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Chapter 96 - The Unbound, Ch10: Web Weaving

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Betad by Priapus, Marethyu, Mike God of Lore

The Unbound

Chapter 10: Web Weaving

— Petyr Baelish (Littlefinger) —

With every passing day, he could feel the headsman's axe getting closer. The Ironborn had proved an insufficient distraction for Orys and his obsessive search over the records.

He had hoped that Orys would be more like his father. That the thought of getting glory in war would send him running to the aid of the North, especially with his reputed skill with a bow and friendship to the wolf brats.

And yet, instead of taking the bait as his father almost had, Orys had been calm, collected and simply arranged for his Uncle to handle things. Stannis was pleased to be given the chance, and already the Royal Fleet was headed north to blockade the Ironborn.

Balon, for all his bluster, would fold and back down. He'd rant and rave, demanding payment for his son's death, but he would fold when faced with Stannis and his fleets. He was a coward at heart, it was why he'd bent the knee at the end of his last failed attempt. He'd already arranged for some of his captains to pose as Ironborn Raiders and sink some of the Royal Fleet, to make sure this went into a full-blown war. Hopefully, they could kill Stannis himself which would cause utter chaos, but he'd settle for the raids turning into a second Greyjoy Rebellion.

This would distract the King, but not Orys. With whispers of the King stepping back and letting Orys take over the running of King's Landing, it was increasingly important that the Crown Prince be deterred from his investigations.

Ned Stark was proving as useless as he'd feared. His suspicions of the Lannister's part in Jon Arryn's death were going nowhere, as the man was too poor a player of the game to notice the breadcrumbs he'd laid out for Stark. That this was the fool who'd gotten Cat drove him to rage, but he couldn't show it. Fortunately, Cat had trusted him more than the crown, and her words had made Ned believe that he could be trusted. 

He'd need to push Ned to believe that the Queen was behind Margaery's near-death soon. He needed Ned to play his part, but the man was a battle axe in a game where only a dagger was needed.

And yet, it didn't solve his biggest problem. Orys was suspicious of him, and he had no idea why. For all his life, he'd thrived from being underestimated, just Baelish from the littlest finger, not worthy of a second look.

And yet, Orys had been suspicious of him since the very first day he'd arrived in King's Landing. Baelish had seen the poorly hidden distrust on his face during that first Small Council meeting. And yet, why? He'd made sure to be useful enough to the Lannisters to avoid Tywin's gaze, so why would Orys arrive with such paranoia about him?

The little information he had on Orys didn't match the confident crown prince that returned from the North. His spies in Casterly Rock were few and far between, but Orys was said to be quiet and studious, not the type to make a scene or splash. He'd expected a boy closer to Tommen than Joffrey, someone he didn't need to worry about.

This was why he hated dealing with people he didn't have all the information on. 

Trying to kill Margaery again would be too risky. The Tyrells were on guard and Olenna was too good at this game for him to take such a risk with her watching so carefully. 

As the very man who had caused him such stress appeared, Baelish showed none of his anger or paranoia.

"Quite the mess we've found ourselves in, your Highness," Petyr said, making Orys pause in his confident stride. His boots had mud on them, from the tourney grounds, and yet they hadn't during the council meeting. Why had he gone back, and with no guards in sight?

"Indeed, Lord Baelish. I suppose we shouldn't be surprised. It seems like every House has someone representing them here today, visitors from all the Seven Kingdoms and beyond," Orys agreed easily, his tone and posture relaxed. "With such a crowd, chaos was inevitable. I just hoped it would be less fatal."

It was his eyes that gave him away. A stormy gaze that held mistrust he was too young to hide. The way they bore into him made him feel exposed, his secrets laid bare before Orys.

"How fortunate that your senses are so honed, that's quite a gift you possess," Petyr continued calmly, watching Orys carefully. The slightest twitch of his lips, amusement, followed by his body stiffening, paranoia. 

"It's served me well, true, though it was as much luck as talent. Had we been served different wines, I likely would have never noticed the difference between mine and Margaery's until it was too late," Orys admitted with a frown. His posture stiffened again, but this time it was in anger. Barely concealed fury at the near-death of his betrothed. Ours is the Fury, indeed. "Do you know if Varys has finished the list of people who accessed the kitchens?"

