#ch: myr | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ladylaviniya · 9 months ago

Text

Don't forget to leave a comment to show your support lovelies. I desperately need to know your thoughts and not just a "Please update" or "When will you be updating/posting next chapter."

@0000-0000

@0alessia0

@0eye0

@0rqid

@1destinedtobe1

@1ovebunny

@1witch-hybrid1

@3x3br0k3n

@420-toffee

@55rose

@5umttyg1rl

@_grxce_

@_samawri

@a-dorkier-book-keeper

@a-lily-rose

@a-lost-old-soul

@a4pple1rene

@aalex444

@abeyyaaar

@acarolinakiwi

@actuallyblair

@addiegreenpea

@aditigoyal500-blog

@adorrae

@adriennedavies19

@aelynvelaryon

@aermaethor

@agiyanaa

@ahyespubes

@aibe17

@aigowen

@akashisixnine

@akilababs

@akoayisangitlog

@al-whatever

@alainabooks143

@alama13

@albxtaox

@aleksisok

@alex-myr

@alexa-myr

@alexa10partida

@alexio235

@alexlupij

@alexqueenbee

@aliesworld

@allisonoops12

@alma13h

@almighty-raiden-shogunate

@almightycretia

@altaccount123406

@alvsod10

@amesensibles

@an0th3rsss

@anchoeritic

@andy—0

@angelcavill66

@Angelita_luvs_u

@angelitadiaz

@angreav

@animeforeternity

@animeloverisabel

@annmegan

@annoyance-for-u

@annoyingduckhairdogoth

@annoyingtrashartisan

@anonlovesyouall

@aonungs-tsahik

@apol-lonely

@aprosiacperson

@areamir

@argiosblog

@ariana-dumbledore8

@arianachos

@arielpanda1

@arthurdoff

@artsxpe

@arushipun

@as-lost-as-sams-shoe

@ashdoor

@astarionposting

@asweetheart

@atlwantic

@atomicchaostiger

@augustslytherin

@augustsprincess

@auroramillersstuff

@avacadorosie

@avalilsm

@avengersfan25

@avidread3r

@awkwarddabocado

@awooga1025

@axteroved

@babybee-1

@bananajohnes

@bavbyymeme

@bbylime

@beaparkerbhhhh

@beepbop838229

@bella-law

@bellaiscool

@bellyflop007

@belos-simp69

@bemyqueenofdarkness

@bgilland

@bibsluvsjk

@bigbimbussy

@biggreeneyes15

@bighoesstuff

@bitcherio

@bitchykittenconnoisseur

@biteeei

@bitem4rked

@blackhoodlea

@blahblahblahlistentometalk

@blindsidedmistress

@bloodandroses13

@bloodred-beauty

@bloopyboom

@bluefrogzer

@bluekame

@bluepandastarfish

@blueskyofdespair

@bluflwer

@bombshellbella

@bonkbonkbo

@bookdragonof221b

@boss-bitch-ceo

@bouncy0309

@br0ke-b1tch

@br3adpandesal

@breakfastpasty

@bree-evans

@brieffirewombatnickel

@bruher

@bug3arts

@buggy-simper

@bumble0-0bee

@bunny24sstuff

@bunny24stuff

@bunny57

@bunnyforhim

@bunnysp1ce

@buntimefoxy

@butlersluvbot

@calicoootalks

@callmefroggie

@candleheadsworld

@candycanedream373

@captainrogersbucky

@carasippel

@cardierreh15

@carengineaesthetics

@carlaara12

@carpinchootaku

@cavillandevanssandwhich

@ccawley-blog

@cccccccccccleo

@celebstyleme

@certibbs

@chainsawsangel

@changenameno

@chaosmir

@charming-as-fuuck

@cherrybyun1

@Chi.Chi

@chic-ca

@chicadj

@chilicheesecreampuff

@chillicheesecreampuff

@chiro-chiro-kun

@chiyann

@chloe92

@chloeforde

@chloeleblanc

@choasinterludee

@choclodox

@chocolatecherryblossomsweets

@chocolottes

@chronically-ch-illbabygirl

@chuitsuu

@ci-e-l-o

@ci-i-e-o

@cl-01-kestis

@clara123653367

@clip-the-simp

@cocojo1024

@coelhho-brannco

@coldyaaa

@comedicfuck

@comfortzonequeen

@corpsebridenightamare

@cosmicmoonie

@couldntthinkofanamesousername

@countryday

