AN: Ugh, again, sorry these updates are slow. But I have every intention of completing this story and making sure it's the best quality I can deliver! Thank you to everyone who's still reading and leaving me feedback in reviews. It's really encouraging! 3

Every Loyalty

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Chapter XIV:

Turn of the Knife

Dorna Lannister had been a guest of the new Prince of Dorne for some time.

When she first arrived, she had been lost. Forced to leave her home, grieving her husband, and not knowing if her children were safe or even alive.

Prince Aldemar was similarly grieving, but he knew exactly what his losses were. Just not how to deal with his newfound responsibilities.

Slowly but surely, he began seeking her out past polite conversation at the dining table. Dorna didn't consider herself particularly wise. But she'd seen enough in her years of life, paid close attention at court, and to her husband's ranting and complaining about political squabbles to offer Aldemar some council. Not necessarily about politics, but about people.

She'd told him from the beginning to be careful of Lord Baelish.

"Your Highness, if you truly want to bring Dorne back to its former glory, it would be unwise to back a Targaryen who wants to destroy our old way of life with dragon fire," she turned her measured gaze to the prince.

He stood at the head of a large round table in the council room. Sansa sat to his left, with Larisa next to her, and then Dorna, followed by the other's in Sansa's party. On the prince's right, sat Baelish. To Sansa's credit, she hadn't yet created a scene, but even Dorna could see how the young woman's entire countenance had changed when Baelish entered the room.

Well, her and everyone else besides Dorna and the prince. Larisa was doing slightly better at concealing her thoughts.

"A Targaryen conqueror is exactly what we should mean to avoid," said Baelish.

"Your suggestion is…doing nothing?" Sansa challenged. Her eyes were sharp. His smile was patient, if knowing when he looked back at her calmly.

"Why not allow the battle to continue, and wait and see where the pieces may fall?" he said.

Dorna shook her head. She could tell Aldemar was considering the suggestion, even if it went against his nature. The young man was something of a middle ground between his older brothers, more temperate where Oberyn had been headstrong and tenacious, yet more bold and adventurous than Doran. But no less noble than either one.

"Who would you rather serve, my prince?" she asked him. "A conquering Targaryen, or a just Stark?"

The room fell silent. All watched the prince, who sat with his elbows resting on the table and his hands folded over his mouth. His brows were furrowed in thoughtful consideration.

"Half of Daenerys's Unsullied army has been decimated, along with nearly three quarters of the Dothraki. This leaves Northmen to fill the void, many of them tired and unrecovered from the previous battle we faced in the north," Sansa said.

Theon added that the Iron Fleet had already made a sizeable dent in her command of ships, not to mention weakening one of her two remaining dragons. Even Addam Marbrand offered a few hundred men and provisionary resources, what he could provide from House Marbrand. At the moment, it may just be greater than what House Lannister currently possessed.

Though Cersei's forces lack the element of surprise, and likely won't win, the army of the Golden Company in her employ will hamper Daenerys enough; should she turn on Jon Snow, the combined Northmen and well-fed, well-rested Dornish would make an even match.

"Give or take a dragon," Aldemar said, his voice wry but grave. "I need time to consider this further."

"With all due respect, your Highness, we don't have much time," Sansa said. "Daenerys could be beginning her siege on King's Landing as we speak."

Aldemar's dark eyes shifted to Sansa, a bit of amusement lightening his features. He nodded though, respectful and understanding of her earnestness. Dorna had no doubt that he recognized what was at stake here, as she knew the personal motivations behind Sansa's request for help.

Sansa and Larisa hadn't come here just to protect the North, or the Seven Kingdoms. They had come to protect Jon Snow.

"Give me the night then, my lady," Aldemar asked. Sansa met his gaze head-on, perhaps trying to gauge his sincerity. She eventually nodded, and the meeting ended with an uneasy current in the air.

Dorna shared a smile with her daughter before she left to find Elinor, while Dorna waited the briefest moment in the hall. She watched Sansa start off in the opposite direction, with Lord Baelish trailing far behind her, swift as a shadow.

That night, Larisa nursed a particularly strong headache with a third glass of wine along with Elinor. Together they laid across the latter's bed while her children, her boys, played imaginary games on the floor with wooden toys. Addam was still with the prince, discussing more options and logistics with Brienne of Tarth and Theon.

The alcohol in her cup allowed Larisa to forget about the prince for now, and even Littlefinger's incredible trick, whatever con he had pulled to fake his death. As she watched the boys play, her heart twinged painfully.

