back of his mind he contemplated ideas for possible responses, but found himself coming up short. 'If Dragonstone could field only ten more of these things, no army in Westeros would be capable of challenging them. They could cleave any cavalry charge in two, and continue on right to the rear of the enemy line to crush any rival commanders. It would be a slaughter.' Looking to his side he caught sight of Prince Oberyn, seemingly thinking along the same lines as he, though bearing a queer smile. 'Was this what happened to you, Tyrell?'

"Of course," Azula smiled. "However, not all of the King's ships are docked on Dragonstone at any one time, Lord Stark. We utilize them accordingly, the Cassana, Storm's Fury, the Firestorm, Steelstag, and the Iron Kraken, are the only iron ships present. As it is, the Firestorm is only recently returned from its deployment to the Stannis Fort, replaced by the Inferno, and the Cassana is awaiting a return voyage to the Iron Islands. The Argella, Rina, and the Iron Bear reside at Sea Dragon Point. I assure you, I have made certain that the fleet never stays idle long."

He shuddered at her words before grasping tightly at leather strap dangling from the roof of the metal wheelhouse when the thing gave another shake. The jaws of the North and Dornishmen were slack from both wonder and fear, not of her words, but of the steel carriage in which they rode, save his and those of the Red Viper's own. The Prince of Dorne maintained a sharp smirk across his face during their trek, all the while stealing many glances at the Lady of Dragonstone. Ned felt his face contorted in a deep frown of contemplation, wondering what the Martell Prince found amusing. The Lady Azula stood near him with a wistful grin, one arm was at her back while the other wrapped around one of the many overhanging rawhide bands, her eyes staring out like the rest. The smell of oil lingered in the air as their metallic mount rumbled and shifted beneath them in its race across the lands of the Island.

"Hmmm, interesting," the Viper resumed. "I have also had the privilege to read much of your people's history, from the book you sent to Dorne several months ago, and during my time in the capital. Stimulating though the information was, I found your beliefs of the afterlife to be most fascinating, and somewhat perplexing with regards to yourself and the line from which you hail."

"Oh? How so?" the woman turned to face the Prince of Dorne with a guarded expression.

"In your books, your people once held the idea of 'reincarnation,' as sacred and immutable. As sure and true as the seasons or the waves of the sea. That was until," Oberyn continued with a sharp eye.

"My great grandfather, Fire Lord Sozin," the Lady Baratheon finished the Viper's words, straightening her stance as she did so.

"Yes," the Martell answered. "Was it because of the charlatan, Roku?"

"In part," she replied with a heavy sigh. "Roku was a known swindler, and had somehow managed to make his way into my great grandfather's court. Despite all advice to turn him away, Fire Lord Sozin chose to ignore his advisors and trust him." The tracked wheels beneath churned away, adding an ominous air to her words. "The traitor ultimately managed to become his friend. Though when Sozin decided it time to break the barbarian hordes, Roku reneged and betrayed him, claiming some higher calling from the spirits. He even had the audacity to claim to be the reincarnation of hundreds of others, in one body, as if such a thing could be believable. Roku defended what amounted to Wildlings and Dothraki, who had been pillaging and raping the countryside for centuries. Bah," the woman spat, diverting her gaze for a moment, before returning to face Oberyn.

An odd look crossed the Dornishman's eyes before the Lady Azula continued.

"Contrary to what is described, the idea of 'reincarnation,' by the time of Sozin, had been a relatively archaic belief, held by few within the capital. Being reborn into another life after your old one dies, with no memory of your struggles or hardships. The things that made you, you. It was meant as a way to better understand the nature of the world and yourself, through however many lifetimes it required, until you achieved enlightenment. The majority of its adherents remained steadfast in the countryside. However, after Roku, many lost faith in it and it never fully recovered. Coupled with my ancestor's reluctance in preserving it, it eventually faded away and was replaced by the very real manifestations of industry, science, progress, and the hard work done by one's own two hands. The betrayal did more to unify my country than it did to divide it. It gave us a cohesive desire and will, and granted us the energy and drive to achieve what we wanted. The world shuddered when my country rose," the woman's eyes turned sharp, a dangerous glint shining through. "The slavers to the east rallied their armies, the sorcerers to the north and south summoned their demons, and we readied ourselves for the great emancipation. Freedom from the ignorance, greed, and dark magic that had so harrowed my world since my nation's birth. No more."

"A noble goal," he couldn't help by state. 'If it were accurate,' a voice whispered in the back of his mind, the story sounding almost too good to be true. He had no reason to mistrust the woman from Dragonstone, quite the opposite in fact, yet he had gradually come to realize that she was far more subtle than she seemed. As he stared out in contemplation, he saw twin shadows pass somewhere from above and out of sight, given his limited field of vision from behind the window slits.

