A Young Girl's Game of Thrones by Failninjaninja

Oberyn was so close to his vengeance that he could taste it. The Old Butcher had nowhere to run now. His spear lashed out at any foe that dared cross his path. The defenders were clever, but outnumbered. Oberyn was always in motion, moving in and striking with his spear, all the while keeping a wary eye for anything that may be sent down from the rooftops.

Obara was by his side, and he was proud of her. She had yet to learn proper caution, and twice he had to ensure she was not shot. Her armor, like his, was not the plate of the nobility like Robb or Glover. Lighter armor often suited the Dornish better; while the overlapping copper discs would not always turn aside an arrowpoint, and certainly not a crossbow bolt, it would prevent the arrow from penetrating too deeply, turning a deadly wound into one potentially manageable.

If one does not die of infection later.

Having studied in the Citadel, he knew how dangerous untreated wounds could be, so he endeavored to make sure he and his daughter did not suffer them. Part of that involved not leading right at the front; he would dash in during clashes, but here, with all the potential traps and trickery, he would rather let a levy take a blow.

A howl went up in the air, and Oberyn smiled. The sound would cause fear in their enemies. He may be still deeply aggrieved over the actions of one of the wolves in the last battle, but he would take any advantage he could get. He and Robb had been separated a bit by the fighting, but judging by the nearness of the howl, he was still nearby.

As they got nearer and nearer to the Red Keep, the attacks grew more common, trying to deter men from their advance, to mixed success. Soon, they were passing by the finer brothels of King's Landing. Some foolish soldiers sought to see if women were within, only to receive bolts to the chest, and in one case, the entire building was set alight. Thankfully, it had not contained any wildfire.

One of the knights under his command shouted out to him. "My Prince! A message."

Oberyn bade him go on.

"Gold Cloaks over the next street; they say they are on our side. A man told me to give you this."

The seal on it was the Baratheon royal seal. Opening the missive, it was a simple note with a code that Doran and he had agreed upon long ago. The instructions were simple – to trust the bearer as a loyal friend. Oberyn shouted orders to continue the advance and cut across to the end of Eel Alley to the waiting Gold Cloaks. There were two score there and a man with a heavy cowl covering his features. The Gold Cloaks had their hands close to their weapons, without grasping them, as Oberyn's men surrounded them.

The cloak was pulled away, and the bald eunuch revealed himself.

"Varys!"

"Greetings, Prince Oberyn. All is proceeding to plan, and I have means for you to enter the Red Keep."

Oberyn took Varys into one of the cleared-out buildings. Ser Robett tried to follow, but Oberyn did not allow it.

"Wait outside; my friend is nervous with people he does not know."

Obara and several Dornish spears guarded the door; Robett scowled, but did not attempt to push past.

"This is excellent news; I thought we would have to besiege the place. Casualties would be higher if we stormed the walls, and delay brings the Bold ever closer. Now Tywin's death will come more swiftly, and Stannis will sit on the Iron Throne."

Varys started. "Were you not told?"

"Told what?"

Varys looked astonished and shook his head. "Doran has sealed a pact with Aegon. The Golden Company will arrive within the next few days, pending victory at sea."

"Aegon? What do you mean?"

Varys sighed, "There is little time and much to speak of. I arranged for Aegon to be switched with another babe. I knew that…"

Oberyn's fingers found their way to the Master of Whisperers' throat.

"Am I to understand you knew what would befall my sister and did not take steps to get her out of the city?"

Varys choked and tried to speak; his fingers twitched toward his belt, but stopped as Oberyn's other hand drew a dagger. The man-made gurgling noises for a moment, and then Oberyn released his vice-like grip.

"There are limits to what I can do without notice, Oberyn. I will give a full account – later. Be happy that at least one of her children could be saved. If you wish to waste time killing me for what I could not prevent instead of slaking your desire for vengeance, do so now."

Oberyn grimaced. He was being foolish. He also didn't know if he believed the man before him. It seemed absurd to think that all this time the true heir to the Iron Throne was still alive. It also made little sense for them to try to back Viserys… Since when did his brother know of this plan?

"Thank you, now I can show you how to get into the Red Keep itself. I have been arranging for my own people to be placed there and buying the loyalty of as many Gold Cloaks as I could muster. Some were at the King's Gate, some are with me, some are within the Red Keep, and a few are even in Maegor's Holdfast, but only a few."