"I still owe you a great deal, Ellie," she said. Wine was making her head light, but she was serious.

"For what?" Elinor said dryly. Though a note in her eyes suggested she knew what Larisa was edging towards.

"Your wedding gift," Larisa's mouth curved in a humorless smile. Elinor's vanished.

"By the bloody Seven, don't thank me for that."

Larisa swallowed. It was hard, even now to speak of these things. Elinor was the only one who understood what she wanted…no. What he knew had been necessary. Not just to protect herself, but her family.

"You never asked me why. You just…helped me," Larisa said, even as her voice trembled the slightest bit. "You don't know what that meant to me."

Now frowning in earnest, Elinor sat up on the bed and took the glass out of Larisa's hand, setting it on the nightstand next to a worn book. A history and text of herbology.

"You nearly killed yourself. You shouldn't be proud." Elinor turned her face away from Larisa, who felt a painful ache in her throat and over her heart.

"I never said I was proud," she said sharply. The boys stopped their playing, looking up at them with confusion and tense unease. Elinor soothed them easily, and the twins returned to their game as if nothing at all had happened to disturb them.

"Do you think less of me?" Larisa asked. She would understand, if she did.

I can't expect her to…

"If I thought less of you, Lara, then why would I have helped you?" Elinor asked, finally raising her head to meet Larisa's gaze. She didn't find resentment, or anger, just calm resignation.

"I wish you would stay here in Dorne, where it's safe," she added. "I'm surprised you're here with Sansa Stark, considering everything you told me."

"I can't, Ellie," Larisa shook her head. Though she hated the thought of leaving her friend after all this time apart, there was more she had to do, and she couldn't accomplish it from Dorne.

"…Ah, yes," Elinor relaxed as her voice took on a more amused, suggestive tone. She grabbed Larisa's hand tightly, so she couldn't escape. "Now tell me again about this Jon Snow."

"It seems Varys disappeared just an hour before my soldiers were to arrest him," Daenerys said. Her hair was unbound and unwashed, dark circles under the eyes made her pale face look even more ashen.

Jon stood across from her, patient, if wary. Their only privacy was the council tent they were having this conversation in, mere miles away from King's Landing, bordering on the Reach.

"What did he say to you?" she asked.

"I already told you," Jon nearly sighed.

"And how did he hear of your true parentage?" she asked. "You told someone other than your lover?"

"No," he said flatly.

"Then she betrayed you, and your alliance with me," Daenerys said, her blue eyes sharp and raking over him like hot coals. "Increasingly, I'm beginning to think that the only one I can rely on is myself."

Jon felt his patience thin and snap. If Larisa had told someone his secret, he had no doubt she was trying to help him, in her own way. But after everything he'd done to keep his word, to help others give Daenerys a chance, it was he who felt the sting of her words like a betrayal.

"That's funny, considering I'm the one who's always defended you, and not just to my own people," he said. "Are you gunna burn me too then? The last person in Westeros who genuinely supports you, believes in you?"

Daenerys regarded him coolly, but he saw that what he said had affected her. She had lost so much in such a short amount of time, and that alone made him empathize for her. Jorah Mormont, Grey Worm, Missandei, Viserion, and many more throughout her past, he was sure.

"I decided to trust you because I thought you were different from Cersei," Jon said. "But if you let this change anything, the queen I pledged my oath to will be lost, no matter who wins the Red Keep."

The council tent was silent after that.

Yet not even a hundred feet outside of it, Tyrion had the unique perspective of looking down at his brother, who again sat on the ground in chains. He'd been caught by their scouting Dothraki, at the border between the Reach and King's Landing.

"Do you finally want to tell me why you're really here?" he asked.

Jaime sighed through his nose and raised his head.

"Hmm, not really."

"Can't even make my job just a little bit easier, can you?" Tyrion mused. He hand an arm crossed while his other elbow rested on it, allowing him to cover his face with a hand in frustration. "I thought I was supposed to be the problem child."

"It needs to end, brother." And there it was, a rare moment of earnestness from the formerly reformed Kingslayer. Tyrion watched his brother closely.

"If she can't be saved…then, I should be the one to do it," Jaime said.

Tyrion failed to swallow past a lump in his throat. His mind worked furiously, as always, but for once his mouth refused to cooperate.

"And you intend to die with her?" he surmised.

"For my crimes, I think it's suitable. Don't you?" Jaime asked.