"That it is, or was since I am no longer present to watch it unfold in its totality," Azula scowled, her brow pinched in consternation.

"So I gather you had no personal belief in the concept?" the Prince of Dorne surmised, stroking his chin thoughtfully as he spoke.

"No. It was an archaic belief that I personally put no stock in. Though," the golden-eyed woman hesitated and pursed her lips, "my uncle did." Lady Baratheon gave a quaint smile. "The Dragon of the West, they called him," she stated in an almost sardonic manner. "He loved tea, as he did war, and he was as spiritual as they come. Strange, within my family, I'll admit."

"The Dragon of the West?" the Viper asked.

"Yes. There was a certain…" Azula lingered a moment, "tradition amongst my people. Mostly those of the royal line, though others were capable of doing it as well," the woman eyed them, seemingly weighing her next words before she spoke them.

"Which was?" the Dornish Prince raised an inquisitive brow.

"Dragon slaying," Azula stated, straight-faced and with more than an ample amount of pride in her words.

The Dornish and Northmen present, within the armored wagon, released equal sounds of awe and confusion of which he and Oberyn were included.

"What?" Ellaria caught herself, her surprise having nearly fully taken root. She embraced the Martell's arm tightly, before regaining her composure, her black hair bobbing along with their moving carriage. "Apologies for my outburst, my lady," the Dornishwoman nodded her head, "but how?"

"Indeed," the Viper added with a sly grin, placing a comforting hand upon his paramour's entwined arms. "What manner of weapons did you use and how many men did it take?"

Eddard saw as those within the carriage leaned into the conversation, all taken in by the woman's words. All eager to learn in what manner the Lady Azula's people would slay dragons, much less, without dragon mounts of their own. 'Yet what did they know of her people's dragons? Were they equal to our own, or were they as similar as a direwolf and a hound?'

"No weapons, and one man. My uncle himself," the Lady of Dragonstone turned her gaze upon them, a faint smile playing at her lips. "He fought two, I should add."

"Wh…"Oberyn began before a look came over his eyes, one of confusion, then humor. "Oh! You jest!" the Viper laughed, while several others began halfhearted chuckles of their own. "You almost had me fooled," the second son of Dorne said, shaking his head in good humor.

Eddard, however, found no hilarity in her words. He had observed a slight twitch on her lips and a minor raise of the brow, which had told him what he needed to know. For once, he admitted to himself, he had to thank having to deal with Lord Bolton's icy stoicism. "She does not speak false," he stated coolly, hearing as the sounds of his chuckling Northmen died instantly. The smile upon the Red Viper's face, he noted, had also dropped. Ned eyed the woman, watching as her golden irises fell upon him.

"Thank you, Lord Stark," Azula dipped her head in gratitude, then regarded the rest with a strange expression. "I know the idea sounds fanciful," she chuckled. "For the longest time, I did not believe that my uncle could accomplish such a feat. I'll concede that it was a bit of childhood jealousy on my part. It's difficult accepting someone as having accomplished more than your own father. Of being stronger than your own father," the Lady Baratheon gave a soft, thoughtful, smile. "But that was a child's mind, full of childish thoughts," she waved it away. "I have read the history of your world's winged beasts and their deadly uses in war. But I assure you, I did not speak in jest, Prince Oberyn. While our dragons differed from your own, they were just as dangerous. Hunting one, let alone two, was not done on a whim. It required much patience, training, and will to not only find them but end them. I still remember the stories my mother would tell of my uncle spending three whole months tracking them down, and of nearly starving and freezing to death in the wilderness."

"But how, how did he end them? Surely he must have had guards, or retainers to assist him in his hunt, my lady?" Ellaria questioned, her dark eyes wide in wonder.

The woman sighed, "What you must understand of the royal family of my world. My family," she corrected, "was that it was not known for its decadence. The line of Fire Lords who came before me each earned their positions. Whether through dragon-slaying, war, or efficient administration. Sometimes all three, like my ancestor Caozun. They needed to prove they were leaders of men. That they were survivors of hardship and knew the meaning of sacrifice, and above all, that they displayed no fear. They needed to understand the weight their words as Fire Lord held, and only then would they finally be ready of assuming the throne and the title of Fire Lord with it."

"Is that why you have accomplished all the things you have? Because you needed to prove yourself to your people? To prove that you were worthy of the title?" Ned asked, a mixture of emotions swirling within. He understood the pressures of such a legacy, after having faced it himself. 'When Brandon and father had been slain by Aerys,' the painful memory had been evoked with the woman's words. It had left him Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, a position he knew he had been wholly unprepared for. 'Thank the gods for Cat,' Eddard thought of his wife and the reassurance she had provided him in his uncertainty at his newfound station.