Oberyn felt his fists tighten in triumph. The Spider had played his part well. He would live, at least until the fighting was done. Afterward, there would be some pointed questions for him, but the man had set the stage well.

"Tommen and Myrcella are in Maegor's Holdfast; there are no tunnels or passages there. However, I believe, with my men on the inside combined with the Gold Cloak uniforms, we can act swiftly and take the drawbridge. A large number of servants and noble ladies reside within, but only a few dozen guards are deeper in the fortification. The majority of the Lannister soldiery is under Tywin and Ser Addam's command within the Red Keep itself. If we can take the drawbridge, we will have their King, and the war will be done."

Oberyn was surprised to learn Lady Myrcella was here. Last he heard, she had somehow survived being executed and was travelling with Ser Barristan with a large host. His momentary surprise about that news didn't deter him from getting to the heart of the matter.

"Maegor's Holdfast is not going anywhere; the key is killing Tywin and taking the gatehouse. Once that is taken, it is only a matter of time."

Varys shook his head. "The gatehouse will be heavily guarded. The passages I will be taking the men through are narrow and require climbing a ladder as well. We cannot bring in thousands in any reasonable time. A hundred or two should suffice – once we take Maegor's Holdfast and kill Tommen and Myrcella, the war is done; all that will be left is dealing with Stannis, and we will have the numbers."

Oberyn felt his guts twist in outrage over that betrayal, but he would not go against his brother. If it was his command to betray their 'King,' then so be it.

"It will also be a good way to get ourselves killed. The Red Keep is a strong fortress; if we don't take the gates, then the Lannisters can besiege us in the holdfast as the larger army besieges them."

"My Prince, the passage is a narrow drawbridge, the moat is filled with spikes, and the walls are twelve feet thick. A hundred men could hold it against even an army a hundred times their size. It is only with treachery and guile that we will be able to take it in the first place. It is also better if Myrcella and Tommen die by the hand of Stannis before King Aegon arrives here."

Oberyn was still not convinced of the plan and wished to press the Spider for more.

"Why should that matter?"

"Lady Myrcella is popular – terrifyingly so. Slaying her will earn the ire of the smallfolk – no, not ire – rage. In all my years serving, I have never seen any lord or lady hold such fanatical loyalty. Your part will never be mentioned, there will be others who will take the fall, and I have already decided on arranging a trial for her murderers so that Aegon can slake the people's thirst for vengeance." Varys shook his head. "Oberyn, time trickles away. I do not like your odds of assaulting Ser Addam at the barbican, even with surprise on your side."

Oberyn's mouth twisted into a grimace. He wanted Tywin's head; he cared not for the man's grandchildren. The thought of murdering children did not sit well with him; it was too close to the deaths of… well at least one of Elia's children. There were differences. Cersei's children were products of vile treachery. Tommen had already begun arms training and could die with a sword in his hand. It was claimed Lady Myrcella had fought in several battles; it was different.

It is different. It is not the same.

"Very well, I'll send a messenger to Stark on what we are doing. Glover is my minder, and he'll have to come with us. Robb will want to be with us to save his father. I suspect he's also in Maegor's Holdfast? It is either that or the Black Cells."

Varys nodded. "Lord Stark is there. I have heard reports he is a most puissant warrior. I do not believe Robb's direwolf can accompany us, as there is no time to hoist a winch to get him up the ladder."

"The complication is that Stannis has not ordered Myrcella's death like he has Tommen's. If she tries to fight, that is one thing, but I do not think Robb Stark will allow me to just execute her. At the very least, the expectation will be to capture her."

Varys frowned. "She's still unconscious from Cersei's attempt to kill her, but she could awake. Find a way to kill her; it is imperative that it be seen as Stannis' men slaying her. Aegon will not be able to rule this city if people think it was his hand that slew her."

"Cersei tried to murder her own daughter? What in – "

"Oberyn, we do not have time – just know that she must die. Distract Stark when it becomes time by directing him to where his father is held. I will let you know the location once we are within the holdfast."

Talk was done for the moment. They would rendezvous with the young heir to Winterfell and then take the secret passages underneath the walls of the Red Keep. Oberyn steeled himself for the bloody task ahead of him.

