Not original

Margaery shook herself from her state of shock, trying to think through the implications of what had just occurred. Sandor Clegane had betrayed Myrcella in the Trial of Seven. They had the High Septon in their pocket – the greedy oaf would say any words they fed him – but would the people accept it?

Unlikely, but for Myrcella announcing her concession as she did.

Margaery rubbed her arms as a sudden chill prickled her flesh. The voice… had it truly been Myrcella's? The second time she shouted, it had been loud, but unmistakably hers. The first time, however, had been something extraordinary. Even from a distance, it had pained her ears. It felt as though someone – or something – was speaking through her, despite Myrcella's identifying herself by name.

Ser Walder Yelshire spoke urgently, "The crowd is at bay, but we must get you both to the Red Keep."

"No," Margaery said simply. "We must speak with Myrcella with all haste."

Aegon looked indecisive. "My love, there is some risk; the people's passions are inflamed. In your condition, you should not be around any violence."

"The babe will be fine, and our guards will protect us. It is important we secure her oath and ensure she keeps the smallfolk in line. The High Sparrow has more influence than the High Septon, and one word from her and the streets will run red with blood," Margaery said, her voice rising with urgency.

"Should we have the man detained so he can not lead the rabble?" Ser Walder asked.

She stared with incredulity at the knight. Was he a fool?

Aegon shook his head. "No, that would only create the spark that turns this into a bonfire of corpses. I mislike putting you in danger. I can speak with Myrcella; you can go back to the Red Keep."

"She likes me more, and we should remain together. We have won, yes, but our victory is tainted by apparent treachery." Margaery considered quickly. "We should take Clegane under guard. We can have the Faith of the Seven try him like was done in ancient times; it won't set a precedent for a return of the Faith Militant or anything of the sort if we define it as their jurisdiction only due to being the Trial of Seven."

Aegon gave the command. "That might work, though I am perplexed as to why he acted the way he did. I'll send someone for Lord Varys, but I do not think this was his work. He was intending to flee the city and serve in secret on Dragonstone if our side lost. Perhaps he is just a careful planner for all contingencies, but the thought put into it makes me doubt he knew the Hound would betray Myrcella."

A guard returned. "Your Grace, Myrcella has gone to pray over Robb Stark and has refused to come until he is seen to."

Aegon frowned. "That is presumptuous of her." He turned to Margaery. "I recall Lord Varys mentioning that one of the erroneous rumors before the war began was Myrcella's supposed desire to be matched with Robb Stark. Could it be true?"

Margaery had recalled that particular story and that Varys had said it had come from one of Myrcella's handmaidens, but so had several other stories that he had eventually dismissed as fictious.

"We should go and attend," Margaery said. "Staying here idle would appear indecisive, and moving back to the Red Keep may delay our discussion. Neither suits our purpose."

Her husband gave her a wry grin. "Keep this up, and I'll think you mean to sit the Iron Throne."

Margaery felt her cheeks heat up a degree. She was being rather forward, but she had been taught by the Queen of Thorns herself and knew that this moment could be pivotal for their reign. It could not be left to chance.

A knot of Tyrell guards and Kingsguard surrounded them as they made their way to the nearby tent where Robb had been taken to be treated by the Maesters. Outside the tent stood Ser Barristan, Ser Brienne, Ser Perwyn, Tyrion Lannister, and the High Sparrow. The High Sparrow was accompanied by a group of raggedly-dressed men, all of whom carried weapons at their belts.

Margaery whispered to one of the Tyrell guards to fetch the High Septon; she then walked forward with a smile.

"The Seven bless you; have you come to pray for the health of Robb Stark as well?"

The elderly man lowered his head. "Your Grace, I would be happy to, but that is not my purpose here. Lady Myrcella has announced her concession, yet I, along with the faithful, have questions for her."

"We spoke before of the importance of the Trial of Seven, and now it has been completed. What more is there to question?"

The old man drew himself up. "I believe you know, Your Grace. This Sandor Clegane turned his cloak in the midst of one of the most sacred events of our Faith. Some would go so far as to say that this blasphemy turned the Seven's gaze away and made it no more godly-sanctioned than a street brawl."

Aegon stepped forward, face stern and eyes alight with anger. "My Hand lies sorely wounded, and good knights died today, on both sides. Who are you to say it was all for naught?"

Margaery laid a restraining hand on the King's chest.

"The King worries over our friend, Jon Connington, who helped raise him in secret. As it seems the Lady Myrcella has no wish to be interrupted in her prayers," she glanced meaningfully at the three knights of the Stormguard, "perhaps you can provide one for the Hand of the King?"

The man smiled at her. "Prayer is always a welcome thing, and I will be glad to do so with you."