"Loyalty is not given, Lord Stark. It is earned," she answered.

"Truer words have never been spoken," the Viper chimed in, nodding towards the Lady of Dragonstone as he did so.

"And it is far more than a title," Azula continued, after acknowledging Oberyn's comment with a nod of her own. "Far more than a simple set of words."

"How so?" he asked.

The woman lowered her head, then spoke, "It is a secret that I have not yet chosen to reveal to the world, but certain revelations have forced me to divulge the truth, despite the danger that it would place my people in." A pleading look formed in her normally confident gaze, and suddenly Eddard found himself worried that she would reveal the nature of his investigations before he had a chance to gather adequate proof.

"My lady," he started, edging closer to her to whisper in her ear should the need arise.

"Lord Stark," she placed her free hand on his shoulder, a grim countenance overtaking her formerly suppliant expression. "Please, let me finish."

He nodded, knowing he had no choice but to let her continue. 'An argument now would have been pointless if she already knew,' he thought, deep down wondering how he would address the issue once Azula gave voice to her suspicions.

The Lady Baratheon shifted her focused gaze to Oberyn's paramour, after accepting Eddard's silent consent. "You asked how my uncle slew the two dragons, Lady Ellaria?" The rumbling heart of the steel carriage droned on, giving the illusion that Azula's question had hung in the air longer than it actually had.

He blinked, surprised at the sudden shift in topic, not at all expecting the 'secret' to have anything to do with the woman's uncle and his dragon slaying. 'What is she getting at?' Ned asked himself.

"I have carried this secret ever since my people and I arrived on the shores of Westeros, for their sake as well as my own. After learning the history of this country, I felt prudence to be the best course of action, especially given my people's vastly reduced numbers. Westerosi history does not look too kindly to people who are different," she continued with a look of determination. "The First Men, the Children of the Forest, the Others," Oberyn sniffed at those words.

"The Others are just a legend, my lady," the Viper stated, caressing his lover's arm.

"Believe what you wish, Prince of Dorne, but the Wall was not built to such a size for merely holding back barbarians with makeshift axes and fur clothing," the woman countered in a somewhat agreeable tone.

A shadowy twinkle rippled within Oberyn's black eyes, and he gave an abashed smile. "My apologies then, for interrupting."

Azula accepted, then continued. "As I was saying, the Roynar, the Andals, the Valyrians. All these different peoples, all working together in peace and harmony since they first encountered one another?" the woman looked around the confines of the carriage, hearing naught but a throaty cough, before continuing. "No, there was war. There were attempts at extermination. We numbered only three-hundred when we arrived."

'And yet you managed to smash an army two-hundred times your size, and a fleet doubly so,' Ned idled.

"What chance would we have had against your entire country if you had turned against us because of our foreign nature?" Her words had silenced the confines of the carriage, causing even the Red Viper to grow quiet, contemplative. Only the grating sounds of continuously crushed dirt resonated beneath their feet.

"And precisely what type of 'foreign nature' do your people possess that you would worry so?" Oberyn questioned. "You lot do not seem too terribly strange."

The woman slowly lifted her free hand to chest height and left her palm flat, as if she was offering some trinket. "I reveal this to you now, because I feel it is time, and I do not want you to be surprised by what you will see at the Academy." Azula scanned the confines of the tank with narrowed eyes, then looked down to her palm. A sudden spark ignited within her hand which blossomed into a small blue flame, scarcely larger than that of a burning torch.

He found himself staring at the flickering blue fire, wondering what form of trickery she had used to conjure the flare. The others within the wagon began whispering amongst themselves, though the Prince of Dorne seemed intrigued. He heard several of his men move amongst themselves near the rear, the rustling of hands and scabbards plainly heard. Ned shifted his eyes to them and lowered a placating hand, signaling them to refrain from doing anything rash, though Harwin's bulk continued moving through the steel transport, shoving through a duo of Dornishmen and Cayn, until he came to stand at his side.

"What sorcery is this?" Harwin's rumbling voice demanded, the jangling of his armor echoing in their somewhat crowded confines. "What would you have me do, Lord Stark" the man whispered in his ear.

"It's alright, Harwin," Ned answered before looking out to the rest of his men. "All of you remain still," he ordered, his grey eyes panning the boundaries of the metal wheelhouse, taking in the reactions of all those on board. The Northmen relaxed their grips, but stood stiffly, a keen alertness in their eyes. 'The Dornishmen seem strangely calm with this revelation,' he thought, noticing the Viper's thin smile. His black eyes held a peculiar gaze towards the woman, and she responded with one of her own. 'If she had wanted us dead, she could have done so. Some time ago.'

"It's not sorcery. It's a form of mummery. During my times in the Free Cities, I had seen many a fire priest rub spark powder within their palms to produce such an effect," Oberyn assured them with a confident smile.

