Daenerys

Daenerys watched as Aemon stumbled over to her. Ghost was not far, his ruby eyes following after her boy.

"Dagnon!" Aemon shouted and handed her the blue dragon Jon made for him."Dagnon!"

"Dragon," she corrected hi with a chuckle and picked the blue dragon from his hand. As always, he grinned and tried to repeat her words, but lacked the ability to do so.

"Dagon," Aemon tried to repeat her words and stumbled back to his heap of toys. Then he leaned down clumsily and picked up a wooden horse.

"Hose," he said and handed her the wooden horse. This one was a gift from Tito."Hose!"

"Horse," she corrected him again and put extra emphasis on the r-sound. "Horse!"

Aemon gave her a confused look, but tried his best.

"Hosse!" he repeated eagerly."Hosse!"

Daenerys chuckled. He didn't seem to mind her amusement and was about to stumble back to his heap of toys when Daenerys leaned over and caught him with her unharmed hand.

Aemon made a surprised noise, but started to laugh when she patted his cheek.

"Have me," Aemon stated happily and grasped her hand.

"I have you," she confirmed and squeezed his small hand. Then she leaned down and put a kiss on his cheek, before taking in his hair. It had grown immensely and curled all the way down to his shoulders.

"We have to cut your hair," she remarked and twirled one of his pale curls around her finger. "You look like a little girl."

"Cut," Aemon repeated and pulled his head way. It seemed he recalled the last time all too vividly. "No cut…no."

Daenerys sighed deeply and patted his head.

"You are worse than Jon…," she trailed off.

"Are you badmouthing me?" Jon asked, his voice laced with amusement. Daenerys laughed and lifted her head to find Jon standing at the entrance of their chamber. Ghost was already on his feet and licked Jon's hand.

"Nothing could be further from the truth," she replied cheekily and allowed Aemon to return to his heap of toys. "But Aemon is in dire need of a haircut."

Jon angled his head and took in Aemon's appearance. He sat on the floor and arranged his horses and dragons. It was his favorite past-time, besides teasing Ghost.

"His hair looks fine to me," he remarked and brushed his hair out of his face. It reached easily past his shoulders and was in dire need of a cut. "And you know what happened last time. He doesn't like to cut his hair."

Daenerys rolled her eyes.

"Just like you."

"I am not afraid to cut my hair," he defended himself and bridged the distance. Her arm was still bandaged and Tito's mother urged her to rest as much as possible. Daenerys tried to convince him otherwise, but Jon was stubborn. Her arm hurt a little, but the cooling pastes made by Tito's mother helped.

"Aye, you are," she confirmed and grinned at him.

He returned her smile and leaned closer to place a kiss on her lips. Then he regarded her shoulder.

"The bandages need changing," he remarked and brushed his hand over the shoulder.

"We can do that later," she disagreed and grasped his hand. "I want to speak with the captive…this Daario. You have questioned him numerous times…I want to hear what he has to say."

"Of course," Jon agreed and squeezed her hand. "It is just…I thought you could need a few days of rest and you won't like what he has to say."

His concern touched her, but she was no weak maid.

"I understand," she replied. "But I want to speak with the captive."

"Very well," Jon answered and sighed heavily. "But first we change your bandages."

"Very well," she confirmed and touched his hair. "But only if you allow me to cut your hair. Aemon might agree to cut his hair if he sees you doing it."

"You really that will work?" Jon asked disbelievingly.

"I am sure," Daenerys replied and had no intention let him slip away.

…

The captive was smiling in amusement.

"You came just in time for supper," he remarked and jerked his head at the bowl of cut vegetables and meat. "But I doubt that is the reason you came here."

Jon shook his head. No smile showed on his lips as she regarded the captive.

"Indeed, Jon confirmed."Daenerys wants to hear what you told me."

"Daenerys," the captive repeated. "Wasn't that the name of a Targaryen Queen?"

"Princess," she corrected him. "The first Daenerys was wed to the Prince of Dorne and I am the second. But you are not wrong…I am a Targaryen. King Aerys was my father. Jon is also a Targaryen…his father was Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, my father's oldest son."

Daario's eyes widened and lifted his head to look at Jon.

"You don't look like a dragonlord," he remarked and bared his teeth. "But it explains your dragons. Can you ride them too?"

"I can," Jon replied coldly. "But that is not why we came here. Tell Daenerys what you told me about the Masters of Astapor."