"I fear not. The Lannister guards at the kitchens were lax in their duties, and the list keeps growing with every passing interrogation," Petyr replied smoothly, seeing the frustration on the young prince's face. "I'm sure our Master of Whispers is turning over every rock as we speak."

"Walk with me," Orys commanded, making Baelish hesitate. Something in him told him to run, as if he was being led to his execution, but he didn't show it as he relaxed and walked with the young prince.

Orys led him to the royal library, an oft ignored room by many in his family, but Orys seemed fond of the room himself. He almost missed a single step as he noticed the financial documents and records piled up in the corner Orys had claimed as his work area.

"Bella, clear the room, please," Orys ordered his half-sister who bowed and swiftly removed the couple of servants from the room. "Tell me honestly, Baelish. What do you think of Varys?"

Baelish paused at that, his head tilting and his eyes narrowing.

"He's very good at his job, your highness. Perhaps too good. Your father has left him to his devices for years, and nobody ever truly knows what Varys is doing," Baelish answered honestly, not even needing to lie for this.

"He was the Master of Whispers for the Mad King, wasn't he?" Orys asked, making Baelish nod calmly.

"He kept his position, as Pycelle did. Though, I doubt I need to remind you that even your Grandfather was the Hand to the Mad King," Petyr pointed out, making Orys chuckle.

"Grandfather paid for his continued success in Princess Elia's blood, and Pycelle convinced Aerys to open the gates for the Lannister armies. And yet, Varys seemingly served Aerys loyally to the end, only for him to slip right into the court of my father," Orys pointed out, and Baelish could only nod in agreement. 

It truly showed how good Varys was at the game that he had managed to keep his head.

"You don't trust him, your Highness?" Petyr asked, already knowing the answer.

"The Tyrells served the Targaryens until the Mad King's death. This marriage would tie them to the Baratheon Rule. Any Targaryen loyalist would see it as both a betrayal and a devastating blow to any hopes of restoring the Dragons," Orys explained. "I've heard Varys has been tracking the exiled Targaryen siblings for years, and yet this pair of children have escaped his birds at every turn."

Orys hadn't heard of Viserys' death? Unsurprising, Varys hadn't brought it up to King Robert yet, for whatever reason.

"Indeed. It does seem odd for a man with such a wide web to fail to entangle a pair of baby dragons," Petyr agreed. "And yet, you didn't bring this up during the Small Council meeting."

"You know how my father is when it comes to 'Dragonspawn'. If I was wrong, there was every chance my father would crush Varys' skull before any proof of his innocence could be found," Orys admitted with a frown and a sigh, one hand running through his hair. "If he is truly loyal to the crown, I'd not spill the blood of a loyal, talented subject with a false accusation built on hearsay."

"The words of a prince carry a hefty weight, your Highness," Petyr agreed with sympathy. "To answer your question, no. I don't trust Varys. I suspect nobody does, and Varys certainly trusts nobody. It is what makes him good at his job, but shrouds his motives. Whispers have reached me from Pentos that suggest that one of the dragonspawn, Viserys, met his end at the hands of his sister. And yet, Varys with his grand web of little birds has failed to inform your father that one of the children he's been calling for the deaths of is finally dead…"

Orys didn't respond, leaning against his desk with a frown on his face.

"And now that same man is tasked with ensuring another attempt on Margaery does not occur. If I asked anyone else to handle the investigation, it would seem like an open declaration that I don't trust Varys," Orys pointed out after a long moment. 

"If I may be so bold, why ask me, your highness?" Petyr asked, making Orys hum.

"There's something rotten in King's Landing, and I don't just mean the smell. Uncle Stannis is busy. Uncle Renly, as much as I love him, is not a serious man. Pycelle is a doddering old man. Eddard… well, I have no doubt Lord Stark is a man of honour, but watching him blunder through the Southern Court has given me second hand embarrassment," Orys admitted, getting a small laugh from Baelish. "When I first arrived here, I was deathly curious why we are in so much debt when everyone I spoke to would tell me that you are a genius with coin. My father is wasteful, but it would take spending on a scale of Aegon the Unworthy to cause such debt in such a small timeframe. I started going over the records, but it seemed like I'd barely managed to turn a single page before Lord Varys emerged, eager to point my investigation toward you."

Baelish didn't react to his admission, but inside he felt his anger grow. Varys was one of the other people who had never trusted him, and the idea that Varys had whispered his poisonous words into Orys' ears so quickly infuriated him.

