Outside King's Landing, Crownlands, Westeros, 298 AC
Tyrion Lannister kept clapping and smiling while Lady Ruby and her friends walked up to the King even though he wasn't sure if he should flee instead. He had known that the four girls were holding back - Jaime had confirmed it, and even the King had noticed it - but Tyrion had not expected just how much they had been hiding. Not merely their power, though seeing them run through brick walls without noticing would have been bad enough for his peace of mind.
No, they had revealed new abilities, each of them more terrifying than the other. Lady Ruby could run faster than the wind - she could literally create a storm in her wake to send people flying.
But that paled in comparison to Lady Weiss creating magical discs as easily, and as quickly, as waving her hand - and by the dozens. Tyrion had not studied magic in any depth, but what he had read had been clear about the fact that magic took effort and time - and a sacrifice. Fortunately, he had had the presence of mind to glance at the red priestess Stannis had brought to court when Lady Weiss had first started using her power, and he had caught the sheer shock and terror on the woman's face, before a smile had replaced it.
And Lady Yang! She had been literally on fire, with flames covering her entire body. And it hadn't been a trick of the mind - he had spotted the trampled grass catching fire near her. And yet, she had not burnt - she had used the blaze to fight, daring people to strike her and be consumed by her flames.
But Lady Blake had not been fazed. And why would she have been fazed when she could not only use her blade to strike from afar, sending magic… not arrows, nor bolts, more like slashes given form, in a way, at her opponent, but could split herself in two - or more parts - to fight.
Beware the quiet ones, he thought as Lady Blake stepped up to the cheering King. The other members of her group were more boisterous or more outgoing, but Lady Blake was the most dangerous.
And Tyrion's dear, demented sister had spent the last few months doing everything she could think of to antagonise Team Ruby. He could only hope that she would finally realise how outclassed she was, and stop. She had seemed shocked enough during the battle for such a realisation.
But would it last? Or would she manage to convince herself that fighting those girls wouldn't lead to her ruin as soon as she managed to annoy them enough? He had to talk to Jaime; the last thing his family - or the realm - needed was Cersei doing something stupid out of wounded pride. She was like Father in that regard, although while she had inherited all of Father's pride, most of his intelligence had skipped her.
The smallfolk broke out in loud cheering again when the King declared Lady Blake the champion of the tourney and handed over a golden crown. Lady Blake stared at it for a moment, suddenly looking confused, before she bent her neck and let the King crown her.
The smallfolk cheered their hearts and lungs out. Well, for them, there probably wasn't much of a difference between being at the mercy of their lords and being at the mercy of Team Ruby. But the nobles… Many of them who didn't know Team Ruby as well as Tyrion did just had a rude awakening.
Unfortunately, Tyrion thought as he glanced at his scowling sister, Cersei is obviously not amongst them.
He would have to speak to Jaime and tell him to rein in their sister. And send another letter to Father about this threat to their family. Before things escalated past the point where amends could be made. The girls were far more patient than any other noble he knew, especially given their horrifying power - albeit that might be why they were so patient; no one in Westeros could threaten them - but everyone's patience had limits, and some, such as Clegane, had already found out where some of those limits lay for Team Ruby.
If only Ser Gregor had listened to his order to avoid the four girls. But he hadn't, and Father would blame Tyrion for it, as he usually did, as if it was his fault that the Mountain had thrown a fit and not only killed a guard but then attacked a friend of the King. Tyrion wasn't the one who had kept that monster around to unleash on their enemies, should the occasion arise. Nor was he the one who had sent it to rape and kill Targaryen royalty.
Maybe he could use the fact that Lady Yang had crushed a knight's balls beyond any hope of recovery and the Maesters were still not sure if he would survive, maybe crippled, to his advantage? No, making a fuss about that would be pointless. Whether the knight lived or died - and many in his place would probably prefer death over living with their manhood crushed - didn't matter. He had insulted Lady Yang, and then, when she had thrown him to the ground in a - especially in hindsight - remarkable show of mercy and restraint, had attacked her with a sword. The fault was all his. Not that Lady Yang would have been brought to trial even if things had been different; Not only was she a favourite of the King, although not in the usual meaning of the word, but no one with even half their wits would try to bring any of the Four Maidens to justice. Well, except for Lord Stannis, of course.
