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[h3][b]King's Landing—three days after the King's murder.[/b][/h3]

[i](Howler/Ruby collab.)[/i]

From salt spray and thick grey fog over an unexpectedly choppy bay to the crypt like silence and lightless darkness in just over fifteen more counts than Celena Lannister had figured earlier when playing through it in her mind. So far the only blood shed had been the 'keeper of the secret door'--some former Knight with no business sense running a fish market outside the walls. The information had been gifted to her by an old friend, and it was a favor repaid. That worried Celena more than the former Knight that refused to give up a door to someone he did not know. If there was anything Celena liked to hoard, it was favors. Losing even one was painfully done. 

And she had lost plenty helping the Starks. 

But from Winterfell to black catacombs under Aegon's High Hill? For an adventurer and traveler who had never known her homeland, it was simply too tempting a cause to pass up. Celena had warned the Starks that waiting so long to allow forces to gather would hurt them if they wanted any engagement that might garner honorable renown. Anything else might just be opportunism. 

So Lord Beron, in that low thunder of a voice, declared they would ensure justice was done in an honorable way at King's Landing. He'd gone as far down as the Twins before turning back. It was just now turning spring, and in the North that meant it was still winter. It was a dangerous journey considering just how cruel a winter it had been. Celena had gotten no end of comments claiming she was no Northerner until she lived through a bad winter. It certainly did not take the Gods long to provide her the opportunity.

Honestly, she was happy to go with Deckard. Just as she had been glad when the war council agreed to let Celena take a very small group into the 'back door' of the Red Keep. Some of them scoffed at their even being such a place, but when Celena gave them the location of an entrance and the story of the man guarding it it was enough to convince those that were willing to give it a chance.

With her was Jack of Moletown, an archer so skilled he wound up in the service of House Stark, and more importantly to Celena a one time thief. Ser Olyvar 'the Good' of House Condon was sent because those that didn't like Celena or her plan liked the young Olyvar Condon just fine. He was a veteran of the Winter Wolves that had managed to pick up with them on the journey south, and if nothing else had been in a survival state of mind so long Celena was more or less comfortable Condon wouldn't get her killed. He was also one of the North's best swordsmen, though Ser Olyvar was never one to say so himself. Rarely he ever so much as sparred; though he had approached her one night in the Riverlands about sneaking off with him...to "see what those Water Dancers are all about." 

Celena declined, though only out of fear someone might see them sneak off together. Something she could not risk doing to Deckard, even if he would probably understand. 'Maybe another time' was the best she'd been able to give Ser Olyvar. 

The rest were her own people: the Qohorik smithy Big Branch, and the Old Blood Volantene Alvos Qohr. Celena went ahead of the small group for most of their journey; though the precaution proved unnecessary. Even Celena almost got lost once or twice, but never once did she honestly think she heard anything more than a rat down in the depth's the Targaryen maze. And quickly enough, the ground felt tiled over instead of mere dirt path, a good sign they were in the Red Keep itself. 

From there it had been impossible for her to know for sure just how long it should take them, but her memorized instructions turned out to be worth the lost favor. Soon enough the small group was slithering into the Red Keep from behind a store room false wall. When she heard commotion in the corridors of even the basement, she knew they were running late, or Sela was early. That made her care less about servants spotting them, which let them really make up some ground quickly. In just a few minutes they were high enough to see light was starting to really shine through windows: the fog had started to burn off, the morning hour grew later.

As they approached their target, the group slowed to a careful pace. When she put eyes on the tower door they needed, and the White Brother guarding it, Celena turned to give a quick signal before she took a long breath, and began to move. Getting the Knight to engage her wasn't very difficult; getting him to turn his back on the stairs even easier so that the Big Branch could come up behind the Kingsguard knight and thump him about the back of the head. 

"Which is it?" The Branch asked, staring down at the unconscious white knight.

After a long glance, Celena shrugged. "Waters, I think. Watch the stairs, I'll go get him." She stared at the chamber door longer than necessary. It's wood was polished and it's ironwork finely crafted. It even opened easily enough, though she was careful in it's opening. There was no one waiting to spring an attack on the other end, just a small boy with big, sad, eyes.

"Are you going to kill me?"

Celena shook her head, slowly. "No."

For a heartbeat, it looked to Celena as if the child didn't believe her. Then he took a half-step towards her, and got a better look at her with his lilac eyes. "Your sword is small."

"It needn't be heavy and large."

"Are you a Water Dancer?"

Celena smiled, even if just faintly. "Yes. Do you like Water Dancers?"

The boy with the big, pretty, eyes just ignored it and stared. "Are you a Green or Black?"

"It doesn't matter, any more."

The little King sniffed. "It's always going to matter..." It was resignation the likes of which a person never saw...in a child. Even most adults had a hard time coming to grips with realities they weren't fond of. But there was more to the boy, as he inched closer and closer to the woman who had never moved once inside the door. That was good, because the boy was all but sniffing her for danger, like some sort of wild thing. Only when he seemed certain she wouldn't hurt him did he get close enough to lean into her, and whisper in her ear.