Aegon smoothed his expression, but Margaery could feel the tension in his body. She knew she was being too subservient to what amounted to a street preacher, yet she felt, deep in her bones, that the man before her held the power to send tens of thousands of smallfolk to their death on a whim. She had worked hard to gain his trust and would not throw it away for the sake of pride.

They settled in to pray, waiting at Lady Myrcella's pleasure.

***

The wound was bad, but it could have been far worse. Strangely enough, despite its location in such a delicate area, Robb seemed to possess a strange vitality. I would have expected his labored breathing to strain his system, but unless I was badly missing my mark, he would have lingered for days without expiring. In fact, before I had done more than examine his wound, his pallor had already improved.

I glanced at his wolf.

Hmm…

The bond the Starks shared with their wolves was incredible, and it seemed there were still more advantages to unearth from them. I wondered if their choice of sigil was influenced by the first Starks having some sort of kinship with the wolves, much like how House Targaryen had the ability to form a bond with the dragons they rode.

I began my work and found it significantly easier than with Lum. A variety of factors could have played a part in this: from greater experience on my end, to Robb being younger and more fit, the location of the wound, the time it took for me to begin attending to it, and maybe even the magical nature of Robb's connection to Grey Wind. Either way, the process was less taxing, and his lung was made whole with his bones on their way to being reknit.

While being less taxing and far quicker than the life-saving measures with Ser Lum, it did take some time. As I finished, I considered what steps I needed to take next. I had acted swiftly to ensure my most prized human resources did not die needlessly. The alternative would have been to pull the trigger, declare the trial a farce due to Clegane's treachery, and rally the smallfolk while my men took the gate. I would have needed to kill Aegon and Margaery before assassinating anyone competent attempting to rally. Then, I would have to fight a battle against intact and formidable armies from Dorne, the Reach, and the Golden Company.

That was a last resort in the event of Aegon not accepting the outcome of the trial. It could have been won, but the cost would have been prohibitive. Tyrion likely dead, my best Stormguard in the thick of fighting for hours, tens of thousands of smallfolk slaughtered, and the stench of trickery and deceit would be upon me for the rest of my days. No, so long as I could keep Tommen safe and secure my rule of the Stormlands, it was better this way.

I walked out to see an unexpected gathering of the powerful. King Aegon, Queen Margaery, Lord Varys, the High Septon, the High Sparrow, and Garlan Tyrell.

"Robb Stark is no longer in any immediate danger," I said in an even tone.

"The Mother's mercy is extraordinary," the High Sparrow announced with conviction. "Pray now for the Father's judgement, for the faithful stand ready to serve the Seven-who-are-One and their voice."

I eyed him, frustrated that my circumstances had made me lean toward religious idiocy in this life.

"I am the voice of the Seven," the High Septon said angrily, "and the Father has judged Aegon Targaryen the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms."

"Through base treachery perhaps–"

"I have already conceded," I cut off the High Sparrow. "Aegon is King, but like my father before me, I will not tolerate a Mad King. So long as Aegon Targaryen does what is best for the realm, House Baratheon will serve him gladly."

I saw Varys stiffen, but Aegon stepped forward and smiled broadly.

"I am not my grandfather and have every intention to honor our agreement in full, Lady Myrcella. I also wish to pledge that I had no part in Sandor Clegane's action. Even now, we have put him under guard, and he will be questioned as to his motivations. I had planned to give him over to the Faith of the Seven to be tried by a court of septons for his actions, to determine if he acted for base reasons or if he felt compelled by the Seven to act on behalf of the Targaryen dynasty."

I nodded. "Excellent, I have some more of my men to see to." I looked over to the High Sparrow. "Please tell the faithful that the matter of the Trial by Seven is fully concluded. I have spoken it once, and I can speak it again if need be, but I would provide succor to those who fought under my banner."

The man was deep in thought. My words jogged him out of whatever he was pondering, and then he lowered his head. "It seems that even I am still left with unseemly pride; so do we sin, so we do we suffer. I obey the will of the Seven."

He turned and left, and I saw the disquieted looks on the faces of the others.

What is the issue? He's going to go calm down the people so we don't have a damnable riot.

"The Faith of the Seven cannot allow that… that… sparrow to speak such things; he needs to be reined in and be on trial next to Ser Clegane!" The High Septon sputtered.

"He is not a knight," Brienne said from under her helmet. "Clegane is no ser."

Aegon shook his head, ignoring Brienne's comment and focusing on the High Septon. "Westeros is ruled by a King, who upholds the pillar of justice. The only reason Sandor Clegane is being placed under your purview is due to the Trial of Seven," he said sternly. "We will discuss the sparrows at a later date." Turning to me, he said, "We will have a more formal and public ceremony later, but I would have your oath of fealty now."