Between the mess with the Mountain - Tyrion hadn't missed how Team Ruby had reacted to the tale of poor Princess Elia and her children, and everyone knew Father had given the orders to murder them - and Cersei determined to throw her life away for her pride, Tyrion had his work cut out for him if he wanted to save his family from destruction much less establish an alliance with the girls.
Preferably before Father arrived in King's Landing. Tyrion had no illusions how Father's usual manner and methods would be received by Lady Ruby and her friends. And how Father would react to their usual manners. Or lack thereof.
He kept smiling and clapping with the rest of the crowd - including the nobles - in between emptying the wineskin he had brought with him. If he was to survive this, he needed a drink.
*****
The Red Keep, King's Landing, Crownlands, Westeros, 298 AC
Sitting in his office as Master of Coin, Lord Petyr Baelish took a deep breath. And then again. And once more. He had to stay calm. As he had on the way back from the tourney site. Not unfazed, he was not keeping up an appearance like a knight; that would have made people wary of him, but calm and controlled.
No matter that he had just seen four little girls demonstrating power beyond his wildest expectations. Enough power to tear down any enemy - power to reshape the land itself. Literally.
This didn't truly change anything, he reminded himself. He had known before that those four could lay waste to an army. It didn't matter that they could lay waste to two, or ten armies. That kind of power didn't matter since he wasn't going to fight them, anyway.
He was going to use them.
Yes.
He closed his eyes and let his breath out, then drank a glass of wine - arbor gold.
Yes, he was going to use them. They were more powerful than anyone else - more powerful than even the Targaryens when they still rode dragons.
But they were little girls. Inexperienced. Naive. Ignorant, And gullible. He had talked to them often enough to have their measure. They were as easy to manipulate as the King was - no, even more so; the King occasionally displayed cunning and insight. Petyr had experience with getting girls to work for him in his ventures.
Those girls? They knew nothing about Westeros. Not surprisingly, since they had arrived in the frozen North and befriended the Starks, and Lord Eddard was the single most naive lord in all of Westeros. He had filled their heads with silly notions about honour so they knew nothing about how the realm was actually ruled. In a manner, Petyr was thankful to Lord Eddard - any other Lord of his rank would have already bound the girls to himself one way or the other.
But as things were, the girls were not a threat - not to Petyr - but an opportunity. For all their power, they were weak where it counted. They cared far too much about the smallfolk, even the scum from the slums - Petyr's spies had told him about their encounters with beggars, thieves and their ilk. They spent their time with Stark's children and had a soft spot for street urchins, always willing to hand out coin to beggars. And since they were girls, they also cared far too much about men accosting women.
The only time they had truly used their power, had hurt anyone, was when faced with men trying to assault them. Two knights had done so, used to taking women when they could, and two knights had suffered grievously for it. But thieves? Those had been let go without even a lashing.
Their reaction to Petyr's story about the fate of Lady Elia and her children further proved it. They had no idea about how Westeros worked. About how power was to be used.
Petyr nodded firmly. Yes, he could use them for his own goals.
He would use them.
He just needed to present things just right to have them deal with his enemies and obstacles and create more opportunities for him. And he knew how to do that - Lord Eddard was already fooled, and the girls would follow.
Oh, yes. Those girls would work for him. And once they were under his control… Well, they were exotic beauties.
*****
The Red Keep, King's Landing, Crownlands, Westeros, 298 AC
"The dust. It all comes down to the magic dust." Prince Joffrey Barathen nodded firmly as he paced in his quarters. The dog didn't answer, but he hadn't expected him to - he was Joffrey's sworn sword, a brute, not a mind to be picked when planning how to achieve the power of gods.
"Even when fighting each other, they kept the dust a secret. Even when that would, as they said themselves, handicap some of them more than others. The magic must be in the dust."
Joffrey knew that - he had eliminated all other possible explanations. If training hard would grant you such powers, the Kingsguard would be the equal to Team Ruby. And it wasn't the blood - he had overheard enough of Team Ruby's talk to deduce that while everyone in their world had the potential to be as strong as they were, they had weak peasants as well. They had to 'activate' their powers.
And that, unfortunately, this 'activation' didn't require a sacrifice like the Valyrian blood magic the Maester had mentioned, or the old magic of the North that Father's friend had attributed to those 'Children of the Forest' and their holy trees. Lady Ruby and her group's shocked reaction had clearly shown that they were not sacrificing people to fuel whatever ritual they used; Joffrey knew they were not faking that.