The fact that he hadn't seen through Pycelle's act, and that Tywin hadn't seen fit to inform him of the fact that Pycelle was owned by the Lannisters, made him relax slightly. 

"I had noticed your rather intense investigation of the records," Petyr admitted with a wry smile. "And your decision to request records from outside the capital raised many eyebrows."

"I was raised by Tywin Lannister. If there's one thing I know, it's gold. I know when records don't add up, and I suspected they'd been tampered with and didn't trust the royal records," Orys admitted, gesturing at his desk. "Before this near-miss with Margaery, I did suspect you, but what do you have to gain from killing a Tyrell?"

"And yet, you cannot accuse Varys before your father without inflaming his Grace's famous temper when it comes to the Dragons," Petyr continued. "And now Varys is tasked with hunting an assassin he may very well have sent. Even now, he's arranging food tasters that could be the next to attempt to poison Lady Margaery's meal."

"Exactly my dilemma. If I accuse Varys, my father is likely to take his head and call it a day, potentially letting the true culprit escape unnoticed, to continue their schemes. If I don't, I have to pray to the Seven and any other god that is listening that Varys isn't the culprit or I'm making this easy for him," Orys agreed. "There are too many people who benefit from Margaery's death to list them all. I don't want to lose her."

"You seem to have grown fond of her quite quickly, your Highness," Petyr pointed out, making Orys laugh.

"I know. I spent the better part of a year dreading meeting her, knowing I would be stuck with her regardless of how we felt for one another, but all those worries faded in minutes of meeting her," Orys admitted with a rueful smile. "She's everything I would want in a Queen."

"I know the feeling, all too well. I had a woman who made me feel the same, that she was all I ever wanted from the moment I met her," Petyr admitted, his mind going back to Cat. "In my case, fate deemed it not to be. She was betrothed to a man from far grander lands than my 'little finger', a man who had muscle where I had intellect. I even challenged him to a duel over it, five namedays younger and half his size. I still have the scars from the beating he gave me."

How much would be different if he'd been more martially inclined and had defeated Brandon that day? Instead, he'd been humiliated in front of Cat, and Brandon didn't even get the girl in the end. No, Eddard Stark had taken his love in his brother's place. He had noticed that Sansa looked so much like her mother, but any temptation to approach her was shut down by the simple fact that nothing would make Stark turn on him faster.

"Then you understand why I find myself unwilling to risk Margaery's life on the chance that the strange, bald eunuch isn't as suspicious as he looks and acts," Orys said bluntly. 

His youth was as useful as it was dangerous. He knew all too well how passion could blind even the smartest man. Orys was far too smart, and yet his youthful panic was making him show his hand. But it also meant he was likely to act rashly, despite his usually calm demeanour. 

Orys did not fully trust him, even now there was a hint of that paranoia in his posture and expression, but he trusted Varys less. He could use this.

"I do, your highness," Petyr agreed softly. "Your father may have left the Small Council to their devices, but if Varys truly still has Targaryen leanings… the consequences could be disastrous for the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms. You stand out too much to investigate Varys yourself, and as you said, the rest of the Small Council either cannot be trusted or are otherwise unsuitable. Your father said to treat your words as if they came from his mouth. If you truly suspect Varys, you need only give the order and I'll look into him and his little birds."

"Do so," Orys ordered, a stern frown on his face that reminded him of both Stannis and Tywin. "If anyone asks, and I'm certain Varys has already heard, I brought you here to discuss several discrepancies I found in the royal accounts."

As Orys explained the main ones, he knew Orys was going to be a problem. He'd already rooted out several positions that were being paid double or being paid to people who didn't exist, but Petyr was able to deflect most of the blame as he didn't personally handle the staffing (instead, having someone he owed do it for him).

If he became King, Baelish knew his network of schemes would slowly unravel, but that was a problem for the future and not the immediate issue on Orys' mind. He could blame a lot on other people, but too much would make him look incompetent at best and lose him his position, if not his head.

But for now, Orys' bloodhound hunt for answers was aimed elsewhere, and as they separated he let out a secret sigh of relief.

It was far from perfect. Orys was too suspicious of him, but at least now he had a better idea why. Varys. The Spider was playing games, as always, and had beaten him to the punch when it came to their Crown Prince.

Orys had to go. He was too economically trained for him to become King, where he'd have everything he needed to fully unravel his many schemes and cons that had been draining the crown's funds. 