"Of course." I knelt smoothly. "I, Myrcella Baratheon, of the House Baratheon, do so swear fealty to Aegon Targaryen, rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. I swear to obey your lawful commands against any foe. I will defend your rights, proclaim your rule, and guard your secrets. I swear this by the Old Gods and the New."

Aegon extended his hand, and I kissed the signet ring. Idly I wondered how recently it had been made, as it was completely without blemish, signaling minimal use.

"Rise then, Lady Baratheon, Lady Paramount of the Stormlands. I acknowledge your rights to Storm's End and vow that good and faithful service will always be rewarded."

I rose and then looked him square in the eye. My gaze had transformed to one of intensity, and I used quick formulae to lower the temperature by several degrees in the immediate vicinity. I also adjusted my oxygen creation spell from my second life to temporarily increase the air pressure in our area. The effect would add a level of impact to my gaze beyond just the visual.

"You have my oath, but remember – I will not serve a Mad King. If my brother keels over dead under suspect circumstances, I will assume the weakness in your line has manifested again."

"You threaten the King after you gave your oath," Ser Walder began as his hand grabbed the hilt of his blade.

"Mind your place, ser," Aegon snapped, "It would be madness for a King to break his vow to a loyal vassal, so I rightly see our young Paramount Lady's concern. You are not here to guard me from words." He held up under my gaze with decent aplomb. "Lady Myrcella, your brother has no cause for fear from me, so long as he fulfills his part of our agreement and renounces his claim to the throne and swears himself to the Night's Watch."

I nodded. "Then we are in agreement; if you will excuse me, Your Grace, I should see to Ser Addam."

He waved his hand, "Go see to your prayers, and come find me this evening in the Red Keep. We will have much to discuss."

That we would. The North was going to be a vexing problem, and I still needed to get ahold of Ser Lum's latest report. The last raven we had received said he was heading to the Wall itself, but the testimony of the Night's Watch they had met in Winterfell had been convincing. More alarming was that Melisandre had wormed her way into Jon's confidences, and Lum had shared there was even a rumor she was sleeping with him.

These fucking followers of R'hllor have done nothing but bring ruin to this land. They may even be worse than communists.

***

Their foes were stricken with shock. Though some effort had been made to rally the defenders, Asha and her men fell upon them with unrelenting fury, as did the other captains and their crews. None dared appear anything less than utterly devoted to King Euron Greyjoy.

Asha hurled one of her axes just as her line of men crashed into the hastily-formed spear wall. The axe struck its mark, forcing a soldier to flinch, and Qarl the Maid seized the moment to drive his blade deep, spilling the man's innards. Moments later, Asha plunged into the fray, wielding another axe in the brutal press of combat. With a savage swing, she hewed down an enemy at the calf, sending him sprawling. These guards wore chainmail or simple breastplates – not the full armor of knights. Their legs were unprotected, a vulnerability she exploited without mercy.

Their morale, already shattered by the overwhelming destruction, crumbled entirely within moments. Across the city, the scene repeated, with only a few pockets of determined resistance holding their ground. Asha caught sight of some of her men breaking away to pursue women who had drawn their interest.

Better them than me. If they had bothered to learn the axe or blade, they could have at least died before being so violated.

She allowed her men to run wild, partly out of fear they might not heed her if she tried to rein them in, and partly because the battle seemed all but over. A thunderous roar from above heralded Euron's arrival as his dragon unleashed a torrent of flame. Though not yet fully grown, the beast's presence stoked the flames of terror, and what little resistance remained swiftly dissolved into chaos.

Within a few hours, she discovered that the battle was not yet over. Smallfolk and knights had rallied in a single location – a place they were willing to spend the coin of their lives for: the Starry Sept. For now, that was acceptable. Oldtown was vast, and there was an abundance of looting to be done. Orders were swiftly issued to avoid the building. As night descended, the captains were summoned and commanded to assemble near the final holdouts to attend Euron.

Asha heard Ser Harras Harlaw laugh when he learned his kinsmen had taken the Citadel.

Pity you survived today's battles, such as they were, traitor.

Asha still held a grudge over Ser Harras speaking of the kinslaying she had been forced to do. She couldn't find fault with the news; the Citadel was a treasure trove of books, and her Uncle Rodrik would appreciate them. The other Ironborn would have used them for cooking fires; literacy was not something that was respected in the Iron Isles.

She saw Euron, no longer upon his dragon but armored in his Valyrian steel. Next to him was the gigantic Priest of R'hllor, Moqorro. The priest slammed his dragon-headed staff on the ground, and its eyes flared with green fire.