"The white knights won't help me kill all the dragons...will YOU help me kill all the dragons?"

[i]Aegon...the Dragonbane?[/i] It was shocking to hear from a Targaryen's mouth. But when she thought about it for a moment more...it began to make sense. Firmly did Celena respond to the boy, nodding and looking into his eyes as she spoke, "Absolutely, I will do this thing. Will you help the Starks and I bring justice and peace to King's Landing?"

He nodded, on the better half of shy, but it was enough. "The King has died."

It was one of the strangest sensations in Celena's life, when the warm, chubby, little hand reached up and took her own. Of all women in Creation, Celena Lannister was never meant to be a mother, of this she had always been certain. To have such a little hand in her own...it took her mind to deeper thoughts for a second, delaying her response and quietening it: "You're the King, now."

Again, the boy whispered to her, secrets he wanted none others hearing. "I don't want to be."

It snapped her head back down to the boy, as her big green eyes searched him; for emotion, for sensation, for truth and lies. In the boy, she found only sad little truths. Without thinking, Celena squeezed the boy's hand just slightly. "I wouldn't want to, either."

[hr]

It was ironic, Deckard thought, that the center of such turmoil could be such a cesspit.

Though the rear of a marching column was offensive enough to the nose at the best of times, there was something different about the odor of King's Landing. It spread through the morning fog like a miasma, curling the lip and offending the nose until it became so omnipresent that one simply grew accustomed to it. Though he'd visited once before, even the scent of the place had changed in the memory of war and dragonfire, smoke and char as much a part of the air as offal and excrement and squalor. A reminder, he thought, how fluid the world had become in the wake of the great Targeryan split, how mutable--if King's Landing spoke for the realm, the realm was for the taking.

As always it was the small who first saw the army, and Deckard Stark would have been curious to know what it was they first said of his fierce She-Wolf of a sister at the column's head. Of course she would lead it, that much was obvious--what better a symbol could have been asked for? He knew too well the chill of her gaze, the steel of her eyes like the heart of Winter, and with a direwolf at her side there would be no room to misinterpret what had brought the Starks to King's Landing.

Judgement. Justice. The return to Order. Good for them to see Sela at its head, for many who resided within its walls had good reason to be afraid.

Still, Deckard wondered as always if the obvious gambit was indeed the best. That Sela was a symbol of all that was thought of the Starks, her brother knew better than most that the wilds had changed her. She was not the same sister she had been when she left and he knew now that the world beyond the Wall had changed her. When they looked to her would they see a Lady of House Stark or a wildling, battle ready with beast at beck and call? Would they see her honor as justice, or her ferocity as barbarism? They could not afford to be known as brutes and savages in a realm of gentility and courtly intrigue. In truth, Deckard was quite sure, it was this more than anything else that had caused his brother to turn over the Host to his dear sister and return to the North where he was comfortable.

Beron had no time for the games played South of the Neck. They would not put food in hungry bellies or help his people weather the winter. Though none could call the man a coward, Deckard Stark was disappointed in his family's eldest. He had chosen his own people over all of Westeros and left it to his younger brother to see that the world did not suffer for it.

His shoulder burned. Looking to either side he could see the faces of the smallfolk watch the soldiers in their midst, familiar by now with the feeling of occupation. Could they know, could they truly believe at this junction that someone wished peace for them? The thought was almost laughable after the trials they had been put through--they who had savaged dragons and died by the drove, fought and killed and been killed in the name of the line that they all of them held fealty to. As he watched cold eyes and dark, curious hearts, he wondered if the hope he saw in the eyes of the few wasn't simply a trick of the mind, a reflection of his own. 

As they began to pass the Dragon's Gate and enter the city proper, Lord Deckard Stark motioned to his guardian at his side and began to move his way up the line. "We've spent enough time at the rear of things." He finally spoke, his voice soft enough admist the commotion that Ser Quinton Snow could barely make it out. His guardian, his watchmen, the Cripple's Keeper, bastard son of a bastard son knighted young and ridiculed for it until he'd proven his honor time in and and time out, he hastened his horse to better listen to his Lord but found himself trailing instead as he moved through the center of the column after his sister. Though he was not worried of her acting rashly, he had business to attend to and his dear betrothed to reunite with--though the procession was the necessary display for the people of the realm, it was the business beneath and within the castle that would hold it.

It took him some time to catch up with Sela--she rode well and without hesitation, the crowd parting before her great wolf and chill gaze in silence as they watched her pass. They were almost upon the castle by the time he found himself at her side, and she barely flicked her eyes to him before looking once more towards the castle proper. "Tired of following after, were you?" She asked as their horses fell into step, the familiar dull rumble of Snowfall's growl a bass current in the air before she silenced it with a slight whistle through her teeth.

"Any man should be eager to see the return of his bride-to-be." Deckard's voice was light as ever, his lips quirked in a slight smile as he surveyed the crowd. "Quite the impression you've made."

"Are you jealous?"

"Hardly. Just be sure they see you as more than the wolf in your wake."

"Better a wolf than a cripple."