"Very well," Daario quipped and angled his head to look at her. "It were the Masters of Astapor who offered the Stormcrows a hefty sum to kill your dragons. That is why we were riding with the Dothraki…our task was to kill the dragons."

"I see," Daenerys said and pondered this revelation. "But why do the Masters of Astapor care about our dragons?"

"The answer is quite simple, Princess," Daario explained. "Coin…the coin you cost them."

"Coin," she repeated. The realization hit her like thunder. "Of course…the young boys…the Unsullied. Did they also hire the Dothraki horde?"

"Exactly," the captive confirmed. "They used the Dothraki to do their dirty work. And they did it eagerly. The Stormcrows didn't partake in the butchery…the Dothraki didn't deem us worthy of such a task. Not that I wanted to partake. There is not much glory in killing wailing woman and children."

Daenerys remained skeptical.

"Why should I believe you?" she asked. "Maybe you are just lying to escape punishment…"

"I don't trust him, but he is not lying," Jon added unhappily. "We questioned the other men. Tito was quite harsh with him…they confirmed his story."

"I see," she said and turned to look at Jon." How many of the Stormcrows survived?"

"We took about a hundred of them captive…the rest is dead or fled after the battle," Jon answered, his dark gaze still fixed on the captive. "But the Lhazareen want them gone."

"Well, I am not fond of them either," Daario complained. "Their food is not to my taste and I can see that they want to cut my throat. Allow us to go and we shall trouble you no more…," he continued and grinned. "Or I could help you."

"Help us?" Daenerys asked in confusion. "How could you be of help to us?

Daario bared his golden teeth.

"Simple…I know your enemy and I can help you to defeat them."

"Defeat them?" Jon asked. "We defeated them…Surely they will think twice before attacking us again?"

"Are you that naïve, boy?" he Daario asked and howled with laughter. "Your victory means nothing. The Dothraki mean nothing to the Masters of Astapor nor does the loss of a sellsword company. They have enough gold to hire a dozen of sellsword companies. They won't forget about the dragons as long as you pose a threat for their business."

"Business," Jon repeated and gritted his teeth. "All of this bloodshed…for a bit of coin."

"Not a bit of coin," Daario corrected him. "A great amount of coin. It costs a fortune to buy an army of Unsullied. That is also what the city is known for…their business with the Unsullied."

"I already knew that," Jon quipped angrily. "And I still don't trust you."

"You know nothing," Daario countered. "But that is why you need me. Look, my boy. I want to keep my head and I only agreed to the task, because my partners goaded me into this mad mission. Now they are dead and I have a responsibility for my men. I hold no love for the Masters of Astapor…I told you before…I was once a slave fighting in the fighting pits. I would gladly aid you to kill those cunts."

"Kill them?" Jon asked and his head snapped back to Daario. "But isn't Astapor a city with mighty walls"

"So what?" Daario asked. "Your dragons burned hundreds of Dothraki. I doubt those walls are going to stop them."

"What you say is true," she agreed hesitatingly. "But this city is full of slaves…innocent slaves, she added and brushed down her shawl to reveal her tattoo.

If the captive was surprised it didn't show on his face.

"Of course," he replied and laughed as if this was all a joke to him. "Well, there are other ways to take a city. Deception is another possibility."

"Deception or not," Jon said. "But taking Astapor would provoke a war with the other cities. They would come at us like a horde of mad dogs."

Daario seemed unimpressed by Jon's concerns.

"Yunkai is a city full of pleasure slaves. They wouldn't even stand a chance against your wailing women and children. All they know are the seven sighs. And the Wise Masters know nothing of the way of the sword. Strike quickly and they won't even be able to hire sellswords to do their bidding. Meereen would be harder to take, but I doubt they would stand a chance against your dragons."

"And the Unsullied?" she asked. "The Lhazareen count relatives among the ranks of the Unsullied. I cannot expect them to fight their own blood.

Daario only laughed.

"I already proposed a solution for your problem, sweet Princess," Daario cooed sweetly. "Deception. Hear my plan and I am sure you will be delighted…," he continued, but Jon cut him off. He looked annoyed and angry.

Daenerys was perplexed. Jon was usually composed, but it seemed this Daario was getting under his skin.

"Keep your flowery words to yourself," Jon snapped and grasped Daenerys hand. "We will speak tomorrow. Rest."

Daenerys wanted to hear the captive's plan, but she sensed that Jon wanted to speak alone.

"What is wrong?" she asked him after he had closed the door behind them. "I don't trust him either, but we should hear him out."

"It is not that," Jon replied and turned face her. "Daario has enough cunning to come up with such a plan…I don't know if I want to go that far."