If only it were not so - there were more than enough people Joffrey could sacrifice for such a ritual. Thieves, murderers and other criminals, for one. Like the Mountain. Cutting the throat of the strongest knight in Westeros - or gutting him and watching him slowly die, writhing helplessly while his blood fed a ritual - would certainly have granted Joffrey great powers! He licked his lips at the - sadly not real - thought of flexing his new power while the light left the Mountain's eyes. Ah…
But it had to be the dust from their world. It could be used to enhance their power - they had admitted that - and if it could enhance their powers, it could grant them as well. At the very least, it should make you as strong and tough as Team Ruby. It was unknown in Westeros, and they had little of it left, but still enough to work magic - they had said so themselves when they had told Father that they wouldn't use it in their battle.
And what a battle it had been! "Have you ever imagined the likes of Team Ruby, Hound?" he asked. "That much power!"
The dog grunted something, and Joffrey frowned. The dog wasn't even paying attention, just staring at his cup - and why was he drinking so much when the feast was mere hours away? "Hound?"
That made the man look at him, and Joffrey drew a sharp breath at the sight of the man's expression. The dog's eyes were wide and he was almost snarling! What would…? Oh! Joffrey smirked. "They're terrifying, aren't they? Especially Lady Yang."
Another muttered curse followed, but Joffrey paid more attention to the dog's body - he was trembling. Despite his strength, he was terrified by the power Team Ruby had revealed. Weak.
Joffrey was not as weak, though. He wasn't afraid of power - it was his birthright. He couldn't wait to wield that power himself. Father and mother would be so proud - and once Team Ruby left, no one would be able to contest his power! People would bow to him as they did to Team Ruby. People would respect and fear him. And with good cause - he wasn't squeamish like Lady Ruby and her friends. He would crush any threat to the realm. He would make examples of his enemies until everyone bowed to him,
He would be the most powerful King of Westeros, ever!
He only needed the magic dust - and the knowledge of how to use it. Team Ruby guarded that knowledge, but Joffrey was smart. He could read between the lines and figure out how to use dust. He just needed to know a bit more.
*****
The Red Keep, King's Landing, Crownlands, Westeros, 298 AC
Melisandre had practised her craft, had been blessed by R'hllor, for countless years. She had been raised in Asshai, had seen the worst and best Shadowbinders could do. She had touched the R'hllor's might herself, had seen visions in the fire that would have driven lesser minds mad.
And yet, she had never seen the like of what she had observed today. The powers Team Ruby had displayed were beyond what magic could accomplish. Not in scope - she was aware, had even seen, in visions and with her own eyes once, what the Valyrians had managed to achieve with blood magic, and what the girls had done would have paled in comparison. But that had taken a ritual, and countless slaves' lives bled dry to fuel it.
No, it was the speed and ease of use that stood out. None of the magic she was familiar with, neither the might of the Shadowbinders nor the deeds of the most experienced fleshcrafters, came as easily or quickly as the four women's use of their power - or as cheaply.
That was what would have proven, if she had ever doubted her visions, that those four were from another world: Magic always demanded a price. The stronger the power it granted you, the higher the price the caster or their sacrifice paid. And yet, 'Team Ruby' - and wasn't that a fateful name? - had worked magic without paying any price. A power truly beyond this world.
"What do you make of them?"
She turned to look at Lord Stannis. He didn't want her to recount what she had seen; he had watched the same fight she had. "They are genuine, my lord. They are from another world. As my vision told."
He nodded. "So, are the Others dead then? You've found your Azor Ahai?"
He seemed remarkably calm about this, for all that had happened. Melisandre had never outright stated that he was the prince who was promised - certainly not when she had still been searching to confirm her visions' information - but she had dropped hints about her suspicion. Not merely to flatter him and make him more receptive to her counsel either; he had fit the visions she'd had. Dragonstone, his home, undoubtedly was a place of salt and fire. And yet, the Others had been killed already; R'hllor had shown her that every time she had sought an answer. The lands of eternal winter covered in snow but not frozen under ice, devoid of all life. The Wall standing tall, not broken. The Wildlings fighting and raiding each other, not uniting in a desperate army to flee southward.