But if he could position himself closer to Orys before his demise, he'd be better suited to deflect blame when the time came. 

As they went their separate ways, he considered his options and paused before smiling. Joffrey was a cruel, arrogant fool. Three traits he loved in his 'superiors'.

Joffrey's growing rage at the attention Orys was getting was clear for all to see, but the boy was a coward at heart and would likely not act on it in any serious way without some… prodding.

— Orys Baratheon —

It was 100% Baelish and it took all my self-control not to have his head cut off then and there.

But that conversation was the final nail in his coffin, now all I need is for Oberyn to stuff him into it. I was carefully watching his aura throughout the entire conversation and it was all over the place, and I learnt some valuable things through it.

He hates Varys, even hated him before I lied and said Varys pointed me at him. He hates Eddard Stark, who I think might be the man in his own sorry tale of lost love. I could see the sheer bitterness in his heart when he told it, and it was the same bitterness that radiates from him every time Lord Stark is brought up.

And I am almost certain that I was right. He tried to kill Margaery to distract me from his thefts. He's built a business empire on the Crown's coin and he is willing to kill a lot of people to stop me from looking too deeply into his affairs.

The only pieces of evidence I showed him were the ones that I knew he'd be able to explain away. All positions that were filled by people Baelish hired, nothing that would stick to a man as slippery as Littlefinger.

Anything that could actually incriminate him (such as the wildly different records I have for the prices of many deals Baelish struck) are hidden away. I want him to be nervous, not running.

I'm sure he's going to pull some evidence incriminating Varys out of his backside. Obviously, I won't trust a single thing he brings me but there may just be some truth buried under his horseshit. I am still deeply suspicious of Varys, after all.

Mephala approves of me using my prey to ruffle the feathers of another potential threat while I plan Littlefinger's death. If I'm lucky, it'll blind him to Oberyn until it is far too late. Mostly, I'm hoping that pushing my 'suspicion' onto Varys will stop him from trying to kill Margaery again.

Returning to my room, I let out a very undignified groan and slump into my chair. I take a moment to thank Bella as she brings me a drink. She's rapidly becoming my shadow, and I won't deny that it's useful to have someone I can rely on, even if a part of me suspects anything she sees will be in my mother's ears soon after.

Looking over some documents, I let my mind wander elsewhere. I felt the awakening of a champion of Hircine in the North. Bear island, from the dream I had. 

Champion may not be the right word. The girl isn't like me, my bond to Hircine is far stronger, but she's closer than Arya. A chosen?

I don't mind. The chosen of Hircine's bear aspect tore apart the Ironborn raiders, and anything that inconveniences them is a benefit for us. When word spreads, the Septons and Maesters will cry out, but the North is the North. The Old Gods are the one true faith there, and they don't scorn magic as easily as the Southern Kingdoms.

I can feel Mephala's web spreading further as well, but not in the Seven Kingdoms. No, she's reached into the Summer Isles. A part of me is deathly curious what she is doing over there, but a larger part of me wonders if I can use this to add the Summer Isles to my empire.

Nocturnal hasn't had much time to do anything beyond the task I set her on, but I have noticed an increase in Ravens around the Red Keep already. They whisper secrets in a language only I can understand. 

A part of me, a tiny part, considered bringing Margaery in on my secret. I could grant her a lesser version of Mephala's gift, but it's far too soon. I do truly like her, but the Reach favour the Seven greatly. I can't trust that her reaction would be positive. The Reach also holds Oldtown, where the Citadel lies. The Maesters would not approve of my powers.

 

While Mephala's gift would help keep her safe, I can't take that chance. Not yet. A single misjudgement could turn Margaery from my betrothed to a major threat. 

"You truly do work too hard, Orys," the amused voice of my mother says, distracting me from my thoughts as I turn away from the financial documents (taxes from King's Landing) and to face her.

Bella gives her a deep bow, and wisely makes herself scarce, leaving the room and closing the door behind her.

"There's too much work to be done," I counter with a sigh, making her sigh fondly as she approaches, running her hand through my hair as she fixes the somewhat messy black locks. I'd call it motherly if she wasn't also pulling my head so I'm staring directly into her cleavage.

"Then you may not like what I have to say," Cersei continues, pulling up a seat and sitting next to me. Never once in my life have I seen her get her own chair, and she knows a maid is just outside. 

