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[sub][color=BCA7E8][b]Vaera Balaerys, dragonrider[/b][/color][/sub]
[sub][color=d12b2b][b]Lyman Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock[/b][/color][/sub]

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The North Silver Street Counting House; too many paths led here for her to ignore it any longer. Vaera didn’t bother hiding who she was—the eyes in Lannisport were everywhere, and they were all eager for every detail of every ‘strange’ thing they saw. A Valyrian woman wearing light armor and armed? That would count as strange nearly everywhere in Creation that Vaera dared travel. 

There were two men present, one old, one younger. She knew their names because she’d already heard them come up in tales and retellings many times before, Darwyn was the elder, Heath the younger. Both knew what Vaera needed to know was the impression she got as she stood outside the counting house, waiting for the right time. 

The right time seemed to find her. “Awful business, Lady Vaera.”

“I’m not a fucking Lady, and who are you?”

Her lavender eyes squinted at the sight. There was something not right about the man. He was middling height, barely taller than she was, and thin. His clothes stank, his matted grey hair stank, and his teeth were nearly Lannister yellow as he smiled at her. In short, he was disgusting. It was a sharp smile, the kind that hid daggers behind it, with beady little dark eyes that just seemed to know something Vaera did not.

Her head turned this way and that, her body going from leaning against the inn across from the counting house to standing upright and ready for the fight. He just…sighed at her, “I have served the Kingdom of the Rock.”

“There is no more Kingdom of the Rock, so what do you serve now?”

His smile twisted, “My Princess, of course,” his voice was wrong. It had the weight of a renowned mummer, the sophistication of Volantis old money, and the sharpness of a cunning mind. None of that should have been coming out of a stinking peasant in the streets of Lannisport. 

“…you’re one of her spies.”

When she saw the glimmer of the steel of the thin dancer’s blade produced from his rags, she nearly pulled her own blade…something stilled her hand, something told her not to, “She’s not dead. Her brother wants to find her.”

“Her fool brother caused this.”

She wanted to laugh, because she agreed, except Vaera didn’t mean [i]that[/i] brother, “Lord Lyman.”

That seemed to stop the spy. “A good lad, that one.”

She heard her heart beating in her ears, as her sword hand kept firm but not overly tight, like any good sword fighter. If he moved, she’d have one chance to parry, and only one. She could not act late, she could not hesitate, she could not misread his body…or she’d be in real trouble. “He seems like the only sane member of the family, but I never met her…what’s your name?”

His lips formed to grin, as his blade nearly made her draw as it moved, a flourishing motion that simply moved the blade from pointed at her, to pointed skyward, and tightly close to his chest as his body went to full height.

He was taller than she thought, his posture manipulating the perception of his height to her eyes. She’d been fooled by old mummer’s tricks. It was bitter, but it wasn’t nearly as bitter as dying at the hands of a man in stinking rags. “Prince Lyman and Princess Lorelai are worthy offspring of the late King and Queen, indeed.”

[i]Are[/i], he said, and her mind snatched the word, “You know she’s alive.”

It wasn’t a question. Vaera’s instincts told her this mystery man knew more than anyone else did in the entire Westerlands. “I am Eustace, Lady Vaera of House Balaerys.”

“I’m not a fucking Lady,” she repeated, flatter, duller than before, but just as quickly and instinctively as she had the first time—her body still facing him from the side, her hand still ready to draw Valyrian steel in a beat of her heart, her knees still ever-so-slightly bent and ready to move. 

He laughed at her, like he was some Lordling having a go at an old mate, “You must permit me this honorific for you, it would be most unsuitable for a servant of the King of the Rock to be improper.”

Vaera Balaerys cocked a brow at the strangest spy she’d ever seen. [i]He’s fucking mad.[/i] Something Vhandyr once told her about madness and great sparked in memory in the back of her mind, and took her chance, “Fine. So nice to meet you, Eustace. Where is she? I know you know. Just like I know you know who really tried to kill her.”

“Mm, I’ll admit my propensity for private matters, Lady Vaera,” he giggled at her.

Vaera’s brow furrowed and her mind doubled back: [i]…did he giggle at me?[/i] “I’m not here to hurt her. If you think Lyman will want to help her, please, Eustace, tell me where she is.”

He spun on a heel as graceful as any dancer she’d ever seen, and by the time his face turned to her view, the steel was gone, and the man stood at an impressive full height, as he gave a small bow to her, “Seek only the Admiralty House, Lady Vaera, a lad by the name of Konrad. Do tell him I sent you.”

The moment he turned the corner, her eyes darted in every direction to see who had seen what, to see who else might be lurking, to ensure there wasn’t another spy waiting for her back with dagger in hand. To her horror…there was no one. No one to witness, just an empty Lannisport North Silver Street. She felt like a fool as her breath left her lips heavy, burdened, in relief. 

“I hate this place.”

Konrad was a lad, truly, at maybe ten years of age at the most. Yet the child became possessed with character and wisdom thrice his age the moment Vaera dropped the name Eustace upon him. The story came as quickly as Vaera could ask the questions. [i]Where did she go?[/i] On a ship headed north, to Bear Island. [i]How long ago?[/i] Before the sun rose on the night her uncle tried to kill her. By now she’d been at Bear Island for days. Why hadn’t she gone to Lyman? [i]She couldn’t risk endangering him, and she’d lost faith in Loreon.[/i]

She’d offered him gold in thanks, but the boy instantly returned, and he laughed at her before running off. In her shock, she could only repeat herself: “I hate this place.” 

Her return to Casterly Rock was tense, though more because of what she didn't see than what she did see: none of Loreon's people were to be seen. Moreover, what she did see were various Westerland Lords coming and going, like they wouldn't have just a day ago. Something had changed, and that something was fairly plain the moment the household guard delivered her to Lyman.

To her surprise, Loreon was there with Lyman in a private gallery, Loreon was seated and sullen, Lyman was relaxed and sipping wine from a golden goblet. There were no Esossi anywhere to be seen. There was no Red Lady. Most notably, however, was the great sword Brightroar laid before Lyman Lannister on the long narrow table in the gallery in which he sat at it's center, his older brother on a stool on one end. Before she could ask, Lyman explained it: the men with his brother were sent back to Essos, with their red woman. Loreon would be allowed to follow them, leaving Lyman Lannister as Lord of the Rock.

“I will be providing the Princess with an escort to anywhere of her choosing. She will want to burn her fallen brother in dragonfire, and so be it. She has a fortnight to pick her destination. You will have just as long to pick your next destination, Lady Vaera.”

Just this once, she actually wished she could have stopped herself, “I’m not a Lady, Lord Lyman.”

Flatly, he drank, before answering, “No, you are not, but I am still hopeful you have been successful?”

Vaera heard herself retell it all. At the mention of the spy that she lied and said he renamed nameless, Lyman just blinked at her. At the idea that the truth of his sister was veiled in the walls of the Admiralty House…he did not seem to be surprised at all. At the mention of her final destination, and the reasons why she kept it all secret, the sharpness of his green-eyed gaze was all the acknowledgement he would offer. 

It was as if the youngest Lannister was cut from gold, himself, cold and unmoving like one of the golden statues in the gallery all around, “You have served House Lannister well, Vaera. You may request your payment as you see fit.” 

For a reason she couldn’t place, something deep inside her suspected this would be the last time she saw Loreon Lannister. “Good luck, Loreon.” He returned it to her, his tone low, his appearance in the moment…tragic to her eyes, even if the tragedy was of his own making. Even before she left the room she knew where she’d go. 

The Lonely Light. Then north—to Bear Island.
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