Eddard felt himself relax somewhat with Oberyn's words, though not by much.

"Is that what your daughter told you was here?" the woman raised a brow.

The Viper's smile slowly grew, though at the still-burning flame or the woman's words he knew not. Ned felt the fire's heat in the distance between them, his forehead threatening to release beads of sweat. "From what she could gather," the Prince of Dorne grinned, a knowing look twinkled in his eyes. "She never did manage to enter the Academy proper, my lady."

"No, she didn't. Nevertheless, I must acknowledge that I was a bit curious to see how far she could get. So," her voice lingered, "I refrained from simply turning her away at the docks. Her efforts were commendable if it serves as any consolation," the woman smiled as the Prince of Dorne inched closer.

"She was always eager to learn," the Dornishman countered.

"I'll take your word for it, Prince Oberyn. So how's the Citadel this time of year?" Lady Baratheon asked, her eyes watching as the Viper paused in his movements towards the flame.

"Perhaps I should ask you the same," he replied and both laughed at some unknown jest.

The Dornish Prince continued raising his hand to the flame. "Careful, Prince Oberyn, it is quite hot," Azula warned.

"If it so, then how are you not burned with it being so close to your flesh?" the Dornishman questioned, before passing his hand over the flame. The man hissed and immediately withdrew his errant extremity, its temperature having been made abundantly clear. "Hmm. So it is," the Viper smiled his sharp smile, and rubbed his hand. "As intriguing as this is, my lady, I fail to see how such a small flame can slay a dragon. Unless your dragons were far smaller than you made them seem?"

"Oh no," Azula assured them, clenching her hand and snuffing out the flame as she spoke. "I am quite capable of producing more than such a meager little flame. As are the rest of my people. Or the majority of them at any rate. Our current location would not lend itself well to a full demonstration, but once we reach the Academy I will be more than willing to give you a proper showing. Many of the senior students will be sparring in the training yard, some with flames of their own."

Ned's mind worked furiously, analyzing all the previous encounters the woman and her people had with Westeros, and suddenly all her swift victories had made a terrifying amount of sense. He recalled what scant reports existed of the battles as having involved large amounts of fire, which he had assumed was a catapult or one of the strange 'cannons' he had seen in use during the Greyjoy rebellion, but now he knew. "This was how you defeated the Reach host and fleet, was is not?"

"It was," the woman nodded with a guarded expression.

"Hahaha, brilliant! So the fat flower spoke true!" the Viper chuckled, earning him a surprised look from the majority within the carriage.

Eddard remained silent a moment, gathering his thoughts before he sighed. "Lyanna's Bay. You did not inform me of this before you petitioned for the land. Why?"

"Would you have let my people settle there if you knew?" she countered.

The question had annoyed him, for he did not take kindly to lies, even ones by omission. "We will never know, now will we, my lady?" his voice had grown low. Deep down he knew he had no right to judge her for this, not when he himself had secrets of his own, but for some reason, her distrust of him had stung. Ned eyed the woman, stark grey and molten gold clashed, when he asked his next question. "The King, does he know?"

The steel wagon grew quiet, as all eyes came to rest upon the Lord of Winterfell and the Lady of Dragonstone. The woman studied him, he knew, her golden eyes searching for something within his own before she let out a breath that she seemed surprised to have been holding. "My husband and I told him, after Lord Arryn's death, but…" she pursed her lips and looked down at her feet, before raising her gaze once more. "But I believe he was too drunk to remember, for he never mentioned it afterward. Not once."

"And you chose not to press him on it?" Oberyn inquired, his brow raised in obvious interest.

"No," a look of shame overtook her fair face, "I was afraid."

"Afraid of what?" Ned softened his stance. 'She only meant to protect hers, just as I did mine. Not once has she shown disloyalty,' Ned thought to himself. The Lady Azula and her people had more than proved to him to be amongst the most loyal supporters of the King, and he could not help but be grateful at that.

"Of the Lannisters, and what they would do had they learned of this secret," she looked to him, a slight shudder was in her voice, and a very real fear clouded her normally focused eyes.

'She wasn't afraid of the Lannisters,' the thought seemed so quaint now that he had heard it spoken aloud by the woman herself, the supposed dread within her eyes notwithstanding. 'She broke Lord's Tyrell and Tarly, she smashed the Redwynes, she scoured the Iron Islands and the Stepstones. And now it seems she and her people are fire sorcerers. She had nothing to fear from them, and they had everything to fear from her. She's waiting,' the Lord of Winterfell convinced himself. 'She's waiting for me to discover the truth for myself. But why? Had she done the same with Jon Arryn?'