"We both know you love yourself far too much for those kinds of trifles."

Jaime quirked a half-grin, mostly a grimace. "As it turns out, I'm pretty loathsome."

Tyrion frowned, his anger rising to the surface.

"What you are, is an idiot."

Even now, Jaime's eyes were laughing, and deeply pained.

"I think I've heard that somewhere."

After weeks of long travel, Will stopped his horse at the top of a large, roving hill that marked the outskirts of the Reach. In the far distance, he could barely see the outline of city gates.

King's Landing.

As a strong breeze brushed his hair from his face, he breathed in deeply. Coughed when the vague stench of shit hit him.

"Yeah, get used to it," said Sandor Clegane. "City stench will fuckin' knock ya back."

His expression was impassive as always, but maybe a touch amused? His horse halted beside Will's, while Arya came up on his other side.

"No kidding," Will retched.

"They're here already," Arya said. She gazed down what was likely miles below them, where the large tents and raised flags showed the symbols of dragons and wolves.

Then, a deep whirring sounded above them as two dragons soared overhead. Will watched them go in a mesmerized stupor. He recognized Drogon and Rhaegal, but even now it was one of the most terrifying sight he'd ever seen. Second only to glowing blue eyes.

His gaze travelled further, to the tents gathered below. Both Jon and Davos were there with the rest of the Northern troops, ready to face Cersei's army. Already he could hear the pounding of horse hooves, could hear the rally of soldiers as orderly formations of Unsullied marched towards the city.

"Let's move," Sandor said.

Together, the three of them rode hard the rest of the way to the city. Will marveled with awe and fear as Drogon and Rhaegal flew over the city, raining down torrents of fire and destruction. They were maybe a mile away from King's Landing when he could finally hear the screaming.

This is more than war, Will thought, as flames licked into the otherwise bright and cloudless sky.

When they finally reached the gaping, crumbled wall of the city (no doubt the work of dragons and Unsullied), Arya gave him one final look. She didn't say anything, but Will had learned a lot from their sparring sessions than he had in years of childhood tutoring at home, in Casterly Rock.

"You're small, that's your advantage," she'd said. "You've got a long way to go, but you've got good instincts."

And then there was Sandor Clegane. Once, and only once, calm words at the end of a long day, sitting at the fire.

"Ya got heart," he acknowledged. "If you're afraid, store it. Use it to keep moving forward."

Will steeled himself.

"I'm not going with you," he said. "I'm going to find Jon."

Neither of his companions argued with him. Arya nodded, smiling slightly.

"Try not to die."

A similar smile quirking at his lips, he gazed up at Sandor. "Thanks for seeing me this far."

Gruff to the last, the tower of a man just snorted in dismissal. But there was a look in his eyes that was…proud? Pleased? Will couldn't tell.

They parted ways there at the gate. Will trekked on his horse, though with droves of terrified, desperate people scrambling for escape and safety, it was hard to know where to go. He hadn't yet seen any Northmen, or even Dothraki or Unsullied.

But there were dragons. The fires were spreading from home to home, building upon building was crumbling down around him. When part of a thatch roof fell from above him, Will's mare reared up, braying in distress when embers burned her hide. He was thrown from the horse's back, falling hard on his back onto the cobblestone ground.

Wheezing for breath, he narrowly avoided being trampled—first by his horse, then by a crowd of people as they ran from a burst of fire. Will grasped at the ground with his fingernails, quickly getting his feet under him and running in the opposite direction.

With the clamor of others behind him, he was forced to take a sharp corner as the road bent. Even more chaos filled the street ahead, as Goldcloak soldiers from the palace fought with Dothraki and Northmen.

There in the thick of it, he finally saw a head of dark hair moving farther into the street, a flash of a long sword, Northern soldiers gathered around him.

"J-Jon!" Will called after him, not that his voice was strong enough to reach him. He broke off into a run, dodging swords and civilians alike.

Then came the bells.

Loud, ominous, a cry for mercy. Will had never heard them before, but he knew what they meant. Cersei's army was calling for a truce, to surrender against the onslaught of dragonfire.

Will looked up at the sentry towers—one to the east, another to the west, and several more in between. Goldcloaks pulled hard at the ropes to sound the bells.

Already?

He gazed ahead, finding Jon looking up as well. But his eyes were on the Dragon Queen, who sat on Drogon, perched high up on one of the towers closest to the Red Keep. She was too far away for Will to see her face, but he was able to hear the command she shouted, clear as a bell.