"I don't understand," Daenerys said. "You heard what he said. The Masters are not going to leave us alone. And it was you who said we should use the dragons to help people. We helped the Lhazareen, because they were kind to us. I want to help those who were like me. It wouldn't be just an act of revenge."

"Aye," he agreed and sighed heavily. "But Astapor, Yunkai and Meereen are not the only cities practicing slavery…"

"I understand," she agreed and touched his shoulder. She squeezed lightly and exhaled deeply, before continuing to speak. "But isn't it better fight an enemy one by one than all of them at once?"

"Of course it is," he replied, his voice still laced with doubt. "But…" he trailed off and averted his gaze.

"Jon," she said more firmly. "Nobody asks you to become Aegon the Conqueror, but we can't wait until the Masters of Astapor sent a dozen of sellsword companies our way. Maybe we already set these things in motion when defeated the first Dothraki horde."

"Aye," Jon said and swallowed hard. "Then let us hear what Daario has to say."

…

Margaery

The guests were in good spirits, but Margaery couldn't bring herself to share their joy.

The last weeks had been more than frustrating for her. She tried her best to win the King's favor, but he still showed her little attention.

He preferred riding out to the Kingsguard or to judge criminals. He especially liked dispensing justice. Margaery once dared to attend such a ceremony, because her grandmother encouraged her to do it, but the memory alone was enough to make her shudder.

When she was told that she would wed Tywin Lannister's grandson, she expected a spoiled boy, but not a monster. She didn't dare to tell her father, but King Joffrey scared her.

Only her grandmother and Loras knew her true thoughts. Her grandmother had told her to play along and Loras swore to protect her, but these well-intended promises were of little use to her.

Neither her grandmother nor Loras will have to share the King's bed

Her cold relationship with the Queen Mother worried her even more. Margaery was a young, but she knew what "hatred" looked like. She invited the Queen Mother three times, but every time she refused her. Her Lady Mother advised her to seek out the Queen personally, but this attempt proved another disappointment. The brief talk consisted of nothing more than cold looks and snapping remarks.

She would strangle me to death if Lord Tywin allowed it, she knew and forced a smile over her lips as a Lady dropped her head in greeting.

Tonight she was seated next to the King, but he showed more interest in his cup of wine than her. The Queen Mother was not far and donned a dream of red silk. The red rubies braided into her golden locks shone even brighter than her cat-like smile.

At least she avoided speaking with Margaery, because she spent her time pampering her youngest son, Prince Tommen. Not long ago, the youngest boy celebrated his nameday and Margaery gifted him a cat. The Queen Mother was not very pleased, but the young boy was able to change her mind. Now said Ser Pounce lived a King's life, but her relationship with the Queen didn't change.

She despises me, she knew and angled her head to get a look at Tywin Lannister. He was seated next at a different table and in deep conversation with her Lord Father. Her grandmother told her much about the old Lion of the Rock, but seeing him with her own eyes dimmed the fear his name instilled. He was no doubt a dangerous man, but to her he looked like any other old man.

Yet he was the most powerful man in the room. It was not King Joffrey who ruled, but Tywin Lannister. The crown meant nothing without Tywin Lannister's armies.

And my father's armies, she reminded herself and brought the cup to her lips. It was the finest Arbor, sponsored by Lord Redwyne, but Margaery took little pleasure in it. She always preferred Dornish wine, though she would have never dared to tell her Lord Father. He still held this childish hatred for the Dornish due to her brother's unfortunate accident in a tilt. It was no wonder that her Lord Father asked Willas to stay in Highgarden. Oberyn Martell was expected to attend the wedding.

"You are so quiet," the King remarked gruffly and snapped her out of her thoughts. She felt a hint of shame that she allowed her mask to slip in such a manner, but keeping up appearances was quite strenuous.

"I apologize, your Grace," she replied and graced him with a bright smile. "Forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive," the King answered and jerked his head at the crowd of people seated at the trestle tables. "This feast is boring. I does not surprise me that you are already falling asleep, my Lady."

Margaery nodded her head in agreement. It was always best to agree with King Joffrey. It was the first thing she learned.

"Indeed," she confirmed and tried to appear bored. "But today is only the first night of the tourney. I am sure the jousting competitions will be exciting."

"Of course," the King replied. "I will show these fools how it is done."

"Indeed," she confirmed again. Her face was beginning to hurt from the constant smiling. "You deserve worthy opponents. My brother should serve."