Lovely.

"Perhaps, but as bizarre as it sounds, I enjoy the work," I admit with a wry grin. My future kingdoms are a mess, but they're my mess to clean. Cersei smiles at that, her hand resting on mine.

"You were impressive in the Small Council meeting. Authority suits you, Orys," Cersei whispers.

"I should hope so. I've been raised from birth to wear it properly," I reply simply, making her chuckle.

"You were. Which is why your father wants to let you stretch your wings, Orys. He is going to announce that he is stepping back tomorrow at the festival. He'll still be king, but you will be the one holding court and giving orders. You know your father has never enjoyed the more tedious parts of ruling, and he wants to give you time to prepare for when the crown sits on your brow."

My father wants, or she wants?

"What would this mean, exactly?" I ask, making her smile softly.

"You'd be King in all but name. Your father rarely wields his Kingly authority for anything more than arranging tournaments, but that power would be yours to wield as you see fit," Cersei continues, just the slightest hint of avarice in her tone. "I suspect he plans to abdicate the throne in the not so distant future. The crown has never sat comfortably on his head."

No, he doesn't plan to do so. She plans to make it so. 

Rising from my seat, I move over to my window and lean against it, looking out over King's Landing with a deep frown. These are my people, but King's Landing is no jewel. The seat of my empire is a cesspit, a black mark on my honour. 

Cersei moves behind me, her hands on my shoulders as she rubs them gently.

"Am I ready for that? A single mistaken decision from someone with such power can be more damaging than some wars," I point out. Despite my tension, I can't deny that her tender massage feels amazing. 

I wonder if she was giving father one as she whispered just the right words to get him to agree to this plan of hers. Maybe even seeing it as his own plan.

"You are, my little stag," Cersei swears, her body pressed against my back as I look out at my city. "You won't carry this weight alone, and it is better that you get a taste of this power before it is thrust upon you. That poison could have just as easily been in your father's goblet and he lacks your skills. This life is unpredictable, Orys. Anything could happen, to anyone. I won't see you unprepared for your destiny."

I know she's trying to manipulate me, which makes it all the worse that it is working. She's telling me everything I want to hear.

I know my father treats his responsibility like some foul thing that he foists off on other people, and have I not seen how untrustworthy his court is? Would it not be better to take it into my own hands?

Turning to face her, she doesn't back away as she stands inches from me, her breasts pressing against my chest. She told me she wouldn't bring up her offer again, and she's been true to her word. Not a single word of it has left her lips, but actions speak so much louder. 

Mephala is a Prince of sex amongst other things, I can detect arousal as easily as I can lies. I don't need her gift to see the sheer need in Cersei's eyes, my enhanced nose picking up her arousal and her nipples pressing into my chest.

"You'll help me?" I ask simply.

"With anything and everything, for as long as you need me," Cersei promises, her aura growing lighter with my question. 

"In the North, after my illness, I heard the Old Gods," I say, and watch as her entire body freezes up. 

"Orys?" Cersei asks, finally taking a step back.

"Hircine, Lord of the Hunt, chose me. I was never that good with a bow, my senses have never been so sharp," I admit, watching her mind race behind her eyes. 

"This… new cult in the North?" Cersei asks, making me smile grimly.

"There's nothing new about it, Mother. Even now, I can feel the call to go out and hunt rushing through my veins. You said you'd do anything for me," I say, my tone a mixture of stern and uncertain as I watch her gather her thoughts. "The Faith would decree me a heretic, and may even try to end my life."

"They will not touch you, Orys. You are the Crown Prince, they exist to serve you, not their gods," Cersei finally says, taking my hand. "You've always been special, I said it from the moment you were born and I'll say it until the day I die."

"I was meant to die. I was chosen by the Gods long before our trip. I watched through their eyes as one of them, Ithelia, saved me from the fever you refuse to talk about," I continue, watching her freeze. "I was meant to die, and my every action since has sent waves throughout the Seven Kingdoms and beyond."

"I prayed to every god that would listen to save you. I begged the Seven, the Old Gods, even went to the Red Priests. One insisted I burn you to bless all my future children. I had him disembowelled," Cersei admits, the lust replaced with something far darker.

"One listened," I say simply. "And I'm scared, because things are changing across Westeros because of me. Soon, we'll hear word of a woman who can turn into a giant bear in the North, and the Faith and Maesters will bluster and call it false, but I saw it. Even from here."