Dracarys.

"Will!"

His eyes dragged away, just as Drogon unleashed a roar of fire onto the Red Keep. Jon stood above him, grabbing his shoulder.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he said angrily. But his eyes drifted back up with worry as Daenerys systematically destroyed the Red Keep.

Will hesitated, fear and other emotions driving up thickly into his throat.

"Keeping my word," he said.

Jon looked exasperated, but mostly worried. After a moment of indecision, he started down the street, dragging Will along with him.

"Stay by my side at all times, you understand?" His voice was more than stern, it boded no argument. Will nodded.

That was what he came for, anyway.

Sansa was getting entirely sick of sea travel.

After another dreary week with precious little sleep on the ship, her mood was growing fouler by the second. Lord Baelish joining her on the deck was that much more unpleasant.

"Is this the part where you reveal your little trick?" she deadpanned. She didn't want to give him the pleasure of seeming interested in anything he had to say, but this at least, she would hear from him.

Just how had he survived having his throat cut open by Arya's blade?

"Valar Morghulis," he replied, his usual smirk a bit more mysterious.

All men must die.

Arya had taught her the words of the Faceless Men, but too little about what they meant. Still, Sansa felt a grim suspicion as she stubbornly watched the morning sun scorch down on the sea.

"You'll be surprised what you can gain, if you possess the right currency," Baelish remarked. His voice was just as sinful as ever, a ribbon of dark velvet and false charm.

"So you bought a life with such currency?" she said.

"I've only ever underestimated you once, my lady," he smiled. "I didn't intend to repeat myself."

Sansa finally glanced over at him. "Yet you're here."

"Returning where it all began," he nodded.

"And how do you think this will play out for you?" she asked. "How do you intend to win the game of thrones?"

"I don't blame you for holding a grudge," Baelish smirked. "But when I look at you, I still see the same picture in my mind."

He left her there then, but not without a fleeting touch along her shoulder. His voice, just behind her ear.

"I told you, you would make an excellent queen one day."

Sansa restrained a shiver. She knew Brienne was watching discreetly nearby, but she couldn't yet stifle the unease creeping into her heart. It wasn't attraction that made her still react to his words. She hated to admit that it was fear.

Petyr Baelish was a snake in human skin. She had no doubt of his plans, just not what he would do to make that picture of his, a reality.

Belowdecks, Larisa was sharing tea with her mother in her quarters. They sat at a small table while they passed the time idly with card games, and reminiscing about childhood stories. Eventually though, Larisa's good humor faded.

"You should have stayed in Sunspear, mother," she said.

Dorna scoffed. "Whatever for? Why should I be parted with you?"

The younger woman sighed.

"It isn't safe."

"How much safer can we be, with that warrior woman on our side?" she chuckled. "I've never seen a man or woman that large, besides the Mountain."

Larisa smiled, despite herself. She hadn't spoken much with Brienne, but after all of their travels, she now knew her to be honorable and brave and fierce as they came.

"Lara, listen." Dorna set down her tea for a moment. "You do know that you could become Lady of Casterly Rock when all is said and done."

Larisa's smile became more genuinely amused. "What are you talking about?"

"We both know Cersei won't survive this war. Jaime is a Kingsguard, and threw away his chance. And as long as Tyrion supports Daenerys as her Hand, even if he is not killed, his right can be contested," Dorna reasoned.

While what she was saying maybe had a ring of truth to it, Larisa shook her head, taking another sip of her tea.

"I'm not interested in going back to Casterly Rock."

"Think, my dear. It's a solution to your problem," Dorna said patiently. "Should we succeed, and Jon Snow becomes King of the Seven Kingdoms, why should he take a widow as a bride, even if she is a Lannister? Having a proper, honorable title will put you in a better position when it comes time for him to formally choose a wife."

If Jon becomes King of the Seven Kingdoms, Larisa considered the thought as her fingers toyed with the gold pendant that hung from her neck. If Jon becomes king.

She had avoided thinking about this eventuality, but being with Elinor again had forced her to remember things she'd been trying to forget. Things that could no longer be ignored, if she truly wanted to be with Jon. Her mother brought up a good point, and an old insecurity of Larisa's. Would it be right for Jon to take a widow as a wife?

And if so, would it be right for her to remain so selfish, keeping this last secret from him? Especially when she knew he didn't even want to be king.

"Jon doesn't want the throne," she said, her voice soft, and a bit sad. It may be true that he didn't want it, but she knew him well enough by now. He would take up the responsibility if the opportunity presented itself, because he was a good man. The best she'd ever met.