The King frowned at that and started to circle his cup in an impatient manner.

"Your brother ought to be capable. He will serve as a member of my Kingsguard," the King said at last and shifted his attention back to the guests.

Then he fell silent again and started to tap his finger on the surface of the table, as if contemplating something.

Margaery felt a hint of dread and when she saw the wicked smile curling on Joff's lips she knew that her gut feeling proved right.

"Do you care for a bit of entertainment, my Lady," he asked, his wine-tinged breath tickling her cheek.

She shuddered, her smile still in place.

"It would be my pleasure," your Grace."

The King grinned and called for a blond-haired boy garbed in a crimson cloak. It was Lancel Lannister, the King's cousin.

"Lancel," the King said. "Get Robb Stark here. He has yet to greet his King."

The boy's jade eyes darted first to Lord Tywin and then to the Queen, but her husband-to-be proved as impatient as ever.

"At once!" he snapped and the boy slipped away. Margaery used the moment to refill her cup and tasted the calming liquid. "And hurry!"

"I am surprised he came at all," Margaery remarked. "Didn't you mention that his wife is heavy with child?"

"The Frey girl died in childbirth," the King whispered in her ear and rubbed his hands together. He looked like a little child who got a new toy for his name day. "It was only a girl and the fool called it Lyanna. Even my Lady Mother agreed that it is a foolish idea to give a child such a cursed name."

Your father was once betrothed to this woman, she wanted to reply. She didn't know Robb Stark, but rejoicing over a woman's death was disgusting. The King might not care, but Margery was a woman and knew what awaited her in the birthing bed: blood and death.

"I agree with your Lady Mother," she replied instead "A cursed name for a cursed child."

Her words filled her with shame and she silently sent a prayer to the gods.

May the gods grace the babe with a long life.

Joff cackled in delight and leaned over to touch hear hand.

Margaery shuddered again. His presence brought him no pleasure, though she tried her best.

"He is coming!" the King whispered in her ear. Margaery lifted her head and found him at the entrance of the tent. Not even the ghost of a smile showed on his even-shaped face as he stepped before the King.

His bow was also quite lacking.

"You asked for my presence, your Grace?" he asked and lifted his head. It was then that the light of the chandelier lightened up his face and gave Margaery a clear view of his features.

It surprised her how handsome he was. He had an even-shaped face, fair red hair and eyes of summer.

That he didn't hesitate to meet the King's gaze told her that he was also graced with a bold character.

Or maybe it is only his hatred speaking.

"Indeed," the King replied in a grumbling voice. "Please take a seat, my Lord. We are allies, are we not? We should get to know one another."

Robb's face was like an open book. Margaery read anger and disgust, but no ill word left the young man's lips.

He even smiled, though it didn't quite reach his face.

"Of course," Robb Stark answered and sat down. It was then that his gaze darted to Margaery. The King seemed to sense this and pulled on her arm as if to mark his territory.

He was more like a dog than a lion or stag.

"This is my beautiful bride," the King introduced her. "Lady Margaery Tyrell."

Robb Stark dipped his head and graced her with a fleeing smile. This smile was softer and seemed honest. It made him look only more handsome. His lips were made for gentle smiles.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, my Lady," Robb Stark replied politely, his blue eyes meeting hers. His eyes were so blue, she feared to drown in them. "You are lucky, your Grace. They didn't lie when they said that Margaery Tyrell is the fairest of maids."

Get a hold of yourself, she chided herself and brushed these feelings away. Grandmother would kick you if she was here.

"And you are lucky to be rid of your Frey wife," the King complimented. "I heard all Frey women look like weasels."

An expression of pure hatred flickered over Robb Stark's face. The King was blind to it, but Margaery got a glimpse of the wolf residing in Robb Stark's breast.

"Lady Roslin was quite beautiful for a Frey. She took after her Lady Mother…a Rosby," he explained in a low voice. "I was blessed to have her as my bride."

The King was not pleased and frowned.

"Well, I suppose you will have to find yourself another bride, my Lord," the King added haughtily and spread his arms. "Half the realm came here to attend this tourney. I am sure you will find a Lady that suits your taste."

"My cousins are still unmarried," she offered, lacking a better answer. She felt the urge to console him for his loss, to give him a kind word, but that would displease the King.

"What you say is true, your Grace…I will have to choose another bride," Robb Stark agreed politely, but his blue eyes still burned with hatred. Only when angled his head to look at her his anger dispersed. "And I would be pleased to meet your cousins, but not today. I am tired from the long travel and my bed is waiting. I fear I have to bid you good night, your Grace."