@courtyard101

@cozmicwonder

@crabbae

@crackheadkid

@crazy-little-vee

@crbrixey

@creativeartprocreate619210754

@crimsonn-killer

@cry1nwhileimcumm1n

@cursedcursingviking

@cutelittlesugarfairy

@cutevulture

@cutiepie6473

@cxp1d

@cybergalaxychild

@daddyissues77

@daisybelldarling

@dakotali

@dani-rose0420

@danirose-0420

@darkastrid

@darkfairymoon

@darkknight22012

@DarkRose

@darkrozesblog

@datstupidbiss

@daughter-of-apollo-123

@daybreak96

@daydreamerblues

@dazedshoon

@deaniebean

@deliciousangelfestival

@deliciousdilfmentality

@deliciousfestsalad

@deserticwren

@devin04

@devotedlythoughtfulanchor

@dhadiirah

@diary-of-a-loony-lunatic

@didiweth

@dilfs-bitch

@dindjarincouldbringmeincold

@diosmilkymommers

@DoctorDisco

@dontgabs

@dontmindme262

@donutloverxo

@dozcan123

@dragonmaiden79

@dragons-nest-black-dragon

@dreamondina94

@drewharrisonwriter

@drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed

@drshifting

@drtyan

@duckieblowsbubbles

@Dumbassery

@dummibun

@dweebingtothemax

@dyingofcookies

@ebonynextdoor

@eclecticvintagebaby

@eclipse-covering-the-moon

@ecospie

@edizsstuff

@edlothia-baby

@eijirouw

@elew223

@elle-woods-wannabe

@elle-woods-wannabee

@ellebunnie

@ellethespaceunicorn

@elvczxch

@emendoza94

@emilia-the-artist

@enudreio

@erinriddle

@est1887

@Etherbrielle

@evansabove1981

@eviesvstevie

@evistars

@excuseyoubish

@ezzynf

@fabr1klu4r

@fadingbatmuffindonkey

@faiza26

@famousglitterstrawberry

@fanboyluvr

@fancykidduckegg

@fandom-trash-panda

@fandom1ruined2me

@fantaisgood

@fantasy2507

@fantasyfan4life

@fashion-in-paris

@femmecasual

@fictionalmenmistress

@fidrygalk

@filmlibra

@finnyboob

@firebreathingbitch17

@fleursirvart

@fluffyravapardus

@flwrsforb

@fonovapolina

@frankcastleonlyfans

@free-and-even

@freegardenbanananeck

@frenchvanillabatty

@freya-nat

@froggymoth

@froglegstastegood

@fruityfucker

@frvstratixn

@fuckdiormarryprada

@futuremrscaptroger

@futuristicbirdtraveler

@fuyun0

@fuzzybeardonut

@Gaaby

@gabiacee

@Gabija

@gabysdreamtrail

@gachawipes133

@gae-boi

@galaxiadreams

@gambino-69

@gamingdevil101

@gay-cake

@gayfortwicee-blog

@gecko290

@geek-girl7

@geminigirlblogger

@genderfluid-anime-goth

@gensville

@georgiana-8532

@germangirl321

@germansarechill

@ghostlysandwichmyass

@ghoulune

@girlblogger2002

@girlunknownsblog

@gmfbaby

@go-mimi30

@go-river-flows

@Gold-and-Roses

@gomiizuku

@graysonmalik2550

@groovybitchbaby

@grovovyprogrammingbeautypickle

@gwenthewolfuniverse

@gworee

@h3lls3nt-miya

@haileyyy3333333

@hairless-space-khajit-quark

@hallecarey1

@happysharkdream

@hardpaperwagonpersona

@haseluvs

@hatinglife

@hayleyc-h

@helalokithor

@helenarose

@hellisateenagewerewolf

@hello-galaxygirl

@hellokittyiscool

@hellukitty69

@henry-cavs-tudor

@heybitvh

@heyyyloves

@hi-boo

@hoe4swift

@holb32

@homewreckingwreck

@honestlyfancywasteland

@honey-bee543

@honeycomx

@honeym0chi

@hoooli13

@hops-art

@huntersrule1212-blog

@hxneybeast

@i5kiwis

@iamironman-456

@iamtojisworm

@icantsleeplol809

@identity2212

@idkwhatnametochoose

@idkwhy5000

@igakc

@iheartathena0

@ikkitheavatar

@ilikestrawberryandapple

@iliyoo

@iloveavengers

@ilovedeanspie