"Your foster father's death had shaken the king. He had grown despondent and reclusive. My husband and I had feared for him, for his life. He had taken to far more drink that he had previously done, so we suggested a new hand…"

"You suggested I be made hand?" he asked out of surprise, though his tone had hidden it quite well. "I would have thought your husband to be the next best choice. Why me?"

"King Robert needed someone to breathe new life into him. Someone noble, honorable, and above all loyal. Not that my husband is bereft of those qualities, mind you. However, he and the King do not see eye to eye, to put it mildly, and we had no wish to see Robert perish or wallow in despair. I will readily admit that the larger part of suggesting you was borne out of the self-serving desire to not be alone within the capital. Should the King have passed in a fashion not entirely natural…"

"You may have been seen as a usurper," Oberyn finished her words with the raise of his brow, a soft gasp escaped the lips of the Viper's paramour.

"Yes," she said simply, her eyes hiding an inferno behind them.

'It's almost as if the word 'usurper' disgusts her,' Ned noted as being hidden within those burning golden orbs.

"We would've been surrounded by lions, and it is no secret that certain golden-haired individuals have a distaste for me and mine," Azula glared off to the side, briefly focusing on a steel plate lining the floor of the metal carriage, before returning her gaze to him. "It would have been simple enough for our enemies in court to send messages out detailing the supposed attempt of the foreign witch and her dour husband to claim Robert's throne. Especially had Stannis, or as the King had drunkenly suggested almost immediately after Lord Arryn's death, my son, been chosen as hand. I am quite certain that the last suggestion would not have gone over well with the Queen, and it would have no doubt fanned her own suspicions. No matter how deprived of fact they were."

"I'm sure it would have," Oberyn sniffed, then neared the woman, before loudly whispering, "but at the risk of sounding treasonous, you would've been welcomed in Dorne, nonetheless. Should that have transpired, of course. I can guarantee you that, on behalf of my brother and I," the Viper assured her with a smile. Several of the Dornishmen within the carriage murmured approvals of their own.

"I thank you for that, Prince Oberyn," the woman nodded, a half-smile lined her still somewhat sullen face. "What of you Lord Stark? Would you have believed the words sent to you?"

He paused and looked at her.

'Screech! Hiss!'

The carriage came to a halt, and he felt himself lurch forward, his hand gripping tightly to the leather strap over his head. Several of the others, mostly his northerners, had grown startled at the unexpected stop and bumped into each other, though none had fallen.

"Apologies, Lord Stark, but we have arrived," Azula stated suddenly, cutting off his reply. She looked up towards the metal ceiling and squinted, straining to hear the noises outside.

'Clank!' The sudden clamor surprised him and the rest of the riders save the woman and her guards. Behind them, light flooded the hold and he heard a dull 'thump.'

At the sound, Eddard turned and quickly shielded his eyes from the brightness of the outside. His eyes began adjusting as his bleary sight came to rest upon one of the woman's guards, who stood near a lever that had lowered the metal walkway and opened the door to the carriage. The flowery-sweet, smell that always accompanied the woman wafted beneath his nose as the Lady of Dragonstone passed him by. He glanced at her through partially corrected vision and caught sight of her uniform. The last question still rung in his ears, as he considered the woman's daughter, Sea Dragon Point, and Robert. 'Had I not the suspicions I do now….' his thoughts hesitated a moment before they became as clear as Dragonstone glass. 'Yes.' For a brief instant, he had believed that the words had been spoken aloud, for the woman had given the slightest of pauses before resuming her poised march.

Azula Baratheon stepped down, traversing the ramp, hands at her back as they were prone to do. The people within exited the wheelhouse in short order, starting with the Dragonstone guard, then the Dornish Prince, his paramour, and their guards. As Oberyn passed, the man whispered into his ear, "Your silence spoke volumes, Lord Stark."

Eddard stood quietly, watching as the Dornishman cleared the ramp, before he and his retinue trailed behind, the unspoken insult towards his host rolling in his mind. Upon his exit, Ned found a rather modestly constructed wall of brick and light brown plaster etched with fiery designs all along its length. The wall stood at least four men tall, by his estimate, and its gate was of red-colored wood. At the peak of the gateway stood a single curved roof with dark brown shingles where a banner bearing the burning stag flapped in the breeze. He spotted two eerily silent crows perched at the shingled peak, seemingly watching their small assembly as they gathered at the gates.

Eddard somehow found himself beside the woman once more and heard her mutter something under her breath, catching his attention. He watched as Azula lowered her eyes from the clay roof, shutting them tightly before pressing two fingers to the bridge of her nose. After a moment, she shook her head, then looked to him with a strange smile at her lips. "I felt a bit faint for a moment there," she stated, then straightened her back.