Soon, Tywin. Soon.

***

​

Bran was nervous; the King had requested that he stay with him during the battle. He took comfort in the presence of Duty. The wolf had been growing well, and even battle-hardened veterans were wary of him. Also within the tent were runners, ready to be sent out to those on horseback to deliver messages. Beside them were Devan Seaworth and Bryen Farring, serving as squires to the King. There was also the King's good-brother, Imry Florent. Bran thought the man had too much pride; yes, he was now brother to the Queen, but that had happened less than a year ago.

"Are you worried about your father, boy?" Stannis asked Devan.

"I have prayed to the Lord of Light for his safety, but yes, Your Grace, I am worried."

The worship of R'hllor was starting to fade within the camp. It had always been strongest among the Lords of the Narrow Sea and a few Riverlands houses, but even among those lords it was fading. Bran thought it interesting that Ser Davos's son had converted to R'hllor, while the father had not.

"Ser Davos has been part of many battles – on sea, and land; he is also in command, so he will not spend his life needlessly."

Bran thought it kind of the King to attempt to ease the worry of his squire. Kind was not a word often used to describe Stannis Baratheon, so it stuck out in Bran's thoughts.

Duty growled as men approached the tent. A guard stuck his head in. "Your Grace, Ser Davos has sent a man to you who helped take the gates; the men with him also say Ser Davos feels this Jaren fellow may be untrustworthy."

"Have him searched thoroughly, and then bring him in." Stannis commanded.

Jaren was brought in, and he smoothly went down to one knee. "Your Grace."

Duty growled, and his fur bristled.

"Rise, Jaren. Tell me why you betrayed your city."

Jaren rose, glanced at the direwolf, and then answered, "I do not view it as betrayal to serve the rightful King of Westeros."

"When did you come to this loyalty for me?"

Jaren gave the King a look of confusion. "I have always been loyal to the Baratheon dynasty."

"Dynasty." Stannis let the word roll off his tongue. "Educated, are you?"

"Your Grace, I… I must confess that opening the gates for your army was a task I had hoped for a reward for, not this sort of interrogation."

"You wish a reward for doing your duty?"

Bran watched Jaren carefully; Duty was unhappy with him for a reason. The man seemed uncertain what to say.

"If I have overstepped, you have my apologies, Your Grace. As I told your man, I have more information about the city. If you will allow me to, I can draw you a map of where I last knew the positions of your enemies."

Duty growled again, and Stannis looked to Bran.

"Is your beast not tamed? Oberyn was loud in his complaints about him – was he correct?"

"Your Grace, Duty does not trust him; I would not either."

"I give you one opportunity, Jaren – speak plainly whom you serve and why, and you may yet live."

Jaren backed up a step in seeming shock. "Your Grace? W-what are you speaking of?"

"I will not be merciful if you have to be put to the question," Stannis told him in a cold voice.

Jaren stumbled back, and then moved fluidly. His head cracked into the nose of one of the guards behind him; at the same time, his hands found the hilt of the guard's blade, and he drew it with one smooth motion and slashed the other guard across the eyes. Bran reached for his belt knife, but it was Duty who was on Jaren almost instantly.

The blade swept at the wolf, who had feinted a snap at him and then pulled away, the blade missing him by inches.

"GUARDS!" Stannis roared and pulled out his own blade.

Jaren rushed forward toward the King, but Duty's jaws clamped down the sword-arm and crushed bone and flesh. The man made no more sound than a grunt of pain as the sword fell to the ground. Duty pulled him down to the ground, jaws in just an instant ripping out the man's throat.

Guards rushed in and paused with uncertainty. Stannis ordered them to detain any of the Gold Cloaks who had switched sides and to have them questioned about Jaren and whom they may truly be working for.

When they left, Imry looked confused. "Did the Old Lion truly give up the walls of King's Landing just for the opportunity to have you assassinated?"

Stannis looked at his good-brother. "A possibility, but there may be another explanation. Given Lord Orton's sluggishness, it is possible that the Tyrells have designs on the throne. We will know more when we receive word from the northern assault on the city."