"ATTEND THE CROW'S EYE!" the voice boomed with an intensity that made Asha's skin crawl.

Euron stood upon some stacked boxes.

"Did I not promise Oldtown? Did I not promise the bounty of the Reach?"

"EURON! EURON KING!" the roar echoed, and Asha knew the defenders of the Starry Sept most certainly heard them.

"The Drowned God and his priests promised my brother independence. What did we receive in turn? Nothing but grief and sorrow, and now the line of my brother is spent, save for a woman. You deserve better than humiliating defeat and death. You deserve ALL OF WESTEROS!"

"EURON! THE CROW'S EYE!" "EURON!!"

Asha was shocked at the casual blasphemy. Euron had shattered the worship of the Drowned God, perhaps for all time. Sensing an opportunity, she raised her voice.

"You say we deserve better than the Drowned God? You would have us worship this Lord of Light, like Stannis did? How well did that serve him?"

Euron laughed. "R'hllor? NO! I do not wish you to worship a foreign God when the Iron Born have one already."

"Who?" Shouted a voice.

Euron raised his blade, and lightning streaked across the sky, and thunder reverberated.

"I WILL BE YOUR GOD! WORSHIP ME, AND I WILL GIVE YOU MORE THAN WESTEROS – I WILL GIVE YOU THE WORLD!"

Asha's jaw tightened as the chants for Euron swelled, growing louder with each passing moment. Drunk on victory, the men craved more, their fervor molding them like clay in Euron's hands. Disgust flared within her, and she let out a low growl, scanning the crowd for shared dissent. She saw a few faces mirroring her own revulsion.

Too few.

When the euphoric cries wound down, Euron spoke, his voice somehow soft yet clearly heard.

"I am not a God who desires rules and frequent adoration. But I am a jealous one. The Starry Sept here in Old Town burns tonight. The Great Sept of Baelor will soon burn too. The Godswood in Winterfell will be shattered." He laughed. "All will fall to their knees, or they will die. Come and witness – let us see how these knights fare against a God." He pointed to the sept. "Let us see who accepts my challenge."

Asha watched as Euron advanced and quickly ran to Moqorro. As she arrived, she hissed, "Are you an apostate now? No longer believe in your Lord of Light?"

The man's dark skin crinkled as he smiled at her.

"The Lord of Light wills this to happen. He allows the worship of lesser entities when it is useful against the Soul of Ice. Euron is unique, and he is the apotheosis of man… and something more. He was reborn in Valyria amidst salt and smoke. He will lead the armies of man against our greatest foe." The man's voice changed in cadence. "I have seen it in the flames. Soon, word will reach us that the North is imperiled, the Night's Watch shattered, the Wall breached. The King beyond the Wall moves, but he is not a conquering army to fear, but a prelude to the extinguishing of all light and life."

Asha stared at him. "You're mad. All of you are mad. Euron is my uncle; he's not some God descended from the heavens."

He frowned at her. "You aren't paying attention to what I am saying, but no matter. Your role is insignificant now that you cannot challenge him. Away with you; I must attend."

Asha ground her teeth in frustration and walked with the other captains and crew toward the Starry Sept. Euron was out in front and called out a challenge.

"I've heard you lot enjoy your trials by combat. You can face me and all my men, or you can choose your Seven. And one at a time they can duel me. Should you win, my men will leave the Starry Sept unplundered. Should I win? You throw down your arms and kneel to a TRUE GOD!" he finished with a roar.

There was a shocked silenced, and then Euron added, "You have until the hour of the owl!"

Asha shuddered. Euron was utterly confident he would win. Her uncle was mad but not stupid. He had to know he would win, which meant that if she had tried to fight him on the day she killed Theon, she would have lost.

I never had a chance or a choice. It wasn't my fault.

***

Ser Addam wasn't in danger of passing, but depending on how the bones in his leg healed, he could develop a permanent disability. The Maesters had set the bone properly, and after checking it over, I focused on ensuring that the wound was well cleaned and sent magic into those bones to hopefully accelerate healing.

I was still worried about the use of my magical healing causing replication errors in cells, leading to cancerous growth, but that likely wouldn't manifest for years if it did happen. Simply not using it when it could dramatically improve the quality of life of a good ally was the right decision.

"How fares the city?" It was dark now, and I didn't see any roaring fires or the shouts of angry rioters.

Brienne answered, "I've instructed some of our men to regularly report in in 30-minute intervals. The High Sparrow has calmed the sparrows down and entreated them to pray and fast for guidance over the next seven days."

