Alesander VI

Including Ser's men, the Hand's, and the horses, they actually needed four ships. Fortunately, the one they called the Onion Knight had sons who were captains as well.

Sailing to Dragonstone took a little over a day with fair winds. Ser let him share a hammock with Elia in the hold, but not before having "the talk," as he called it. It made Al terribly embarrassed, but Elia took it in stride.

"My sisters already taught me how to feel good without making a baby," she said with the same easy confidence she had before a tilt.

"They did?" Al had no idea!

"Yes," Elia answered. "Don't worry, dear. We won't have children until we're ready, certainly not until our castles are built."

"Good, that's good," he replied. That night, their hands did a bit of exploring, but it wasn't easy, what with Lady Arryn screaming and weeping all the way to Dragonstone. They could even hear it below.

"Jon, he murdered Petyr!"

"Again," Ser said, "who the hell is Petyr?" That just made her weep louder.

"I loved him!" she wailed. "That Northern savage even mutilated his corpse. I demand justice!"

"Listen, it was a battle. Yes, it was a small one, but he was with the Lannisters. The Spider said you were under siege and didn't have much time. Getting in my way is a bad idea. Besides, he was already dead when I scalped him."

Then they heard a struggle above deck.

Al and Elia rose to see if Ser was in danger. The Lord Hand tried to talk her down, but nothing worked. Eventually, the big bald man ordered her restrained. Two knights with moon and falcon surcoats grabbed the plump lady and dragged her off to her cabin.

"What did she mean she loved him?" Ser Domeric asked in genuine puzzlement.

"They were children together at Riverrun," Lord Arryn explained tiredly. "She loved him like a brother. Ser Domeric, did you...have to scalp him?"

Ser shrugged. "Mayhaps not, but the terror of it is how I cowed the mountain clans. From where I was standing, he was in league with the Lannisters and trying to lure you down into an ambush. As far as I'm concerned, this "Petyr" had it coming."

The big bald man gave him a hard look. "I don't approve of doing insult to corpses."

"Did you want to be rescued or not?" Domeric snapped.

The lord looked taken aback. "You Northerners are bold, aye, and insolent, I think. Even so, I should be dead in King's Landing had you not intervened, and a bastard would sit the Iron Throne unchallenged. The Lannisters could tell the realm any story they might wish, with the deaths of Robert, Renly, and myself."

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Ser held up a hand. "Wait, bastard?"

Ser Jon sat down heavily on the gunwale, his long legs extending awkwardly. "It is a sordid tale. King Stannis brought his suspicions to me, and we had been gathering certain proofs. Plainly, the queen's children were not Robert's. Every one of his bastards had his look, and in history, every time the stag wed the lion, the black won out over the gold. The supposed royal children look all Lannister."

"Aye, and the boy Joffrey is monstrous and cruel. I could tell you half a hundred tales, skinning pregnant cats and worse."

"Skinning pregnant cats? Sounds like a sociopath. Cruelty to animals is a big sign," Ser Domeric pointed out.

The big bald man, King Stannis, Al supposed, narrowed his eyes. "Sociopath? I am not familiar with that word."

Ser Domeric's mouth hung open for half a moment, and he looked stricken, as if he'd said something he should not have. There had been times when Ser would use an unfamiliar word around Al and Elia, he remembered. Alesander assumed it was a Northern word.

"Er, well, an unfeeling person. Other people are just toys to a sociopath. When I'm being cruel, I know it. It's intentional, calculated to unman my enemies. A sociopath would not even realize what they were doing was wrong."

"Aye, that sounds like Joffrey, right enough," Jon admitted. "Woe to the realm when he sits the Iron Throne."

"Not for long," the king declared strongly. "Once we reach Dragonstone, I shall call a council of war. Ravens will be sent across the realm, declaring Queen Cersei's infamy. All true men will rally to my cause."

***

Al and Elia were not invited to the war council, but were assigned very comfortable chambers where they could kiss and touch as much as they liked in privacy.

That evening, Ser Domeric returned to them with news. He was kind enough to allow them to dress before they spoke. "Are you two ready to go to war?" he asked seriously.

"With you, of course," Alesander answered stoutly, and Elia nodded at his side.

"Against the Lannisters? Definitely, Ser," Lady Lance agreed. "You have avenged my namesake, but the account has not been settled, not even close."

"You know I wouldn't hold it against you if you just took your money and waited things out in the North or Dorne," their master told them. "None would molest you there. None would dare risk my wrath. This will be a bloody conflict, one hundred times worse than the war in the mountains, and I can't guarantee we'll all survive."

"Where you go, we go," Alesander swore. He and Elia clutched hands.

He gave them both a good, hard look before nodding. "Very well. Our party is splitting. We are bound for Gulltown."

"Gulltown?"

Domeric sighed. "Yes. Lady Lysa Arryn went completely mad when Lord Jon told her that her son, little lord Robert, would be staying at Dragonstone as a ward. The Hand's knights will escort her to the Eyrie. Meanwhile, we'll be joining the host of the Vale. Lord Horton Redfort will have the command."

Elia looked confused. "The Vale? Why not the North?"

"Time is of the essence," Ser Domeric answered her. "Lord Stannis sails for Storm's End, but that might prove a long voyage. The Vale should already be mobilizing when we disembark at Gulltown. From there, we can march right down the High Road and bring the fight to the Lannisters. Lord Jon will be sailing on to White Harbor to speak to Lord Stark personally. If we are fortunate, we'll have already smashed the Lannisters before the North is even completely down from the Neck." He smiled crookedly at them both. "If you like, we could go up into the mountains and get you married in front of a weirwood on the way."

Elia started bouncing next to him. "I want that! Oh, Al, I've even thought of our sigil!"

Alesander frowned. "I thought we would be Freys."

"We will!" she assured him, "but our own personal sigil. I was thinking twin red castles on orange, the Frey sigil with Martell colors!"