"Mmm," he grumbled awkwardly, unsure of how to respond, especially after having walked away from their previous conversation without answering her question. Two crimson banners, each with a single black three-pronged flame situated at their centers and smaller by half, hung at either side of the burning stag. He overheard a trio of voices and turned his gaze upwards, beneath the earthen rooftop. Peering over the edge of the wall he spotted the shadow of a man clad in what he judged was a Fire Nation uniform, the tapered shoulder pads being a dead giveaway.

"Welcome back to the Academy, Fire Lord," Eddard's vision adjusted to the shade beneath the shingled crown, and he saw the man turn his head, shouting to someone on the opposite side of the doorway. "Open the gate!"

The wooden gate groaned, then creaked open, revealing grassy knolls with outcroppings of black rock interspersed between, and a stone path which forked up ahead with one leading just over the crest of a hill, while the other led to a collection of metallic structures, far in the distance, which glistened in the sun and spouted thin black tendrils. A small detachment of Dragonstone men armored in Flameguard attire, along with Sers Steffon and Theon, the woman that had welcomed them at the docks, his own son, Brandon, and three girls bearing northern features awaited them just a bit away from the gate. In the back of his mind, a small spark ignited and he recalled there being mention of several northerners being sent to Dragonstone from Bear Island and the area around Sea Dragon Point. Though he had forgotten who had first given him word, he still ran through the list of possible names, 'Xie? Dacey? Maege,' but came up short on who precisely had informed him. 'Cat?'

"Father!" Bran exclaimed, his eyes shining with youthful enthusiasm, as he ran up to him and launched his small body into his arms, the jubilation readily visible on his young face. "They have fire magic and it's wondrous! And look!" he tugged at Ned's hand. "Lady Mormont's daughter and granddaughters are here as well!" Bran turned to face the trio of young girls partially standing beneath the shadow of archway, then led him to them.

Ned cast a quick glance towards the Lady Azula, who smiled, "I thought you could stand to see a friendly face," she whispered before Eddard's guards proceeded forward. He heard multiple footsteps at his back, signaling that the others had begun passing through the gate as well. The sounds of the metal carriage sputtered into silence behind them. As he grew closer to the company gathered before them, the two young knights bowed their heads.

"Greetings again, Lord Stark," Azula's son beamed, clad in his black tunic with golden stag stitching. The clothing made him look even more like the Robert Ned had known in the Vale.

"Indeed," he replied and tilted his head in acknowledgment of the young knights and the Lady Mai, who seemed disinterested in the whole affair, just as she had on the docks upon their arrival days past. Ned looked to the three girls, all of whom wore black long-sleeved gloves, loose dark grey leggings, and shirt beneath long black tunics with golden trim. A dark brown belt with a bear stitched at its center fastened the tunic at the waist. One of the girls stood unremarkable and somewhat small while the middle child stood a bit taller with a large vertical eye tattooed upon her forehead. The last and tallest of the three stood like a statue and held a stern look with a small pouted scowl, "Lyanna Mormont, I presume?" he called out, remembering Maege's own firm glare as he did so, all the while trying to sound as pleasant as possible despite the revelations he had recently been made aware of aboard the tank-train.

"You would presume, correct, my Lord," she answered, dipping her head, all the while retaining her stony guise. "And these are my nieces; Azula," she gestured to the smallest cub, before moving on to the middle one with the tattoo, "and Maege Mormont." Both girls had tilted their heads, upon their introductions, and for the most part, Ned felt a genuine and courteous nature about them.

A myriad of questions sprang into his mind, about how long the Mormont's had known of the woman's fire magic, but he deigned to remain silent. 'Now is neither the time nor the place to discuss such matters. Especially with such young company,' he told himself, looking towards the little ones who were scarcely older than his own willful young daughter. 'Though, I will have words with the Maege and Azula when time permits.' Eddard stood steadfast in his belief of the importance of the investigation, despite his own misgivings.

"Fancy a short walk?" the Lady Azula asked them all with a broad smile.

"I most certainly would, my lady," the Viper grinned. A brief gust of cool sea air wafted around them, whipping about the loose hair of Prince Oberyn's paramour. From the sounds of those present, especially the young Greyjoy boy, it had apparently accentuated her beauty and had caused the Dornishwoman to gain a slight blush to her cheeks.

He ignored the Dornish distraction and decided a walk was best. 'I need a moment to think,' he told himself. Harwin and the rest of his Northmen, the Mormont girls included, entered a closed formation around him, and they marched forward, following the lead of the Lady Baratheon.

Harwin mumbled into his ear with an uneasy tone. "Are we to willingly enter the woman's den of sorcerers, my lord?"

"There is no danger at present, Harwin, and I yet have business to attend to here," Eddard assured the large Northman. Ned's instincts had quieted somewhat since the woman had spoken of her and her people's abilities, and while he still felt she posed no threat to them at present, a small voice bearing his wife's voice cautioned him. 'Be careful.' He shook his head, trying to dispel the ill thoughts, and continued on.