He gave another bow and left. It was rather impolite, but it seemed Robb Stark was a daring man.

"Look how the coward flees!" the King exclaimed happily and clapped his hands together. Margaery wondered if it was his pride that blinded him so. Robb Stark didn't flee. He left because he was close to strangling his King.

…

Benjen

Benjen knew it was time for supper when the flap of the tent opened.

It was the Wildling girl named Val. She had been taking care of him throughout his imprisonment but Benjen tried to ignore her nagging questions.

The Night's Watch teaches their recruits to hate Wildlings, but it was hard to hate them when they were as pretty as this one. Tall and lithe, the young woman towered over most women. Her face sharp, but her long blond hair softened it and gave her an almost noble appearance.

She is Mance's good-sister, he knew, but not much more than that. She hardly spoke about herself, though she had spent a considerable amount of time in his presence.

He had tried his best to ignore her, but even Benjen was longing for human contact after moons of imprisonment. And whenever they moved they blindfolded him.

"I bring roasted elk meat," the young woman remarked and closed the flap of the tent. Today she donned a new pelt; white and soft as it was it must belong to a hare or a bear. It suited her better than he wanted to admit and stirred something inside him he thought long buried by time and duty.

He had served the Night's Watch for half his life, but even Benjen was not freed from the temptations of the flesh. He might not frequent the brothels of Mole's Town as often as the other men, but he was still a man. And such a beautiful specimen like this one in front of him was seldom seen at the Wall.

"Did you hear what I said?" the young woman asked in an annoyed manner and brushed her blond hair over her shoulder. "Did you get deaf overnight, crow?"

Benjen tried to ignore her, but it seemed the silence stirred her on to litter him with questions.

"You look hungry, crow," she remarked cheekily and bared her teeth. "But you won't get the food until you answer my questions."

Benjen wanted to refuse, but his stomach was empty. He hadn't eaten all day and was ravenous.

I need to survive, he knew and closed his eyes when the dark memories with these strange creatures came back to him. Whatever attacked him, he had never seen anything like it. Just thinking about it made his blood freeze. One of the creatures had skin as pale as snow and yes as blue as frost. Its blade of milkglass broke his iron-forged blade as if it was made of glass.

He didn't even know how he survived the ordeal. All he recalled were those pale blue eyes meeting his through the darkness.

"Did you hear what I said?" Val's voice called him back to the present.

"I heard you," he muttered and eyed the roasted meat. "As you can see…I am neither deaf nor stupid."

She grinned, obviously very pleased that she managed to make him speak.

Benjen was not pleased. He was sure that Mance sent her here to speak with him.

"Here," she said and handed him the bowl filled with pieces of steaming meat and cut vegetables. "My sister's meals are best when they are still warm."

"Most meals are," he quipped and picked the piece of meat from the bowl. His hands were bound together, but not in a way that made it impossible to ea. It wouldn't be hard to get rid of the rope, but that would be no use. The Wildlings would hunt him down like an animal. They knew these lands better than him, though he was one of the most experienced rangers.

"You think you are clever, don't you, crow?" she asked him and rolled her eyes.

He ignored her and continued to eat.

He hoped she would leave, but she continued to watch him.

"Why are you crows always so damn serious?" she asked and searched his gaze. Her eyes were grey, flecked with blue.

Benjen sighed.

"I am not more serious than other men of the Night's Watch," Benjen replied and chewed slowly. He savored the taste of fresh meat on his tongue. It gave him the strength he needed. "And I am one of those who joined willingly."

"You did what?" she asked, her brows wrinkled in confusion.

"Why would anyone in their right mind want to join this miserable lot?"

Benjen put another piece of meat in his mouth and chewed slowly.

Because it is an honor to serve in the Night's Watch, he wanted to answer. It was what they told him before he spoke his vows, but now after all these years he knew that it was nothing more than a comforting lie the Lord Commander told himself to feel better. The Night's Watch had grown brittle, like an old rusty sword. It was the reason he advised Jon against joining the Night's Watch. Benjen was Jon's age when he joined and even now he sometimes regretted his decision. It made him wonder what kind of person he would have become had he wed the girl Ned intended for him.

I run away from my pain, he knew and brushed these feelings of sadness away. To forget my guilt.

"Aye," he confirmed. "I joined willingly. That must sound odd to you, but I was a young boy who didn't know better."

"What changed?" she asked in a serious tone.