"It may not be his choice, dear," Dorna replied. He laid a hand on Larisa's, but she couldn't find any comfort from it.

"It should be, mother," Larisa said. She touched the edges of her pendant, thinking about the untouched vile that still laid hidden inside. Dorna glanced down at it, no doubt with a similar thought.

"You still have that?" Dorna noted. "Who are you saving it for?"

"For Cersei, of course."

Dorna snorted in amusement. "That may be rather redundant to dragonfire."

"Perhaps," Larisa said.

She took her leave not long after, deciding she needed fresh air to greet the midday. While traveling up the stairs, she paused, hearing voices up ahead. Flattening herself against the wall, she craned her neck as far up as she could and spotted Martha with Theon Greyjoy, standing closely together on the deck.

"What does your sister think of you fighting for the Starks?" Martha asked. Theon leaned against a railing, staring out at the darkening sky thoughtfully.

"Yara's place is with our people. She understands that mine is here," he said.

Martha nodded. After a moment, she asked something else. "Was I foolish?"

"About what?" Theon asked, though Larisa could tell by his eyes that he knew exactly what.

"My cousin offered me a place to stay with him and his family in Dorne," Martha said, "the chance to return home someday. I just don't feel that the Westerlands is my home anymore, not unlike how the Iron Islands no longer calls to you."

After a moment, Theon smiled a little.

"We're going headlong into a war. Maybe you're a fool, but at least you're not a coward."

Martha echoed his smile. "I'll take that then."

They grew closer, and Larisa averted her eyes, both not really wanting to intrude on such a moment, and not wanting to see it altogether. But Theon's voice drew her attention back.

"I'm sorry," he said, just shy of Martha's lips. She looked up at him, both hurt and confused by his rejection.

"Why? It…it's been a long time since Addam has had any say in my decisions," she said.

"How can you ask that, knowing who and what I am?" Theon argued back hotly. He looked frustrated and perplexed, gazing at the girl in front of him like he couldn't understand her. But he did understand why an honorable man like Addam Marbrand would turned his nose down at the likes of Theon Greyjoy.

"You're too kind for your own good."

Martha was left on her own, staring after Theon as he made his way towards the barracks. Towards Larisa. She straightened and continued up the stairs, as if she'd just started up them. She made sure to look up at Theon as she passed him. Averting her gaze was a sure tell that she'd been listening, but thankfully, he kept moving without acknowledging her.

Larisa's gaze met briefly with Martha's as she made it abovedeck. Martha soon looked away, but it stirred something uneasy in Larisa's gut, seeing her tears. It felt slightly like guilt.

She was quick to stamp out that feeling though. She'd done nothing wrong. If anything, this was more ammunition for her debt to the girl, for spying on her for Sansa.

Speaking of which, the Lady of Winterfell was still on the deck, staring blindly out at the sea. Larisa thought she seemed troubled.

"You'll catch a chill if you stand out here for too long," she remarked, coming up beside Sansa.

"Don't tell me you're concerned for my wellbeing," Sansa said. She smiled in amusement.

"Hardly. It wouldn't do for you to die before we reach Daenerys. Her dragons should have something to focus on," Larisa quipped dryly. Sansa sent her a flat look.

Larisa's smile remained. Sansa was still irritating, but she wasn't as cold or vile as Larisa first thought. "I may as well admit it, without your help, we wouldn't have gotten this far."

It was a while before Sansa replied, but when she did, it was even more surprising than Larisa's own admission.

"You gave me a way to help my brother, instead of sitting on my hands."

It wasn't quite a thank you, but it was better than Larisa thought she'd ever receive. Instead, she sighed and looked out at the modest fleet of beautifully crafted ships spanning nearly half a mile behind them. They carried long, orange banners crested with golden spears striking through scarlet suns.

"If Daenerys doesn't immediately take action against Jon, what will be our excuse, bringing the Dornish Army to King's Landing?"

"Lady Sansa reminded us that we are her majesty's allies," said Prince Aldemar. He approached them, standing tall and regally, despite his modest clothing for sea travel. "She convinced us to send our support to Queen Daenerys and the great North."

Larisa noticed the subtle, pleasant smile on Sansa's face. It fell when they all took in the sight ahead, past the island of Dragonstone, and even the Blackwater. The sight of flames and smoke in the sky, hanging over King's Landing.

The city is burning.