The great threat she had been working to stop all her life, for which she had been seeking Azor Ahai on the Red God's orders, had been dealt with.
She nodded. "They have died at the hands of Lady Ruby and her friends, my lord."
"Good." He nodded, and she caught a faint smile flickering over his face. Otherwise, he didn't show any reaction. She suppressed a snort. Of course, he would not be fazed - he was not the kind of man who desired anything more than what he thought was his due. If he wasn't Azor Ahai, then he wasn't. And if the threat to the world had been defeated, then he would not feel slighted or lessened by the fact that it hadn't been he who had struck the decisive blow. He did his duty, nothing more - but nothing less, either. "And will Team Ruby return to their world, as they claim is their goal?"
Now, that was the question. "I do not know yet, my lord," she replied - honestly. "The ice has melted, yet the flood has not yet swept through the land."
He scoffed. "Let's hope you will make sense of your vision before we all are buried under water."
She didn't bother explaining that it wasn't a literal vision; he knew that as well. "I will look into the fire as many times as I need to determine what R'hllor is telling me, my lord."
"Do that." He nodded curtly and, always the dutiful, returned to read through a stack of missives the Onion Knight had brought from Dragonstone.
Despite his gruff dismissal, she wasn't worried that he'd send her away; his wife was one of the faithful, and Melisandre had proven her visions' worth. And Lord Stannis was perfectly aware that he needed her help to ensure that the comet that had melted the ice wouldn't melt the Iron Throne.
What she had seen today certainly confirmed that the four maidens had the power to do that - both literally and metaphorically. And Meslisandre had yet to figure out their goals. And whether R'hllor wanted her to help them - or to stop them.
*****
The Red Keep, King's Landing, Crownlands, Westeros, 298 AC
Varys kept his pleasant smile and demeanour up all the way from the tourney's field until he reached his private quarters. Only when he had closed the door behind him, locked it, and checked the secret passage behind the wall in the back for eavesdroppers, did he allow himself to shudder and collapse into his softest chair with his eyes squeezed shut.
Magic! Foul magic, the likes of it he had never seen, had been demonstrated, and the ignorant masses and the simpleminded fools who fancied themselves nobles had cheered at the display! They didn't know what Varys knew! They didn't know what those women had brazenly revealed today!
He had known they were powerful, but not how powerful they were - and how foul. He should have realised, of course - but he had clung to the hope that they were merely born powerful, like others were born smart. That their strength was due to a legacy thought lost in the Age of Heroes. Or maybe a blessing from one of the gods.
But the fight today - undoubtedly staged to further their goals, though Varys had yet to find out which those goals were; they were apt at misdirection and hiding their thoughts behind a facade of youthful innocence as false as a traitor's promises. If Varys didn't know better, even he might have believed their claims as the Fat King had.
But knowing what he did, he could only guess how many lives they had taken, how many people they had mutilated and sacrificed to gain such powers and strength - and such apparent youth - but it had to have been hundreds, maybe thousands, each, who had been drained of their life, maybe their very souls, for this.
Those four women were, without a doubt, the most vile persons he had ever seen - and the most dangerous. Their mere presence could ruin every one of his plans and schemes. One of them could stop all the sellswords he and his allies might hire in Essos. The Golden Company would not last an hour against what he had seen today. Even the Dothraki Hordes, united, wouldn't be able to defeat them. He had to adjust all his plans and contingencies.
But, most importantly, he had to find out what their goals were. They could have conquered the entire realm, more easily than Aegon the Conqueror had. So, why hadn't they taken the throne for themselves? Why bother with putting up their innocent act? Why did they cater to the fat King's whims? To get access to his library? To get money? Resources? They could take all of that; they had the power. It made no sense!
What were they planning? They were good at hiding their true nature, their real goals. His little birds had been stymied at every occasion - on the streets and in the castle. He didn't dare send them after those monsters any more; magic could make anyone talk, even those whose tongue had been cut. And he couldn't move against them until he knew what they wanted.
Or could he?
They were untouchable on the battlefield, but even the mightiest men - or beasts - could be felled with the right poison. And Varys knew how to administer such a tool without revealing his involvement; he was familiar with everyone and every procedure in the Keep's kitchen.