"Nothing," he replied and didn't shy away to meet her gaze. "I am still a crow and I will be a crow until the end of my days. I know that Mance sent you here to lure me to his side, but I can assure you…It won't work."

"You crows are not only miserable, but also stubborn," she remarked, a hint of anger washing over her lovely face. "You saw the Others with your own eyes and yet you consider us the enemy."

Benjen was stunned.

"How…," he began, but Val didn't hesitate to cut him off.

"We found your broken sword. Only the blades of the Others can shatter steel," she explained and picked up the empty bowl. Then handed him the bundle of pelt she had placed near the entrance of the tent.

"I have seen them," he said and picked he bundle of pelt from her hands. Only when he started to pick the garments apart did he realize that it were fresh clothing. "But that won't change the mind of my brothers. For them you are the enemy that needs to be kept behind the Wall. It is part of our vow to protect the realms of men."

"To protect the realms of men," she repeated angrily. "Are we not men? My sister Dalla is heavy with child and the Others will kill her if we don't get pass the Wall. This stupid vow of yours damns thousands of innocent women and children to death."

Her swords hit him hard. It was only now that he realized the truth. The Others can raise the dead.

The Others will add the dead Wildlings to their army of dead.

He shuddered and met her gaze.

"How big is their army? Do you know?"

She frowned at that and pondered his question. All the while she played with her plaited hair. She looked almost like an anxious child.

"Thousands," she answered at last and gave him a piercing look. "Mance tried his best to unite the clans, but some of them refused to join our cause. And who knows what lurks in the Lands of Always Winter…nobody knows."

"I understand," Benjen said and nodded his head. "But you will only find death if you attack the Wall. Let me go and I will speak for the Free Folk…on my honor as a Stark."

"Vows are words and words are wind, crow," she said and jerked her head at the bundle of clothing. "Mance told me this and I agree with him. But enough of this empty talk…Get dressed, crow. Mance wants to speak with you personally."

"Why can't I wear my old clothes?"

An amused smile crossed her lips as she knelt down and cut his ropes.

"Mance doesn't like the color black and the rest of my people share his dislike," she added and rose back to her feet, her dagger still in hand.

He frowned and eyed the bundle.

"Very well," he agreed at last and sighed deeply. "I will do as you ask."

She laughed and remained standing there, her amused smile still in place. Benjen knew then that she had no intention to leave.

"Are you going to watch?" he demanded to know.

"You could try running off," she explained plainly. "Besides, there is nothing I haven't seen before. Now get dressed…Mance is waiting for us."

…

Catelyn

It was the second time she undertook the ascent to the Eyrie, but it was not less frightening. The first time she came here after she took Tyrion Lannister captive, but in the end it turned out to be a folly. Lord Tyrion was deemed innocent.

I should have gone to Winterfell, she knew and brushed away those bothersome memories. I won't fail again.

She believed Petyr her friend. Yet Ned's letter revealed the hard truth. The boy she knew that grew up with her was a traitor of the vilest sort.

I told Ned to trust him, she recalled bitterly. Her heart clenched with guilt whenever she even thought about it.

Worse was that he wed Lysa. Even now she recalled Lysa's tears when she found Petyr broken and bloodied by Brandon's blade. Catelyn begged Brandon to spare his life, but now she regretted her actions.

I should have let him die, she thought, fresh anger whirling up inside her. I will kill him myself if I get my hands on him.

Yet she recalled Robb's command.

"We are nearly there, my Lady," Mya Stone, Robert Baratheon's bastard daughter, declared. She grinned as she jerked her head at the seven white towers touching the dreary sky.

"Indeed," Catelyn replied politely. Looking at the girl, she couldn't help but to think of Snow. His long solemn face had haunted throughout all those years. Fourteen years of fear that this boy might try to usurp Robb's inheritance.

Now she knew the truth. It was a lie, made up by Ned to fool King Robert. All this lying for a foolish girl, who refused to do her duty.

It wasn't like she didn't understand Ned's reasoning, but the betrayal hurt more than she wanted to admit.

She would have feared the boy's presence, but she would have tried her best to live with him. Ned never gave her any chance when it came to Snow. Instead he used her to cover up his lies.

That was what hurt the most.

"My Lady," Mya Stone's soft-spoken voice snapped her out of her deep thoughts. "It is time to leave the mules behind."

"Aye," Catelyn agreed and climbed from her horse. Catelyn sighed in relief when her feet touched the firm ground. "Thank you."