Crafty old bugger. If after the seven days they wished to make trouble, they wouldn't be fit for all that much. He obviously wants the faith to be ascendant and doesn't like the High Septon much, but he's also a true fanatic. He does seem loyal to me. Still, I'm wary of other further betrayal, and religious fanatics aren't known for their rationality.

"Good, make sure we have eyes on him all times." I paused to think. "In fact, let him know we have concerns for his safety and would like guards posted. Send for Ser Bonnifer and have him lead the guard detail."

She nodded and passed on the instructions as my Stormguard gathered around me. Tyrion had been drinking heavily and wasn't really fit for conversation. Many Tyrell soldiers and Gold Cloaks surrounded my own guard as we left the tents near the tourney grounds. We made it to the Red Keep without issue and were soon escorted to the Royal Apartments. My guard was asked to remain outside, and I took no issue with it. In fact, I needed to get them back on rotation.

"Bronn, you have done well despite the outcome. I intend to knight you for your efforts – and more – but later, when we have more of our own men around us. Take your rest and report to Ser Barristan in the afternoon. Ser Perwyn, stay with my uncle and then rest during the morrow; you will have night duty tomorrow. Ser Barristan, rest and take over for Ser Brienne in the morning. Brienne, you will be on night guard duty."

Barristan gave me a look – even with his helm on I could tell.

"You'll have responsibility for this later, but if I didn't give you these commands now, you would stay up all night and the next day despite just having fought. Dismissed."

Tyrion chuckled and waddled off with Ser Perwyn, while Brienne took her post with the other guards outside the room where Aegon and Margaery were. I entered and saw the King and Queen, along with a wounded but ambulatory Jon Connington and Varys. I kept the desire to gut him hidden from my visage and lowered my head.

"Your Grace, you wished to see me."

Aegon nodded. "Yes, we have matters to discuss and arrange. First, I would like to thank you for acting so promptly. Further bloodshed," his eyes briefly strayed to Connington, "would not have been ideal. Your efforts with the High Sparrow have also calmed the temper of the city. To put it simply, Lady Myrcella, the people respect and adore your voice. Given the infancy of my rule, I would like to continue to use that voice."

Connington cleared his throat. "We must also arrange for vows of fealty to be sworn by Lord Tywin and see to it that Tommen renounces his claim and then travels to the Wall and swears his oaths."

"I will have a raven penned to my grandfather before I take my rest. I suspect he will not wish to come in person, and we should respect those wishes. A public declaration and a raven with his seal should hopefully be sufficient."

Connington looked to object, but Aegon nodded. "Yes, most like there is too much bad blood with Lord Tywin and this city. It's best not to risk things until my reign is more settled."

I could see the frustration form on Jon's face. It seemed that the King and his Hand were at odds.

"You asked that I continue to use my voice in the city – in what way?" I asked.

"My wife has done much to aid with the rebuilding. She regularly goes out into the city, ensuring that the people know that we attend to their needs. I would like you to assist her in this, and when she is further along with my heir, take over for her."

He wants me to do charity work and propaganda? Why do people always want me to be used in propaganda!? I bet he already has a damned dress lined up!

Ok, well, he probably didn't have a dress picked out for me. I glanced at Margaery's open and earnest face – a neat façade. I glanced at Connington's thinned lips; he was one who didn't trust me at all. Varys had an expression that revealed nothing, of course.

"I have seen the progress in rebuilding the city and ensuring the people have shelter and food. This is important work; however, I had hoped to begin managing my own lands. I take my responsibilities seriously as a Paramount Lady. With the war now all but won and winter upon us, it is time for me to see to my own people."

"No," Connington replied. "You will not leave this city until you have proven yourself loyal. Ser Cortnay Penrose has stewarded the Stormlands for several years; he can do so for more. Your protests ring both hollow and suspect."

Margaery narrowed her eyes and glanced at the wounded man.

"Our Hand suffered several painful wounds in the melee; pardon his gruffness, Myrcella," she diplomatically stated.

"I am in effect your prisoner, a political hostage, despite the giving of my fealty and stopping the city from rising up against you," I said matter-of-factly.

Aegon frowned. "I would prefer not to phrase it that way, Lady Myrcella, but yes. If you did harbor treasonous ideas, you and the Stormlands would remain a dangerous threat. I have come to admire and appreciate you in the short while I have known you, but I rule the Seven Kingdoms. I cannot take these sorts of chances with the future of my realm."

He had a point. He didn't know me. So long as my grandfather and brother were in the wind, we had the means to resist him on the field of battle. The war had demonstrated how effective we were at warfare, and it made sense to keep me close and unable to lead my quite fanatical men.