Hours passed, and a steady stream of news continued to arrive, a mixture of both good and bad. Lord Orton had not been able to breach the walls and reported that his men had suffered heavy casualties attempting to storm them. A messenger from Stark and Bolton arrived, letting Stannis know that they were almost to the Red Keep. The message indicated that Varys, the Master of Whisperers, was loyal to Stannis and was leading them through secret tunnels into the Red Keep. Robb and Oberyn hoped that they could seize Maegor's Holdfast before Tywin even knew they were there.

"We have them!" Ser Imry crowed! By the time Ser Barristan gets here, we will have control over the city.

The rest of the news was bad. Davos reported they had taken the Lion Gate and looked to push on into the God's Gate, but were rebuffed soundly. The Terror of Tarth was among the defenders, and she seemed to be everywhere. Despite having numbers, Ser Davos was advising he would not be able to push further north along the wall or into the city. The men were nerve-wracked from the wildfire and repeated ambushes.

"We could send him the reserves," Imry suggested.

"No, the reserves are there in case of something unexpected. If we take the Red Keep, the rest is meaningless. It is odd that Lady Brienne is here; I would have thought she would be with Lady Myrcella."

Bran remembered his dream about the spider. Was Myrcella in the city? He hated how his dreams did not specify when an event would occur.

He found himself too nervous to rest. His father and brother were in the city that was currently burning. When he went out to relieve his bladder, he saw that the sun was already rising with the dawn. Smoke still rose from the city, and green flames could still be seen flickering despite the destruction of the buildings that had fueled them.

He returned to the King's tent in time for additional news, reports from the sea. In the dawn, it was clear that Merryweather had made no progress on the walls, and his force was still in good standing. Stannis was furious, and Bran felt a minor vindication, even if he would rather not. Stannis sat heavily and considered his next steps. Bran did not venture an opinion, and the tent was silent for long moments.

"Message for the King! Urgent! Message for the King!"

The guards outside could be heard responding, "You need to be searched first – King's orders."

The messenger outside did not try to force his way in, but they did continue shouting.

"Dragonstone! Dragonstone has fallen! Your Grace, a fleet sails upon King's Landing under the lion standard!"

***

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Robb Stark did not like being separated from Grey Wind. His wolf was a part of him. He suspected that his strange glimpses of future events were tied to his companion. At the same time, it did not cross his mind not to go with Ser Oberyn and the others. Varys had said that his father was still alive and held in Maegor's Holdfast, so there was but one option for Robb.

He stroked Grey Wind's fur, and the wolf licked his face.

"Return to my brother; I will be fine."

Robb followed into the tunnels. They were broad at first, if disgusting, but soon they narrowed to a point where no more than one man could pass at a time. From there, they had to ascend a ladder, go down another passage, and then ascend once more. Robb was not sure if he could find his way back without a guide. Eventually, they came out near the White Sword Tower. Robb wondered if there were more Kingsguard to replace the likes of Jaime Lannister. And would he have to fight them soon?

He was not the first man to come back out into the open. The Gold Cloaks Varys had suborned had led the way for him. Dawn was beginning to rise in the east, and he felt exposed in the balmy air. The sea breeze felt nice compared to the stench from below or the smell of smoke and worse in the city. Varys hurried them to Maegor's Holdfast.

The drawbridge was down, and a Lannister guard with a gilded helm called out a challenge.

"Who goes there?"

Varys answered, "Captain Vylarr, Lord Tywin has asked that I attempt to convince Lord Stark one last time. Our good Regent has also decided to reinforce the keep – just in case."

They were allowed passage and found themselves walking along a corridor, lined with torches bright enough to illuminate their procession. Gold Cloaks came first, but then it was Oberyn, Robb, and the rest.

Vylarr looked down in confusion, "Wait, those aren't…" and was then shoved hard from behind over the wall and into the spikes covering the dry moat below. Another Lannister guard shouted about intruders, and the men already through raced up the stairs, joining a short, bloody battle. Robb did not even have to participate before it was done, though now more Lannister guardsmen were hurrying from the interior to try to win back the gate.

Robb pushed to the front, and his sword trapped a spear against the wall, before he slashed back across the foe's face. The half-helm took most of the blow, but part of the face was cut, and the man clutched at it in a panic. Robb opened his throat with a skewer and then helped the man next to him with a vicious slash to the leg. The Lannister guards were clearly surprised to be fighting while the Red Keep was still in control of their comrades, and they suffered for it.