And if that failed, there were always the Faceless Men. They would demand a high price, but nothing he couldn't afford. And it was delightfully elegant to set magic-using assassins against those foul witches. The Faceless Men might even consider the apparent immortality of those four abominations an insult against their god…
And it wasn't as if the witches were invulnerable. They had a weakness - themselves. They put up a united front, but people using foul magic were not the trustworthy or loyal sort. And they had not spared each other today; the four witches had fought with all their might and had hurt each other in their desire to win. They had their pride as well - Varys had paid attention to how they talked amongst themselves.
Varys slowly nodded. He would have to delay his plans in Essos a little longer - he couldn't risk any of his pawns there against the four witches - but his situation wasn't hopeless. He had to be very, very cautious, but he had played this game for a long time. He had survived the Mad King; he could do this.
One way or another, those witches would be removed from the game.
*****
The Great Sept of Baelor, King's Landing, Crownlands, Westeros, 298 AC
Garys trembled as he stepped into the sept proper. What he had seen today… Oh, he had heard the stories, but he would have never imagined this! To see four maidens blessed by the Seven demonstrate their divine power! To bear witness as deeds foretold in the Seven-Pointed Star took place in this day and age! It felt as if he himself had been touched by the Seven, graced with a faint echo of the blessings bestowed upon the Four Maidens.
He took a deep shivering breath and looked around. Didn't the statues of the Seven look more imposing today? Had they, too, been affected by this? He hastened to the bench directly in front of the Maiden to pray; fortunately, there was still a spot free amongst the others fervently praying. "Oh, blessed Maiden, I thank you for…" he blinked as he heard the prayers from the man next to him.
"...and deliver us from this evil! Banish those witches to the darkness from which they have come! Smite them down before their magic ensnares and corrupts the unwary!"
He gasped. Blasphemy! "How dare you besmirch the Four Maidens' reputation! They are blessed by the Seven-Who-Are-One!"
"What?" the man - Rufus, a fellow Septon! - snarled at him. "They are witches! Have you not seen their foul, unnatural magics? How their shadows came alive, how they conjured whirlwinds to devastate the country? Their heathen symbols lit up the sky as they burned with unholy fire!"
"Were you blind?" Garys clenched his teeth. "The whirlwind didn't hurt anyone! The fire - the purifying flames - didn't burn them because they are pure! Those were not shadows come alive, but manifestations of their souls! And those symbols allowed them to ascend to the sky, to watch over us! Cease your blasphemic rants!"
"'Blasphemic rants'? How dare you speak in the Seven's name when you slander their faithful like this!" Rufus bared his teeth at him like an animal.
"Such deeds were foretold! Have you never read the Seven-Pointed Star?" Garys shot back.
"Do not insult the Four Maidens or the Seven will strike you down!" Someone yelled behind him.
"They are the instruments of the Seven, here to protect us!"
Garys nodded. The faithful knew the truth. They would…"
"Do not let witches lure you astray! They will twist and fool you! Stay true to your faith! Follow the Seven, not the four!"
"The Seven protect us! Protect us from the witches and their helpers!"
That… Garys stood. "Silence! This is a sept, a holy place! Not a location to slander those blessed by the gods!"
"If they were blessed by the gods, why haven't they ever set foot in a sept?" Rufus yelled. "They cannot enter because the gods would smite them down!"
"Blasphemy! They do not need to enter since they are blessed by the Seven - they are always walking in their presence!" Garys shouted back.
"Lies!" Rufus grabbed Garys's robes, and Gary's fist lashed out in response, hitting him on his ugly nose.
Rufus stumbled back, letting go of Garys, but before Garys could say anything, another man grabbed him, and then everyone, faithful and blasphemers alike, was fighting.
*****
Street of Steel, King's Landing, Crownlands, Westeros, 298 AC
Gendry grimaced when he saw the gold cloaks arrive at the foot of the steps leading up to the Great Sept. "The watch is here, Master!" he called out.
"They're late!" Master Mott grunted without looking up from his papers.
Gendry wasn't fooled by his seeming lack of reaction - when the fighting had spilt out of the Great Sept, Master Mott had hurried to close and bar the door, and had sent him to fill as many buckets with water that Gendry could manage, in case this became a riot.
Though dozens of howling men, and some women, and a great number of septons, all brawling in public was a riot in his opinion - apparently, Mott's standards were higher based upon his experiences in Qohor.