"Seeing as I have little choice in the matter, I will stay." This wasn't entirely true, but as easy as it would be to leave the city, doing so would only rekindle the conflict.

"Good," Connington said in a tired voice. "Half of your Stormlanders will fall under Ser Garlan's command, and he will secure the Vale, putting an end to any banditry in the Riverlands. The rest can return home for the winter."

Effectively splitting my forces, smart.

He continued, "Ser Stevron Frey as heir to the Twins will travel to King's Landing to swear fealty. Edmure Tully, your hostage, will also travel to King's Landing and swear fealty. They can make their case as to whom we should declare as Lord Paramount."

Hmm, no doubt Connington dislikes Walder Frey – everyone does. Edmure will be used as a bargaining chip and a wedge against the North, given his relation to Eddard's wife. I do hope Jon Targaryen sees sense. The war is over.

"I will add those to the missives I write this evening," I agreed.

"Finally, you will also need to release Ser Barristan from your 'Stormguard' so he can rejoin the Kingsguard," Connington said.

"That is his choice to make; the Stormguard do not take oaths for life. It is a more… modern approach that has yielded much fruit. Should he desire to join the Kingsguard, I will wish him well."

"But you don't think he will." Varys spoke, and I met his gaze as he looked on.

I shook my head.

"Then you will order him to; you are his liege lady," Connington demanded.

I looked toward Aegon, "You want to force someone into the Kingsguard? I don't believe that is wise."

Aegon sighed. "As much as I would like to have him, I will not force anyone to wear the white. Jon, if you wish to convince him, that is all well and good, but do not threaten him."

"As if he would respond to threats, my boy; he has well earned the title 'the Bold.'"

The dynamics between Aegon, Connington, and Margaery were interesting. Given that I would be stuck here for a while, I could observe and attempt to manipulate the situation to my advantage. Even though King's Landing was my home, I would be glad to be done with it. The Stormlands could use some improvement, and I would enjoy not having to report to someone else for a change.

Varys stepped forward. "We have questioned Sandor Clegane. He claims that he betrayed you as a way to get back at your grandfather for nearly burning him alive in the battle of the Kingspyre. He also stated that Tywin Lannister deliberately murdered his grandson after deeming him unfit to rule. I am curious as to how much of that rings true."

"I was not party to my grandfather's battleplans, as we were hundreds of miles apart at the time. Regardless, as part of our agreement, any accidental kinslaying would be forgiven, as were all the deliberate actions my grandfather took in prosecuting the war," I reminded the room.

Aegon waved aside the concern. "I keep my word as King, fear not. We just wondered if Clegane knew the truth of the matter."

"I would like to speak with him."

"Certainly, he is being held in Baelor's Sept by the Faith of the Seven. The High Septon will not bar you from speaking with him," Aegon replied.

"If that is all…?" I prompted; it was late, and I was quite tired after using my magical abilities today.

"Yes, that is all; meet with the Queen to break your fast and then join her in her efforts within the city," Aegon said, and I was dismissed.

I quickly penned the necessary letters, collected Ser Brienne, and made my way to where they were keeping the Hound. I asked for privacy, and was granted it. Brienne would keep the other monk-like guards well out of earshot. One of the Septons remarked that while the prisoner was bound tightly in chains, I should keep my distance, for who knew what such a traitor was capable of.

I entered the room and saw that his chains were probably adequate, but only probably. Given an hour or two, he could break them with enough effort, though it would be loud. I would push for a quick trial; the sooner he died, the better. But I had a burning need to know, why. Why had he done this.

"Clegane," I said simply.

"Ah, you. Have they told you why?" His voice had a bitter edge to it.

"Vengeance for Joffrey? Seems unlikely, given your general lack of loyal qualities."

"Heh, always with a quick word. Reminds me of your funny little uncle."

I looked at the Hound. Trying to figure him out. It didn't make sense.

"Tell me why. The truth."

"Tywin didn't give two shits about me. Was happy to let me burn alongside your demented brother. I hate fire; I despise it. Do you know how I got these scars?" He gestured towards his face, to the nasty old burns that covered it, at least as much as his manacles allowed.

I shook my head.

"It was my brother. I had borrowed a wooden knight, a toy of his. He found me with it, picked me up under his arm, and shoved the side of my face into the burning coals, holding me there. I screamed and screamed. His strength was so great that it took three grown men to drag him off me." He laughed. "Irony, then, that I fell in with Thoros."

I waited in silence. One thing we learned in the Imperial Academy about interrogations was that when a prisoner was speaking, just shut up and listen.

"No one ever stopped 'Ser Gregor' until that one battle. I hated the fact I wasn't the one to kill him. All these knights prancing around, speaking of oaths and honor, and it's all dog shite. Every bit of it. But that isn't why I stabbed you in the back."