Soon the enemy was retreating back through holdfast, and he had a moment to catch his breath. Oberyn gave the order, and the drawbridge was raised back up. The Prince of Dorne then turned to him. "Someone needs to hold the gate while we deal with Tommen Waters."

"Glover, you are to hold here. With the drawbridge up, they will have to scale the walls using ropes or ladders. I suspect that they don't have many ladders or siege equipment on the defensive, so that gives us ample time. However, if they wish to try to negotiate, keep them talking as long as you can," Robb ordered.

"Yes, but I was…" Glover began before getting cut off.

"I'm not going anywhere," Oberyn scoffed. "There's one entrance in, and one entrance out. Do as you're told, and I'll meet you here when we are done."

Glover looked at Robb and then nodded.

Robb looked at Oberyn as they moved forward. "So you knew Robett was assigned to watch you?"

"He made it rather obvious," Oberyn replied and then gave a roguish grin. "I know my reputation, Robb; I take no offense. Well, no great offense. Suspicion and a watchdog are small prices to pay to see my long-awaited vengeance come to fruition. What wouldn't you put up with if someone raped and murdered one of your sisters?"

Robb nodded. He had heard the stories of what happened to Elia. Horrific. After the battle was done, his father saved, and Stannis was triumphant, he would make every effort to help ensure the noble ladies and the smallfolk were not brutalized in the manner they had been when the Lannisters sacked the city.

They moved deeper in; fighting was brutal and vicious. There were no more open areas for battle but just a series of hallways and stairs. The defending Lannisters had crossbowmen who would fire and then retreat, only to reload and kill again. The defenders were too few; according to Varys, they numbered less than a hundred, and the majority were already dead.

A massive man cut down a Dornish spearman and then hacked at Oberyn. Robb could not find an opening to get through. Oberyn's preferred fighting style of moving forward and backward made it difficult to assist him. Normally, no assistance was necessary, but the big, plate-armored man knew his craft. With a roar, the Lannister knight charged Oberyn, and there was no room or space for Oberyn to back up fast enough.

So Oberyn did not.

Instead, he charged as well, but jumped at the wall itself, flexed as he did so, and then pushed off the wall, his spear pushing underneath the upraised blade of his foe to stab into the more lightly armored section at the armpit. Oberyn simultaneously ducked under his foe's swing. Robb saw that Oberyn looked to push further in, but a crossbow-wielding man was right behind. Robb pulled Oberyn back by the shoulder, and the bolt crashed into the stone.

The Lannister knight withdrew up the steps, and another man in armor checked their advance. Robb engaged and killed him; the wounded enemy and the pair of crossbowmen were not seen as the stairs ended into a hallway.

"Thank you, Stark, not sure why I was so intent on finishing him off now; the task is already done."

Robb was catching his breath, so did not respond. Oberyn pointed to where the hallway split to the left and right.

"According to Varys, your father should be held in the north wing. Go to him; I'll deal with Tommen."

Robb nodded.

"Where is the Master of Whisperers?"

Oberyn blinked. "Seven Hells, after that bit of mummery at the drawbridge, I lost track of him. The slippery bastard may not even have come in here with us. He's no friend of Tywin's though. Go with your Gods and find Eddard."

Robb clasped arms with him and pushed further in. Maegor's Holdfast was small compared to the rest of the Red Keep. If his father was still here, he would soon find him.

***

​

Lum was exhausted. He had fought through the night and helped prevent any push into King's Landing proper. Visenya's Hill was held, the enemy had not reached the Great Sept of Baelor, and the center of the city was holding strong. The cost had been high; his command was all but depleted now. He had sent reinforcements to help Ser Theo, but they had never returned.

Bronn, one of the new members of the Stormguard, had found him as dawn arrived. He sported a bruise on his cheek, a bloody lip, and one of his hands looked badly burned. His armor sported broken bits of chain and an impressive amount of dried blood. Lum could only assume it was other people's blood, given that Bronn was still walking around.

"Others take me, is this all the men you have left?" Bronn asked.

Lum nodded. "There are some wounded that were taken to the Great Sept, so whoever was carrying them may still be able to fight. If they push us again, there will be no holding. How is Ser Theo doing?"