@ilovehotmoms-things

@ilovejamespotterr

@iloveolderman0

@ilovetaquitosmmmm

@iluvoaldmen

@im-in-a-pansexual-panik

@imacone-atrafficcone

@imnotzee

@indigor

@infinidad-infinita

@inksinkymonster

@inlovewithfictionalcharacters

@inlovewithhisblueeyes

@inlovewiththefictionalcharacters

@innerdogsspacekid

@isabellekenway

@ishqriskistaken

@isopod18

@itsfiive

@itsisasblog

@itwasnotfound

@ivako

@İsimsiz

@jacks4lifer

@jacksvie

@jake-sully-simp

@jamjamout

@jayswonders

@jedispymaster

@jhehr

@jillwithoutjack

@jiminssugar

@jin-broadshoulders

@jjminnn

@joe12369sworld

@johnnyboi367

@jojo-bizzara2020

@jokersjem

@jollystudentjellyfish-8890631f

@joonhabi-blog

@joyesfyr

@juanhappyxd

@juebba

@juliaorpll78

@junebug375

@junipersberries

@Justapvnk

@justcallmebymyname

@justeveeeee

@justreading020

@jwing111

@jyessaminereads

@k-in-kolleg3

@kaetastic

@kaitlinlove5sos

@kaitlinloveaew

@kaizen09

@kakimakiloh

@kammsinn

@kareridul

@kassi1010

@kassie

@kasyanaku

@Kat2212

@KataraIcewing

@KateMoss

@katherinebright

@kayena1

@Kayimx

@kaykuli

@kebabgirl67

@keenzinemugstudent

@kelstinger

@kentuckyclass

@kenziec23

@Khanza

@kiamara

@kiirazi

@kimiaparizi

@kinavet

@kingliam2019

@kinife

@kitkat15-blog1

@kittymeowwwssss

@KneelForLoki

@kneescratches

@kochamffznaczyco

@kpop-will-kill-me

@krficworld

@krispyrebelwizard

@krystalsaph

@ktficworld

@kuuljuulkid

@kyewbenjamin

@kynamitedessert

@kysplsjty

@l0v3kss

@l1ttl3-p3t1t3-b0y

@ladyofmysticalthinks

@lakeli

@lalaslytherin

@lana-del-rey-1985

@lanaswhoree

@laprofesoratinacita

@latorsgatorz

@laufeypookie

@lbytss

@legalassassino

@lilacevans

@lildenathrius

@lilithgrace17

@lilithizhere

@lillianacristina

@lillybbyy

@lilu842

@lindenlikestea

@little-dark-empress

@little-smurf

@littlebosleepmusings

@littlebutterflysworld

@littlegaaby

@littlelovebug98

@littlesugarcube45

@livelovebucky

@livesinfantasyland

@livisss

@loaklvrr

@localjasmine

@loki-lm

@lokislady82

@lola2004sworld

@lolalolitasthings

@loldoggo123-blog

@lolo-mrt

@lostgirljade959

@love2write2626

@Lovegood

@lovek145

@lovelyraeboe7

@loveyoutithemoonandsaturn

@loveyoutothemooonandsaturn

@lucky20242003

@luckylove

@luluemmington

@lululemmington

@lunaofsun

@lunarmelon

@lupavespera

@luvdi0r

@luvng

@luxeydior

@luxury-leeches

@lvmxla

@lylicker

@m0thb0n3s

@maan24

@madamiceprincess

@madday1903

@madie-max

@madnesspea

@mafeperspective

@magic-coffee

@magicalpandamaker

@malodi

@mangakacongo

@mangoeypickle

@manymaria111

@marahisthebest

@margauxmargaux07

@marieksg

@marilynwave

@marions-wither88

@marmalade-helix

@marveldcmistress

@maryismad

@marymary-1341

@maxesmisses

@maybug728

@mclxrenorris

@mechformers

@megimeg

@mi-amor-ys

@miaa1001

@miasubzero14

@midnightmystic

@migsyy

@minetathebasedlad

@minimalcookie

@minjix

@minnemousemica

@minxminxsworld

@mira11

@miruwen

@miss-sleepy-egg

@misscaller06

@missgaygurl

@mizukis1007

@mkjepsen

@ml2001

@mmepissenlit-blog

@mochi-goddess

@mock-vintage

@mohichuu

@molly838272

@monroerileyofficial

@montyrokz

@moompie3000

@moonisshining

@moonpie3000

@moonpie3sblog

@mooseavacadostastefunny

@mostlymarvelgirk

@mostlymarvelgirl

@mothmomma