My voice is incredibly soft, taking zero chances with this knowledge.

It's also the truth. I can feel the other Daedric Princes beginning to test to see just how much they can do without me. I might be the gatekeeper, but that won't stop them from trying to scale the walls or knock them down altogether. 

"You said you were having bad dreams, when you had that f- the fever," Cersei whispers back, making me nod.

"These old gods have names. They were trying to tempt me. I accepted Hircine to help control this… gift of mine and through me, his influence is spreading," I admit. A part of me is just relieved to get this off my chest.

She doesn't respond for a long moment, making me think I've made a mistake. That I've read her aura wrong.

"What do you want, Orys?" Cersei asks, and I know she isn't talking about something as small as a favour.

I turn back out to the window, giving King's Landing one last look.

"I want to be the greatest King the world has ever seen," I admit. "I want my name to live on throughout the centuries, long after we're all bones and dust, and for people to say I was the best thing that happened to the Seven Kingdoms."

Cersei moves closer again, her hands wrapping around my waist as she hugs me tightly, placing a kiss on my neck.

"You will be," Cersei swears, a fanaticism in her voice that both frightens and emboldens me. "Make no mistake, Orys, I would truly do anything for you. The Faith can burn. I'll personally tear down the Great Sept brick by brick if they dare threaten you."

The scary thing? I truly believe her.

— Varys —

Fate was a funny little thing.

So much planning, so many whispers and schemes, only for it all to fall away at the final hour. Hiding Viserys and Daenerys from King Robert's rage had been no small task, certainly not while keeping his own neck for his repeated failures to capture or kill the pair.

Admittedly, things had not gone as planned. The Tyrells marrying into the crown was a deadly blow to their hopes and would have made the fight to place Viserys on the throne far harder, but in the end? It didn't even matter.

After so many years of hard work, of planting seeds and weaving webs, Viserys died through no-one's fault but his own. It seemed the Targaryen madness was strong in him, after all.

This was not necessarily the worst, not a death blow to their plans, but that was before word had reached him of how Viserys had met his end.

At the hands of his own sister.

The Dothraki boasted of their Khaleesi slaying her traitorous brother, telling tales of the way she'd burnt him alive. To them, it was a sign of power. To the rest of the world?

Daenerys Targaryen was a kinslayer who'd bedded a horse-lord. No amount of whispers would get the Seven Kingdoms to accept her as their Queen. A daughter of the Mad King Aerys who'd burnt her brother alive? No, she would face resistance beyond anything she could handle.

Dorne would simply pretend the pact they'd made was false, lying through their teeth to distance themselves from it.

No, their Targaryen restoration plan had ended in tragedy, dying with Viserys. Illyrio would not be pleased, but the very fates seemed against them.

How else could he see 'Young Griff' dying to a poisonous spider bite? Nobody should have known of Aegon's existence, the pair of siblings had proven an adequate distraction, and yet he'd died all the same. 

Jon Connington saw it as an assassination, but nobody had found even a trace of the would-be assassin. So, he'd gone from three promising Targaryen children to a single one so tainted that she would never be accepted. Connington was on the warpath, of course, his charge dead despite the many precautions taken, and had even accused Varys of being the assassin when he found nothing.

He truly feared that someone else was playing the game with them, someone so good at it he hadn't even seen a hint of their existence. To kill Aegon with a spider? It was a message. A threat.

But from who? He could not say, and that scared him more than anything he'd ever faced before.

— Bonus Scene — Melisandre 

Reaching King's Landing was the easy part, in truth. Despite the long journey she took to get here, this was where her trial truly began.

The Lady of Light had guided her well, and she'd felt her powers grow with her guidance, but in this place, magical power alone was not enough.

Azor Ahai, the Prince that was Promised, was within this very city. She'd seen his face in every flame, and her dreams had never been clearer. The Others were soon to awaken, the Kingdoms unprepared for their arrival, but all was not lost.

Not while Orys Baratheon still lived. 

And yet, while her place was by his side to guide him toward his destiny, how could she approach him? Her religion was barely even tolerated in the Seven Kingdoms, and Orys was the Crown Prince, soon to be the most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms and beyond. Even at this grand tourney, she could not simply approach him so easily, and this would be the most approachable he would likely be for a long time.

No, magic alone would not aid her here. This required a subtle touch.

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