After traversing the small stone path for less than half an hour, they came to the crest of the hill and peered over it, revealing a small collection of stone buildings surrounded by a shorter version of the wall he had seen at the entrance. A courtyard of concrete lay at the front of the buildings within the wall, while two bronze statues of the Lord and Lady of Dragonstone stood atop a dark stone platform in quiet observation of the square. Numerous children of various ages sparred within the enclosure, laughing and playing, as children should.

"Goodness, I was not intending to have such a large crowd. Oh well, I suppose we should greet the children." the Lady Azula smiled and shrugged. The woman started forward at a brisk pace, her silent guards following closely behind along with the rest of them.

'This woman's temperament is baffling,' Ned frowned, watching as the woman neared the gate to the courtyard. He turned to find the Prince of Dorne looking to him with a wry grin before pressing on with the rest of the group.

At the gate stood a short, wide-eyed guard in Fire Nation garb, the surprise at their approach seemingly stunning him into inaction before the woman planted herself in front of the man, at arm's length.

"Ahem," she cleared her throat. The man blinked and turned, nearly tripping over himself as he did so. Beads of sweat began glistening on the man's forehead when he shouted to the children in the yard.

"Inspection!" he barked in a booming voice that belied his outward appearance. For a moment the man entered into the yard and shouted, "Move! Move, cadets! Double time! The Fire Lord expects perfection and that is what we will give her!"

The sounds of many shuffling feet sounded just on the other side of the wall. He peered over the woman's shoulder and saw the children, all sharing the guard's previous wide-eyed stare, who he spotted marching through the quickly forming blocks of children, pointing this way and that. Despite the sudden command, the children reacted with haste and purpose. The guard returned to the doorway and lingered a moment before turning to face them, and presenting a stiff nod to the Lady of Dragonstone. He stood aside and allowed them passage through the entryway. Eddard heard the woman take in a deep breath and straighten herself out before clasping her hands at her back and marching into the square.

When they entered the yard, he observed the children standing straight and firm, even spread into blocks of twenty, and according to height, leaving just enough space for their group to pass through. As they walked the perimeter of the gathered body of students, he counted eight blocks of children, six were those nearer in years to his youngest: Arya and Bran, while the remaining two were those of comparable age to his eldest: Sansa and Robb. At the opposite entrance of the square, Eddard spotted a duo of Flameguard standing at attention, in their resplendent gold and black armor, while a lone Fire Nation soldier stood stiffly at the entrance of the Academy. The younger students all bore the same uniform as the Mormont girls, while the older ones at the back of the block formations displayed the familiar crimson, black, and gold-trimmed uniforms of the Lady of Dragonstone and her daughter. While the majority of the children all held Fire Nation features and displayed top-knots, Ned noted that there were several with silver-hair scattered about and a handful of Westerosi faces amongst the sea of foreigners. A young boy with silver hair and prominent Valyrian features stood out amidst the block youngest children near the entrance to the Academy.

"Monterys Velaryon," the hushed voice of Steffon Baratheon sounded out at his side.

"Does Monford know?" he questioned, glancing sideways to the young knight, who he spotted giving a quick wave to the young Ty Lee with her short black tresses, soft golden eyes, and bubbly features, the youngest Baratheon girl appeared as the exact opposite of her eldest sister, Ursa. Ned had missed her in his initial observation, even though she stood a scant three rows behind the Velaryon boy. To her credit, Ty Lee did not break stance but instead beamed a quick smile in their direction.

"He knows enough to not be surprised. The rest are dragonseeds, in case it was not obvious," Azula's eldest replied, before pointing out another Westerosi face. "The girl towards the back, with chestnut hair and large brown eyes?"

As they continued on, up the steps of the Academy, Ned's eyes scanned the older students until they came to rest upon the girl in question. Her cheeks were rosy as if a blush had come upon them, and she seemed to be struggling to hold back a smile. A muscular boy stood at her side, equally fighting to hide a grin. He turned to Steffon and saw the same look upon his face. "Margaery Tyrell," he uttered the name in a melodious tone. The Greyjoy boy at Steffon's back nudged the young knight with his elbow, causing the woman's son to turn beet red before he nudged Ser Theon back with enough force to cause the boy to grunt. Ahead of the group he saw the Lady Azula turn her head slightly in their direction, quickly silencing the two young knights.

Eddard continued scanning the group of children, spying a girl with long silver hair, and fair features standing near a young man, who seemed of age to Ser Steffon, only having very pronounced Fire Nation features, burning golden eyes, and a lithe, almost effeminate, figure. After nearing the end of the rows of children standing at attention, by the entrance of the building, he finally saw what he was looking for. A sullen boy, who shared features that could easily have made him pass as a brother to Lord Stannis' children, stood near the back corner of the second to the last block of students to Ned's left. "That boy? Who is he?" he whispered to Ser Steffon.