"Welcome, Lady Stark," Lord Nestor Royce greeted her at the entrance to the Crescent Chamber. It was a small and homey hall meant to receive honored guests."I hope your ascent wasn't too perilous, my Lady?"

"The winds were rather chilly," she replied and picked up a piece of bread from the silver plate, carried by a servant girl. It was warm and soft on her tongue and another servant quickly offered her a cup of wine to wash it down. "But I am used to worse. The winds in the North are always chilly."

"Indeed," Lord Nestor Royce confirmed and led her in an anteroom. Her guards remained behind and Cat pulled off her cloak."Now come along, my Lady. Lord Baelish awaits you."

"And my sister?" she inquired politely.

An unreadable expression washed over Lord Nestor Royce's sharp face.

"Lady Lysa is sick," he explained and led her through a narrow corridor, before opening a brightly-colored door, leading into a spacious room. A large table occupied the middle of the chamber and a warm fire cracked in the hearth.

"Cat!" a familiar voice greeted her across the room. She recognized Petyr immediately, but just hearing his voice made her skin crawl. It took all her effort to calm herself.

Somehow she managed a smile and dropped a curtsy.

"Your visit is a pleasant surprise!" Petyr added, his grey-green eyes alight with happiness.

"It is," she replied sweetly. "A wonderful surprise, but I hoped to see my sister. I heard she is indisposed?"

"Regrettably so," Petyr replied and leaned down to kiss her hand. He lingered longer than appropriate, but it seemed he didn't notice her discomfort. He beamed like a star as he straightened himself and pointed at the nearby table. "She will join us tomorrow. It seems we are alone tonight."

She shuddered and watched as two servant girls started to deck the table with the finest silver. Moments later a page boy brought two golden cups and a flagon of wine.

The food was even better; roasted meat of all kinds and wild vegetables, fresh from the mountains.

"Isn't that a bit much?" she asked and tried to appear delighted.

"On the contrary," Petyr replied and took a seat on the opposing side. Then he leaned over the table and filled her cup. "I hope you like Dornish wine."

"I do," she confirmed and brought the cup to her lips. She drank and pondered her next step.

Flatter him, Robb had told her, an idea blooming in her mind. Earn his trust.

Thus she took another hearty gulp and placed the half-empty cup on the table.

"Wonderful," she declared and flashed Petyr a bright smile. "We hardly get Dornish wine in Winterfell…only at feast days. Ned never liked to waste coin on such fancies."

If the change of topic bothered him it didn't show on his face.

"I liked your husband," he replied in heartfelt voice. Not even a mummer could have done it better. "I regret what happened to him, but he should have never ventured into the lion's den."

"Indeed," she agreed and buried in the folds of her skirt. She felt the urge to strangle him. "And my son is not much better. He is so very young and he thinks he knows everything. In truth he didn't want me to come here. My visit concerns a matter that is very important to me…Are you willing to listen, Petyr?"

An almost soft expression washed over his face and he squeezed her hand.

"Of course I am willing to listen. I told you before…I am your loyal friend, Cat. Please speak freely."

"I thank you," she replied and squeezed his hand, trying to make the gesture as heartfelt as possible. "The matter concerns my brother Edmure. He is still unmarried and I want a proper match for him. I am speaking about Lady Ysilla Royce…Lord Royce's daughter. I know it is too much to ask for this favor, but my brother spends too much time with his whores. Edmure needs a proper wife."

If he was displeased by her suggestion it didn't show on his face.

He continued to smile and pulled his hand away.

"It would be a good match," Petyr agreed and leaned back, his green-grey eyes sweeping over the table. "I will think about it. I promise."

Cat smiled and tried to hide her disappointment.

"Of course," she answered and tried to appear relieved. "I can't expect more. Truly, I am thankful."

"Oh, on the contrary," Petyr answered and re-filled her cup. "It is my pleasure to have you hear. We have much to talk about, don't we, Cat?"

"We have," she confirmed and feigned another smile. "We have."

…

Arya

The air bit her skin, but Arya was determined to follow her path. She loved Robb and her Lady Mother, but sitting idle was never one of her greatest strengths.

Bran was the same, though he is plans were different.

I need to become the Three-Eyed-Crow, he had told her not long ago. I beg you. Help me, sister.

How could she not believe him after seeing these horrible visions with her own eyes?

It is for the best, she told herself and angled her head to look at her brother, seated before Meera Reed. Usually, Bran would have insisted to use his special saddle, but this was no normal ride.

Today was the day of their departure, though they first had to take care of their protectors.

These protectors were Hallis Mollen and two guardsmen, following after them like shadows. It pained her to fool them.