A barb without malice and they both knew it--the corners of her lips even twitched a bit, an all-too-rare sign of affection from her these days. Deckard chuckled, unoffended. Looking over his shoulder, Deckard called to his guardian over the sound of their advance. "When we reach the keep proper, break off and marshal the men. We need order restored and the city held fast."

"And your protection, my Lord?"

"Between my sister and my lady I think I'll be just fine, Quinton." He offered with a chuckle, the knight acknowledging with a nod as he slid back into the host proper. Looking ahead as they readied to dismount and proceed to the Great Hall proper, Deckard breathed slowly through his lips and ignored the spider-web pain that the march had inspired in his shoulder and chest.

It would not, he imagined, be any better in the days to follow in sight of the Iron Throne.

[hr]

"You're okay."

He sounded less than sure as he entered the room from the rear door, and saw those present. "Is the great wolf bound to her?"

'Her' heard the comment as the woman and the boy snuck into the back of the room, and eyed those assembled. Peeking behind the raised platform in which the Iron Throne sat, Sela Stark discovered the boy, and the Lannister woman with him. "They're called Direwolves, not Great Wolves." That was the extent of Sela the She-Wolf's response as the boy King and Celena walked towards the throne--until Celena gave the She-Wolf a long look.

Sela didn't quite understand such a look from her brother's intended...at least, not until the woman motioned to the boy with a quick jerk of her head. [i]Oh, right. Him.[/i] Still, those listening would note the lack of patience in Sela's voice as she discussed the subject of Direwolves. "The direwolf is not bound to me. I am not a Dragonrider. Snow is free to come and go as he pleases."

"Will it hurt people? We don't have a pit to put it in, anymore."

Sela did her best to not be insulted. It was a Targaryen child, afterall. "Snow has never hurt someone that didn't have it coming."

"Oh," was how Aegon the Younger responded, his big eyes stuck on the Direwolf...that had curled up a few long strides from the base of the Iron Throne, unmoving and eyes closed. "...what did they do to have it coming?"

At that, Sela the She-Wolf narrowed her eyes, and peered into the young Targaryen boy's eyes...all the way down to his soul. "They. were. bad."

The boy king took a half-step towards the Lannister woman, and Celena hid her laughter behind a smile, her emerald eyes shining at the She-Wolf; a mix of amusement, and bemusement. "Worry not, Aegon; the direwolf is the same to you as I am, as Lady Sela Stark is--a protector. We will see justice done, and then the House Stark army will go home. You've no need to fear us."

[i]...but it's good that you do, for now.[/i] 

The boy nodded, his eyes unable to stay off the curled up, oversized, ball of fur and fluff and fangs. A new arrival had stolen Celena's attention; Lord Deckard, walking with Ser Lothar Borell, Lord Commander of the City Watch, and Ser Olyvar Condon. As Celena approached, it was Ser Olyvar who greeted her. "Lady Celena, Lord Lothar believes he knows where in the city Lord Strong is, and I've already seen Lord Corlys arrested."

"Lord Strong is the only name on your list of twenty-two we do not have in custody yet, my Lady--but we will have the Clubfoot soon."

Celena's smile was bright, pretty, and entirely hollow. "Thank you, both. A word alone, my Lord?" Deckard excused them both, as Stark men held each door to the Throne room it was easy enough for the couple to step out of the room and into the corridor that snaked around one side of the Throneroom, allowing courtiers to come and go from the gallery even as the King held court. 

In the privacy of the corridor, the golden lioness pounced; her arms flew around his neck, gingerly and gentle as she could grab him and pull herself close to him and kiss him, and kiss him, and kiss him...until he was making a face, and she was biting her lip to keep a giggle from echoing down the corridor. "Hey, you." Celena Lannister's voice was barely a whisper, her big green eyes searching his for anything, and everything. "I know things are moving very quickly right now, but in a few hours we'll have a chance to talk. I promise."

In the play of shadow and light in the corridor, it was hard to tell whether Deckard's mouth became barely a smile, or barely a frown. "Why in a few hours? You just orchestrated mass arrests and technically kidnapped a child King. You haven't earned lunch?"

She wanted to laugh, but instead she just smirked at him. "People I need to find. People I need to talk to."

"Oh? Anyone I should worry about?"

"William Morningwood."

Deckard chuckled, mostly to himself, "Well if it's Morningwood your after..."

It was hard not to feel Lord Deckard Stark's hands all over her. Celena Lannister was okay never falling in love again. She had come to peace with it. Her life had provided her more opportunities than most, even if it was at the cost of more misery than most men, or women, would ever know. Then a Westerosi man who could barely swing a sword had accidentally sat in her box at the mummer's stage shows. 'Accidentally', he had said, probably lying. It hadn't mattered. Once Deckard Stark got that close to her, he'd never let her run away from him.

At least, not without a certain promise, the same promise she whispered into his ear now, the same promise she always gave him when they parted company: "I'll be back, lover." Her lips lingered hungry and hot at the edge of his ear, at his neck...Celena pulled away groaning, muttering, drunk on the scent of the man who simply never gave up until she loved him back.

[i]Morningwood better be worth the information.[/i]