Well, Gendry had been born here, not in Qohor. He winced when he saw the gold cloaks starting to break up the brawl - by hitting everyone near them until people stopped fighting and started fleeing. He saw a few people not get up after the gold cloaks passed over them.
"Are they winning? The gold cloaks?" Master Mott asked.
"Yes," Gendry replied.
"Good. Can't have such disorder in a city."
"But… that started in the sept." Gendry wasn't an expert - he could read and do his numbers, but he had not really cared about the law except how it applied to smithing - but gold cloaks attacking Septons was not done, was it? The Faith would not stand for that - they were the voice of the Seven. And yet… "Septons were fighting each other!" Shouldn't the Seven have prevented that?
Motto huffed. "Fools don't become smart just because they pray." He shuffled his papers. "Forget them. The Fat Septon will settle things and explain that the King's will is the will of the Seven. And since the King likes Lady Ruby and her friends, the Seven approve of them as well."
Gendry frowned. Sure, everyone knew that the High Septon was the King's man - or the Queen's, Gendry hadn't quite sorted out the difference - but… surely he'd not follow the King's wishes against the will of the Seven? That would be blasphemy! But… "Do you think they're witches, master?" Lady Yang couldn't be a witch! She was far too nice and honest for that - she was a great smith! And her sister, Lady Ruby, was a smith as well! "Surely, they are blessed by the Seven!"
Mott made another scoffing noise. "Witches or blessed by the gods, no power like that comes without a price."
"What price, Master?"
"Nothing good. But let's not talk about that. We have our own troubles to worry about, boy."
Gendry frowned. They had troubles? Business was great! The news that the Four Maidens frequented the smithy and taught them their skills had brought plenty of people into the shop. Sure, it was a bit generous to claim that they were taught their secrets, but only a bit. The maidens had shown them their weapons and told them about techniques, only they were too advanced for even Master Mott to copy. "You've raised the prices and yet people buy even more than before." Where was the problem?
"People associate us with the Lady Ruby and her friends," Mott said. "For good or ill."
"Oh. That was why you told me to be careful around the Lannisters, right?" It was an open secret that the Queen disliked the Four Maidens.
"Mhhh." Master Mott nodded.
"But the King likes them." And King Robert was far more powerful than the Queen, everyone knew that. Women had to obey their husbands as maidens had to obey their fathers.
"And let's hope that stays so," Master Mott said.
Why wouldn't it stay? Who - except for the Queen, and probably other noblewomen who were jealous of the Maiden's power and beauty and grace - wouldn't like them? They were friendly, kind even to smallfolk bastards like Gendry, who didn't know their father, and they were blessed by the Seven.
And they could destroy an army as easily as they had destroyed the fighting ring. Gendry didn't know much, but he knew how strong you had to be to smash bricks like that - or to carve the ground with your blade as if it were a plough.
"So, be on your guard, boy. Don't trust anyone. And if things ever change for the worse, be ready to leave the city."
Gendry nodded, but he felt his Master was overly worried. Both Lord Stark and the King's brother frequented the smithy, in addition to Lady Yang and the others. And they were well-known for their honour. Neither Lord Stannis nor Lord Stark would let the Queen hurt people out of petty jealousy.
And why would anyone want to hurt him, anyway? He was just an apprentice smith.
*****
The Red keep, King's Landing, Crownlands, Westeros, 298 AC
"Beware! You are facing Lady Ruby, the Whirlwind of Death! You will die for defying her!"
"And Yang the Burning… uh… Bust?"
"You can't call her Burning Bust, Bran!"
"Well, it has to fit 'burning'. Oh! The Firey Fist!"
"That's… not good either."
Eddard Stark was reconsidering his decision to keep his children inside the Tower of the Hand today. Hearing them innocently trying to figure out new titles for Lady Ruby's group was more than a bit unnerving after what he had seen yesterday. But with the Septons seemingly going mad and attacking each other, and whipping up the smallfolk to follow them, it just wasn't safe. Especially around Team Ruby. Gods, the things they had done!
Despite knowing them longer than anyone else at court, he had still underestimated them. Robert had been right; they had been holding back far more than Ned had thought possible. To think that they had been hiding this kind of power! Ned had thanked the Old Gods with all his heart that Lady Ruby and her friends were as merciful as they were powerful. If Lady Yang had taken offence at being mistaken for a bastard… Ned had heard what she had done to a knight who had called her a whore. The man's groin had been crushed despite the armor he had been wearing. He was lingering on but not expected to survive despite the Maester's treatment. And Lady Blake had taken down the Mountain almost effortlessly.