It is the only way, she knew and exchanged a quite look with her brother. All wrapped in his thick pelt, he looked like a babe. His thin pale face was hardly visible and now and then she saw the glimpse of a red curl.

Bran nodded his head as if to give her the sign. Meera Reed swallowed hard as their eyes met and her odd brother remained passive as ever.

Arya exhaled deeply and pulled down her pelted hood, before shifting her attention to Hallis Mollen.

"I think we should take a break," she remarked and jerked her head at the row of trees not far from their position. There were several ironwood trees, all bent and broken, but their thick canopy enough to provide shelter against the light snowfall. "My brother looks rather pale…a few minutes should be enough."

"Aye, my Lady," Hallis Mollen replied and pulled the reins of his horse. The mighty charger huffed and stopped instantly. "A break should do."

"I am not tired," Bran complained, playing the disgruntled child. "I want to advance deeper into the Wolfswood."

"But my Lord…," Hallis Mollen protested hesitatingly, but Bran shook his head, his face a grimace of displeasure. Arya was impressed by his mummery.

"I want to move on," Bran insisted.

"You look like an ice pickle, brother," she quipped back. She tried to sound like their Lady Mother. "We will take a break. I am responsible for you."

Bran pouted and covered his face with his pelted hood. Arya suppressed the urge to laugh.

Well, done little brother. You should have become a mummer.

Hallis Mollen sighed in relief and climbed from his horse. The two guardsmen followed suit and sat down on a fallen tree. They were wrapped in thick cloaks, though the sun stood high above the treetops.

They will survive it, she was sure and sat down next to Meera Reed.

Meera Reed didn't hesitate to slip into her assigned role and opened her wineskin. Then she turned around and graced the men with warm smile.

"I have mulled wine," she offered invitingly. "Do you want some?"

Hallis Mollen grinned eagerly and took a hearty gulp from the wineskin, before handing it to his other two companions. They drank just as eagerly, completely unaware what they were consuming.

It didn't take long, before the drought started to work its magic. Hallis Mollen and the two guardsmen started to sway like two young trees bared to a storm, their eyes drooping. The blink of a moment passed and Hallis Mollen dropped from his seat.

Arya and Meera were barely able to catch him. The guardsmen didn't last longer. One collapsed against the tree and the other one fell face-forward into the snow.

"Damn, this stuff his strong!" Arya cursed quietly and pulled one of the guardsmen to the side. "What was that?"

"A secret of the crannogmen, my lady," Meera Reed replied and gave her knowing smile.

"We need to hurry," Jojen added and helped Arya and Meera to wrap the men in their warm pelts. It was necessary to knock them out, but she can't have her father's man freezing to death. "The drought won't work forever."

"Aye," Arya replied and pulled her dagger out of her boots, before bringing the sharp blade to her braided hair. She cut the braids off until her hair was no longer than her smallest finger.

"And what are we going to do with the hair?" she asked her companions.

"Don't fret about it, my Lady," Meera assured her and gathered the hair. "I will burn it. We will leave no trace."

Arya sighed in relief and pulled the hood of her cloak over her face. Then she shifted her attention back to Bran.

His face was pale as fresh-fallen snow.

It is time to say goodbye, she knew, but it was easier said than done.

"Bran," she said and enclosed him in a tight embrace. "Are you sure about this?"

"I know it is the right thing to do," he told her and regarded her with wide blue eyes. "Are you sure?"

"Aye," she confirmed sadly and embraced him again. "I need to find Jon. I can't sit here and wait until I am going to wed Elmar the Nosepicker."

Bran buried his head in her neck and trembled. For this brief moment he was only her little brother.

"You will find him," he whispered in her ear. "I saw it."

"Truly?" Arya asked in disbelief.

"I would never lie to you, sister," he assured her and freed himself from her embrace.

"I know that," she said and rose to her feet. She exhaled deeply and shifted her attention to Nymeria, sprawled in the snow next to Summer. "I know that."

Arya gritted her teeth and embraced her wolf one last time. It would be impossible for her to board without arousing suspicions.

Besides, Bran was in need of protection.

"Take good care of Bran," she told her wolf and rose back to her feet. Then she made her way to back to her horse.

A quick goodbye would be best, but she was unable to do it. Against better knowledge she turned around and took one last glance at her little brother and his travelling companions.

Tears burned in her eyes, but she couldn't help but to wave. Bran returned the gesture and Arya stifled a sob.

Then she turned around and led her horse away.

…