"Badly. Several broken bones, the men took him to one of the brothel basements; they are hoping the enemy won't check there for now. He tried to stop the flood heading to the Red Keep, but those Northern bastards are tough."

Seven curse the traitors who opened the gate; the walls fell too soon.

Lum had run out of arrows; even the caches hidden around the city had been used. His arms ached, his fingers, despite the gloves, were worn from repeated use. He wanted to lie down and rest. Ser Brienne was still out there near the Lion Gate, but she was almost certainly cut off and would not have many men left with her either. Maybe if they pulled the Gold Cloaks from the northern wall… but that would just allow the Reach to pour in.

"Well, say something. Should we just throw off our armor and pretend to be citizens of Flea Bottom? Looks a mite hopeless at this point."

Lum frowned. Lady Myrcella wouldn't give up. But what could he do? The Red Keep was now surrounded. Ser Barristan was still days away. What could they do to turn the situation around? The walls were supposed to have held… Lady Myrcella was supposed to be planning the defense… Things weren't going the way they were supposed to!

Lum looked at Bronn, and then looked the Great Sept that still had tens of thousands of the faithful praying. Their voices could be heard even from where he sat several blocks away over the crackle of the still-burning wildfire.

"Them."

"He speaks! But I have no time for riddles – what do you mean?" Bronn asked with one eyebrow raised.

Lum pointed at the throngs of people at the Great Sept.

"The Red Keep is surrounded, but what if we could hit them from two sides? They will be moving in siege equipment to take the Red Keep, rams, ladders, maybe even moving in rock-throwers. We lead the faithful. We lead the people who believe Lady Myrcella is blessed by the Gods."

Bronn chuckled. "Did you get hit in the head? They aren't even armed. They'll break against knights and even levies armed with spears."

Lum shook his head. "Maybe if our foes were fresh and in their original formations. They'll be exhausted like us. With the way the streets are set up, we can flood around them. At the very least, it will buy us more time."

Bronn eyed him, and for a moment Lum feared the skilled sellsword would give up and seek to blend in with the citizens of the city. Finally he spat, "In for a groat, in for a dragon. Lady Myrcella had best see me well rewarded for this madness."

Lum stood up and made his way toward the Great Sept. He didn't know how to speak to crowds, but he had been watching how Lady Myrcella operated. He would likely make a mess of things, but he did have one roll of the dice to play that may work, even if he bungled the speaking parts.

The area surrounding the Great Sept was filled to the brim with people. On the steps, a man, not the High Septon, was speaking of the evils of the false God R'hllor. The people listened to him, and Lum had to struggle to make his way through the crowd. As he got closer, he noticed that the men in the immediate vicinity of the speaker were armed with staffs, truncheons, and a few had hammers and woodsman axes.

Lum debated how to get the crowd's attention when Bronn shouted out.

"LISTEN UP! Ser Lum Weiss of the STORMGUARD is here to say a few words."

Lum was beginning to regret this plan, but he soldiered on. He rose up the steps to address the speaker.

"Forgive me for interrupting, but I would like to address the faithful."

The man Lum was addressing was older, his face lined, and his brown beard sported gray. He gave Lum a curious look, followed by a nod.

"Lady Myrcella is blessed by the Seven; a member of her guard is more than welcome to say a few words."

Lum got up to the highest point near the great doors of the marble walls.

"I am Ser Lum Weiss. I am not educated beyond what my parents taught me of the Seven. I do not have wise words to speak. I am just a man." Lum paused, the way Lady Myrcella would do when she spoke to a group. "Lady Myrcella… Lady Myrcella is not just a princess, or the Lady of House Baratheon. She is more. She is blessed by the Seven!"

The crowd roared. Lum knew it was not due to his words, or not just due to them, but because of Lady Myrcella's reputation. As their cheers and praise for the Seven slowly died down, Lum was removing the boiled leather and shirt of chain that he had worn to battle.

"You, the one who was speaking, I want to show you something. I want to show you a miracle that Lady Myrcella performed."

Lum had finished disrobing the top half, laying bare his torso.

The older man looked at his now healed wound, straight into his guts. His fingers found the scar. Lum knew that stomach wounds could be survived, especially if they missed important innards or were only shallow. Neither of which was the case for him. Truth was on his side; the Maester had been certain he would die. Ser Theo had told him of the events, and Lum was sure the Stranger personified had saved his life.