For a moment, the Silver-tongue hesitated, having remembered the look the Lady of Dragonstone had given him, but he relented, likely having thought leaving the question unanswered to be improper. "He does not seem familiar, he may have been brought here from the capital or Lyanna's bay while I was away. I could look into it later if you wish?"

"No need," the Overseer of the Academy, the Lady Mai, who had thus far remained silent during their trek, added in her monotone voice. The strange woman trailed behind the Lady of Dragonstone and turned slightly to them as she spoke. "He is from the capital, he was amongst a batch of smallfolk that the Fire Lord collected nearly a year ago when she returned to King's Landing from Dragonstone. You need only ask, and a meeting can be arranged after today's classes are concluded, Lord Stark."

"I would appreciate that, my Lady," he answered, briefly wondering how she could recall such information so quickly. 'Perhaps her position as Overseer of the Academy requires such knowledge to be readily available offhand?' As he looked around, he did not see the numbers of students necessary to make the task of remembering them insurmountable, especially for one in the Overseer's position. 'But even so,' he idled, still holding onto his own reservations about how convenient the odd woman's words were.

At last, they came to stop at the entrance to the Academy, and the woman turned on her heels, facing the student body with the poise and grace only a true ruler could hope to emulate. The Lady of Dragonstone stood in complete silence, hands at her back, watching the students like a hawk, her head and eyes moving with cold precision and resting upon the guards at both entrances of the square.

The guard they had passed at the entrance, along with the two from the opposite side of the yard marched forward, from their posts, and met in between the rows of children, near the base of the statues. They exchanged quick glances with one another before shouting in unison, "Cadets! North face!"

In perfect unison, the gathered students turned on their heels, as the Lady Baratheon had done and shifted from their profile positon to forward position. All of the children stared at their group, half of which stood beneath the shadow of the twin statues. Once again the three men roared, "Cadets! Recite pledge and house words!"

As one the children, young and old, chorused the words he had once heard Ursa and Arya recite. "My life I give to my country! With my hands, I fight for Fire Lord Azula, Lord Stannis, King Robert, and our forefathers before them! With my mind, I seek ways to better my country! And with my feet may our March of Civilization continue! Our Flames, our Fury!"

Once they fell to silence the Lady of Dragonstone spoke in velvet, yet commanding tone. "All of you are the pride and joy of this Academy, of this country. You have all studied and worked dutifully towards achieving a better tomorrow, one in which no one goes hungry, nor remains ignorant of the world. You do this not because you are told, but because it is right and just. Suffering and complacency are the enemy for any people, any kingdom, and any nation. And you are the seed upon which these truths will grow and spread. I am proud to call you a student of this Grand Academy, a citizen of this great country, and a loyal servant of its King." The wife of Stannis Baratheon brought up a closed fist and pressed it against her chest, "Hail King Robert!" she shot her closed fist forward towards the horizon.

The students pounded a closed fist at their chests and shot it forward, mirroring the woman's own movements, before chorusing once again. "Hail King Robert! Hail King Robert! Hail King Robert!"

Azula Baratheon kept her fist raised, until the third and last chant, then lowered it, with the children quickly following suit.

"Were we not told there would be a demonstration of fire magic?" Ned overheard the Viper whisper to his paramour behind him.

The woman turned to face them with a serene expression. "Take several steps back, if you would?"

Their group complied, watching as Azula confirmed their distance before planting her feet into the ground. She raised the index and middle fingers of her hands into a point and began to move her arms in an almost snake-like manner. Eddard heard a buzz in his ears and felt his hairs begin to stand on end, before arcs of lightning hissed and crackled around the woman, culminating in her pointing forward with both hands an unleashing twin bolts of lightning into the sky. The Lady Azula stood straight once the energy had left her fingertips and pressed down on her uniform. "Well, that was fun. I trust that satiated your appetite for demonstrations?"

He and the rest of those unused to seeing such a display stood gobsmacked.

The Red Viper shook off his surprise, and broke the silence, "Can this power be inherited?"

"It can," she answered.

"Interesting," the Viper smiled.

"Corporal?" the woman uttered to the Fire Nation man near the entrance.

The man came up to the Lady of Dragonstone, awaiting his orders. "Have the mess hall prepared for me and my guests when we arrive after our tour of the Academy," the woman cast a sideways glance towards the gathered children. "Also, make sure my daughter, the Tyrell girl, Cadet Kai, and that Gendry boy is present as well."

Ned's blood ran cold at the last name uttered. 'She knows…'