The girls - the Maidens - were kind and merciful, but they had limits, and any man crossed them at his peril. To know that a single misstep could mean your doom… Ned snorted, once. Some of the people at court probably deserved such worries, if only to realise that no matter how powerful you were, there was always someone more powerful. That's why honour was so important. Otherwise, people were at the mercy of the most powerful.
It was also a good thing that Robert was so close to them. If what Ned had stumbled upon when he had been looking into Jon Arryn's affairs was true, then they would need the help of Lady Ruby and her friends to prevent a catastrophe. Ned couldn't think of anyone else who might be able to hold Robert back, should his friend fly into a rage. Literally, in this case.
But whether it was true or not remained to be found. So far, Ned had seen no proof, only clues. But every clue he had found had pointed in the same direction…
He sighed. Compared to this, organising the trial of the Mountain was almost relaxing, even though he disliked how people tried to influence justice for politics. At least Lord Stannis stood firm against that kind of nonsense.
"Lady Blake, the… Flying Blade? She could throw out a magic blade with a cut of her sword."
"Then it should be 'Magic Blade'. And it's called Aura Slash, Bran."
"Magic Blade sounds stupid."
"You don't have a better idea either!"
Yes, listening to his children quarrelling was relaxing compared to his other tasks. If only he had stayed in the North. But Robert had needed him, and Ned was not the kind of man to neglect a friend. Doubly so if his friend was also his King.
*****
Haunted Forest, The North, Westeros, 298 AC
"It makes no sense," Brynden muttered. No matter where and how he looked, he couldn't make sense of it.
"We know," Leaf replied. "The Others have fallen, but we don't know why."
"We know why," Brynden said. "Because four girls killed them all." It had taken him embarrassingly long to figure out that they had told the truth to the Night's Watch. So much time wasted…
Leaf frowned at him, her wide eyes narrowing. "We don't know why they appeared and did it. But we know they aren't from this world. The place where they appeared showed us that."
Brynden had to take her word for it. He had vast powers - for which he had paid a terrible price - but the Children of the Forest knew and sensed things not even he could perceive. "Four girls, from another world, let loose on this one… How do we save the world from a danger that easily defeated the Others?"
"We don't know if they are a danger," Leaf stubbornly replied.
Even if they really only wished to return to their world, they were a danger. Brynden knew what desperation could drive men to do - he knew that from personal experience. The plans he had made, the things he had been ready to do to stop the Long Night… But that was the past. "They are too powerful." And he couldn't yet decide what was more dangerous - if they had secret plans to use their power for their own goals, or if they were truly as naive as they presented themselves. Because then they would be used by people who couldn't be trusted with this power.
Leaf nodded. "We cannot help you in the South."
He knew that. The Children of the Forest, as few as were left, had been driven out of the South a long time ago. It fell to him to use his powers to find out the truth.
And then to devise a way to get rid of that danger.
*****
The Red keep, King's Landing, Crownlands, Westeros, 298 AC
Queen Cersei Lannister paced in her quarters. She wanted to scream so much, she bit her lower lip to stop herself. The pain was nothing compared to the loss of her dignity. A Queen, a Lannister, didn't show such weakness! Not even in the face of the most heinous threat!
A threat in the form of four girls - not maidens! They might fool the imbeciles surrounding her family, but Cersei could see through their act; they were wanton women using their wiles to lead the men by their cocks! Men such as the bastard following them like a beaten dog begging for scraps, men such as Stark, who had ordered his lady wife to stay behind in the North while he moved to King's Landing in the company of four shameless girls. He even brought his bastard with him as if he wished to advertise his plans to the entire kingdom!
And men such as Robert. As if anyone with even just a passing acquaintance would believe that he wasn't bedding the lot of 'Team Ruby' - even Stark had admitted that Robert knew them better than he did. No, Robert was flaunting his affairs, humiliating her in front of everyone! Cersei knew how people were whispering, mocking her, when they thought she wasn't paying attention. That was all Robert's fault - and the girls'! Without them, without their unnatural tricks, he would not be able to fool her spies and hide the evidence of his affairs!
Evidence that humiliated her - and would not be tolerated!