I stood, continuing my silence. He looked at me and then grinned. "Thoros told me I should tell you if I get the chance, but watching you with your perfect little mask squirm on the inside is too rich."

I quirked an eyebrow. "Tell me what?"

He let out a sigh. "I don't really care for these games. It's all so pointless. I used to rage at the world for not stopping my brother before he did this to me, or even afterwards. But when I came across those people being burned out of their village, I realized I never gave two shits about anyone else, either. I was as much of a hypocrite as those knights. How could I expect someone to stop monsters like Gregor when I did not?" Clegane shuddered. "Especially when fire is involved; no one should burn."

"That's why you helped those villagers? You turned over a new leaf? Decided to be another Duncan the Tall?" I asked, my own voice raised a bit in frustration. This oaf had ruined the Trial of Seven, and now I was listening to some redemption story? From the Hound?

"Not really. I just didn't want them to burn. After Thoros did whatever the fuck he did, we talked. He explained why I reacted instinctively; he talked about how our first nature is to help, but the world and its shit bury that nature in dung. For a moment, I did something worth doing, and Seven Hells, I can't feel much of anything else, but that one act gave me something. It gave me pride; it proved that I was better than pieces of shit like my brother. At least I had done one thing – saved a few lives – for no reason other than I didn't want people to burn."

"Good for you. Wonderful," I said dismissively. "What does that have to do with the Trial of Seven?"

He laughed. "Gods, that felt good. The Maiden-made-flesh, the compassionate, perfect princess. None of that is real, hah. No wonder he sometimes sees you as a demon in the flames. Now I see that it isn't because you're Robert's daughter!" When he finished laughing, he looked at me, and I must have been glaring at him because he nodded. "I'll tell you."

Finally.

"It was Thoros. He saw it in the flames. These Priests of R'hllor – they can see the future; that's how he knew you were coming. That's how he knew you would take me as one of your Seven. He saw that if you won the Trial of Seven, a dragon would burn the Sept of Baelor, and then waters rose to douse the flames, and the city was destroyed." The Hound looked at me closely. "When he first told me all this, it sounded like horseshit, but then you showed up. The dragon is the fucking Targaryen ponce. He wasn't sure what the flood meant, but either way the city and all its people were destroyed. See, his visions aren't always direct; sometimes they are meta…. phorical? – means standing in for something else," He needlessly explained. "We figured the flames was Aegon, the dragon, not accepting your victory, and the flood being you or your men fighting back, which caused the city to be destroyed. The Sept of Baelor standing for the Trial of Seven. He said concepts didn't translate into flames well. But he also saw actual flames, not the imagery kind, so at some point fire would be breaking out anyway. Fire."

I wanted to scream.

"But there was a way to escape that fate. Thoros said that if, instead, the stag bowed, the flames would not reach the Great Sept, and no city-destroying conflict or flood would follow. You had to lose. If you did, the city would be safe… until they came."

"They?"

"Snarks and grumkins from the North." Sandor shrugged. "He said demons of ice and snow, the fucking Others from bedtime tales. The priest said it was the real fight. He said Lightbringer had to be forged for us, humans, to stand a chance."

I shook my head. "You fucking idiot, Clegane. Stannis had Melisandre, a Red Priestess of R'hllor, and she claimed to see the future as well! She claimed he was Azor Ahai, and now he will be a footnote in history. Maybe they can see possible futures, and maybe they get lucky sometimes, but they clearly have performance issues! You threw the damned fight because an old, drunk priest of R'hllor said it was necessary? You are too stupid to live."

Sandor grunted. "As you say. The city is safe. You really think Connington and Varys wouldn't have gone back on their word? It would have been bloody, and you damn well know it."

Yes, but no one likes fighting for someone who can't be trusted at their word. Morale would have been all the worse when I killed him, as half of his own knights would have viewed it as justified!

Something odd struck me. "What did he mean by 'Lightbringer had to be forged'? Melisandre said that Stannis carried Lightbringer?"

Sandor shrugged. "He went on about it for a bit, but I didn't quite understand. He said the old prophecies were in a different language and… allee-gore-ical." He sounded out the syllables carefully. "It means…"

"I know what allegorical means!"

"You would; Joffrey was always complaining about you and your books."

"On with it," I said through gritted teeth, temper fraying further.

"Thoros said the legend spoke of a physical sword, but he had his doubts. Said Lightbringer was born of betrayal, and only betrayal can forge it."