"I was given up for dead! The Maester said that I was a lost cause. He left to tend to others. My comrades told me that Lady Myrcella kept vigil, and in the morning, I lived and continue to live by the grace of the Seven!"

Now the crowd truly roared, clapped, shouted, and stomped.

"You have come here to protect the Great Sept. Such is your love of the Seven. But I say to you today, the fight, the fight that you are called on is there." Lum pointed at the Red Keep. "Lady Myrcella was fed poison, enough to kill her, but SHE DID NOT DIE! Yet she lies there, even now being restored by the Seven. The Red Keep is surrounded. Will you allow it to be pulled down around her while she is helpless? Or will you drive out her treacherous uncle, the man who consorts with demons from the Seven Hells, and the man who burns the holy images of the Seven?"

The man who had been speaking looked at Lum as the faithful of King's Landing roared their approval. In a quiet voice, he said, "I sense you are genuine, but you know many will die."

"I know. Many will die regardless, help me. If Stannis wins, who knows what he will do. Lady Myrcella can save us. You hear rumors in the city, but you do not know the half of it. She fought the shadowy demonic creature that Stannis summoned. She was thrown from the Moon Door and survived. We have fought outnumbered, and due to the Seven-granted wisdom she has received, we have won. I swear to you, I am telling no mummer's tale. Lady Myrcella is more."

The man nodded. He addressed the crowd, with a voice made for oration. "I have felt his wounds! He has been saved by the mercy of the Seven! He speaks with the Father's wisdom. Now we don the Warrior's mantle. Take up what arms you have. Stones, clubs, daggers, spears, swords, axes, brooms, hammers, and knives. We march, we march under the gaze of the Seven! Lady Myrcella, blessed by the Maiden calls!"

Bronn clapped him on the shoulder as the crowd began to undulate toward the Red Keep.

"Well fuck me up the bum, Lum, you really did it. Simple Lannister guard, my arse – are you some baseborn lordling? Maybe a wealthy merchant's git?"

"No… I'm just Lum."

"Fine, keep your secrets, Ser Weiss. Well, we best lead them the right way and make sure they don't tear some loyal guards apart by accident."

Lum hoped Lady Myrcella would approve of what he had done this morning. He hoped that he would still be alive by the time she woke.

***

​

The defenders now numbered less than the fingers on his hands. Oberyn ordered the heavy door smashed in, and the Gold Cloaks began chopping at it with axes. A bolt took a Gold Cloak, aimed at near point-blank range through the hole the axe had carved into the sitting room door. Other Gold Cloaks moved past and searched the other rooms, just in case Tommen's defenders thought to be tricky. Feminine screams echoed from rooms past the hall, and Oberyn knew that the men that Varys had bribed likely were not made of the same material as Robb or Stannis. He would put a stop to any violations – once his task was done.

The door splintered, and Oberyn called out.

"Throw down your arms and let us through. We just want Tommen and his sister. We promise that you will not be harmed if you surrender now."

"I am Arys Oakheart," a voice rose from behind the damaged door, "I will not yield either to you."

Oberyn motioned, and a soldier began turning the door to kindling again. The door cracked, and a shoulder charge finished it off. A crossbow bolt narrowly missed one of his men, and Oberyn took in the scene.

One Lannister guard had a crossbow he was hastily reloading. Two more held spears, and they sought to hold the entrance. Ser Arys stood all in white, his plate gleaming, naked steel in his hand. Another knight in plate held a war hammer and shield. The shield was crested with a crow, marking him as from House Morrigen. The big knight whom he had stabbed with his poisoned spear was on the ground unconscious, if not already dead.

Myrcella, the one Varys was so insistent had to die, was kneeling by him. As the door cracked inward and guards fought guards, she looked up. Her eyes were as blue as the waters of Tarth, but the intensity in them reminded him of the deadliest of tempests.

If Oberyn had blinked, he may have died. Instead, his spear came up by almost pure reflex to protect his neck from a thrown knife. The blade cracked into the spear, driving it back into Oberyn's half-helmed face and knocked him backwards into another soldier. He saw a Dornish spearman go down with a knife buried in his eye and his neck broken.

A cry of rage split the air, far louder than any girl, or man, Oberyn had ever heard. And then, the storm was upon them.