I knew the story; I had read up on it. This talk was frustrating, but at least I now knew who the actual betrayer was. The Hound was a tool, a gloriously effective tool, but a tool nonetheless. I was angry though. My brother would be stuck on the Wall for his life. I would do what I could to make it a more comfortable experience, but going from the luxuries of the Red Keep to what amounted to the Eastern Front from my second life was always going to be a form of hell on earth for my sweet brother.

My anger ignited. Treachery had but one price, and even though the Hound felt very little, he would feel this.

These damned idiots. I had the war won! Victory! Finally something that I couldn't achieve in my second life – it had been mine! My eyes sparked. It was time to lean in and push forward this ridiculous fancy of being blessed. While at the same time reminding Aegon and the rest not to mess around.

"So that's it. You betray me because of the ramblings and misunderstandings of a priest? Some drunkard who probably hallucinates half his visions is the reason why my brother goes to the Wall?"

The Hound shrugged. "Yeah, that's about it. I'm done. Leave me to these Septons; I've done my part."

I did the calculations and bent reality to my will with my formulae. The heat of the room concentrated upon Sandor. This took too long to be practical in battle, but against a helpless cretin chained it would be easy. The clothing he wore began to smolder, and then my modified magic caused it to catch fire. He reared back in fear, trying to pat himself down. I fed more magical energy into it. He let out a cry of fear, but oddly not one of pain.

I shouted out, "GUARDS!"

Brienne stepped in, along with several men of the cloth, armed with cudgels. They had thrown open the door and saw the burning Clegane. The man's eyes were wild, and he beat at the chains.

"What happened?" One of the guards asked in terror.

"I got too close… He tried to grab me, and then he started to burn."

"DEMON! YOU ARE AN ACTUAL DEMON!" Sandor roared and lunged forward, his chains creaking; they barely held back his supernatural strength.

I frowned. He wasn't burning. His skin was still undamaged. This was not good! The chains creaked some more, and one of the guards struck Sandor on his flaming head. It did nothing. With another roar, Sandor ripped one of the manacles free from the wall, sending masonry and dust into the room.

FUCK!

More guards entered the room, and Sandor whipped the chain at me, broken stone still attached to the ring. I ducked it, and then Clegane bent down to pull the other chain from the wall.

"USE FIRE ON ME, YOU LITTLE DEMON BITCH!? I DID AS THOROS ASKED; I SAVED THIS FUCKING CITY!"

The physiology of Clegane was still somewhat human; I had seen him breathe, which implied he still needed to oxygenate his blood and… ugh, I should have dissected him! But he had a brain that governed his functions. The flames had consumed most of the fuel of his clothing but had yet to touch his flesh. With another roar, he pulled free the other chain, and I moved with my agility enhancements working at full bore. I drew my Valyrian dagger, but Brienne had moved first and stabbed him in the heart with Tidebreaker.

Sandor looked at me, the look of terror and anger still in his eyes. And then he came on, punching Brienne in the helm faster than she could react with her blade still in his chest. The helm partially cracked, and she fell to the ground with a grunt.

How is this bastard still alive?

Wielding both chains as deadly weapons, he slammed them into the guards, before attempting the same against me. Fortunately, these monks turned out to be useful, literal meat shields. I rolled away from one chain and used a body to avoid a strike. I pushed myself forward and slashed at Sandor's tendons in his leg. His weight, unable to support him, brought him down, and yet the chain still lashed out at me with unerring accuracy. I was running on fumes but summoned a protective shell on instinct. It shattered, but deflected the blow.

"Evil cannot touch her!" One of the newly-arrived monks spoke reverently.

It sure could though! I dashed forward, leapt over the chain, and then threw my dagger right into Sandor Clegane's eye. It pierced right through and punctured the brain. The shockwave of the magically-enhanced throw would have turned the brain to complete pulp. The creature that used to be Clegane's body was no longer moving properly, but it did move.

I was a bit flabbergasted. The brain was required for thought, for movement of limbs, but still the creature twitched and kicked and scratched. The fire finally died out, and now a naked and completely bald thing twitched randomly. Brienne staggered to her feet and pulled out Tidebreaker, before decapitating the Hound. Its limbs still moved.

I was spent. Forcing myself to stay conscious, I repeated my lies of the Hound trying to grab me. My head swam. If Thoros of Myr or Melisandre could summon these kinds of creatures at will… No, they couldn't. Otherwise, they would have had an army by now, right? I was missing something, but I couldn't think straight as sheer enervation turned my brain to mush, and I knew I was about to fall into a magically exhausted coma… again.

"I'm fine, just exhausted. Brienne, get me to bed and try to get the Septons to keep quiet… at least… for now. Don't… want… panic."

She picked me up, and even though her armor was not the most comfortable pillow, I soon found myself drifting into the darkness.