@motionlesskatie246

@moviegirlsblog

@Mrs.Cavill-Evans

@ms-existentialcrisis

@mushtobms

@mvyaaig

@mxn14

@myaa-x1

@mygclmntine

@mygjjk7

@mynameisthe

@mysterywomans-blog

@mysticaldreamlandzombie

@mysticalfridge

@Naamloos

@nanamislut321

@napalm-springs

@natalie12seal

@natbatthebomb

@nathan-yeet

@natie335

@natsumitogu12

@natthebugg

@nattheidiotsandwich

@nciscmjunkie

@ndjhs7

@needsleepbutdontwanttosleep

@neteyamsrealwife

@neteyqmswifeev

@netherklutz

@nettiesbitch

@nevermxndmi

@neyetemfl

@neytiriforlifemfs

@nickoly

@nickolylopes

@nicolipoly

@niegiroge34

@night-girl-301

@nika4148

@niknoca

@nin3kyuu

@ninakk

@nirmalaui

@nissilou

@niyahhhz

@no-fooking-fighting

@no-sleep-station089

@no0tn00t

@noelle-gargo

@nofoolywang

@nomarksonelegance

@notnyiahh

@noushkaxx

@novaanovaa

@nszoe

@numberonerwitch

@Nyiah

@nynax

@obit0slut

@oceanablue

@octofez

@oddverse

@ofaatuu

@olivia-the-weirdo

@one-sweet-gubler

@onimich11

@onyx0000

@oooofthehoe

@ooxidised

@opheliaas-stuff

@orangelemon90

@ottz-dan

@padfvoot

@pale-shimmers

@palekawaiisoftgrungebunny

@paluasik

@paninisstuff

@paoslda

@peachesnkreme

@peachsnkreme

@peachsteven

@peppababie

@peppamultifanimagines

@peredhelium

@perfectlycrookedtree

@perilous-pasta

@peyreu23

@peyton-warren

@pikachugirl1996

@pikapie66

@piscesh0e4

@pishybowl

@pitovaos

@pixviee

@plschokety

@pocket-of-possibilities

@posiemax @precious-lil-scoundrel

@post-stuff

@pppoppsworld

@prettybiching

@prettystrangething

@princessbarnes19

@prouddilfandmilflover

@psychicmugtrashbailiff

@psycho-rei

@purechaosss

@qardasngan

@qu33n0fmyp3rs0naluniv3rs3

@quaritchslay

@queenalpha8-blog

@queenisa17

@queenprime

@QueenTings

@qveendiorsworld

@qyiyiqng

@rainandstrom

@random-asian

@ranvdompeachpierecipe

@ratchetprime211

@rayssofmoonlight

@Rebelangel1102

@recoms-avatar

@redbeau

@rededfoxy

@reesebarraclough

@rein-09

@rheathesimp

@rhepworth

@ridingthehotmessexpress

@rishievil

@rohirrimanduril

@rosesintj

@rosetings

@rsclopez

@rxsdub

@ryantryan6969

@s0ftblvsh

@s0ftpanda

@sadbucksblog

@Saf3Haven

@salemshour

@salveona

@SamBams

@sami905

@sammimike

@samywhale

@sandrasworldsposts

@saniyarose

@sarah-ardini

@sarcasmoverlordxo

@sarumars

@scaryinkdemon

@secki1994

@secondsistershelby3

@secretdonutenthusiast

@secretdream2

@secretfishgoopempath

@seijsworld

@seniorscorpio

@severelovebeard

@shadowluna260

@shancai247-blog

@shay12112

@shaylang21

@shecamedowninabubble

@shedevil56

@shiiooo

@shishlera

@sidni3003

@silvertongue0501

@silviafantin15

@simply-heaven

@singupbeat

@sirette-neko

@sizzaaonzaza

@slaallp

@sleepyamaya

@slut-for-henry-cavill

@slvt4masked-men

@slvtforslashers

@smolchubbygoddess

@snakelady21

@sneez

@sneezmcknees

@snowi14

@Snowlilly

@sockmunchersworld

@sofiebstar

@solareclipse166

@solariahalsey

@somnonthing

@songcords

@sophaluise05

@sophiemoony

@sparkling-slyvie

@spatterpus

@spidernerdsblog

@spookyscissorsnickelturtle

@sporadicavenuefart

@squeezyvalkyrie

@sssophia0-0

@starfirewildheart

@starfleetslut

@starrbirth16

@stileslvr

@stillreadingfantasy

@stixh

@stonersnowyyy

@strangesthirdeye

@strawberrikeii

@strawberryrecipe

@stressed-chas

@stressedoutsmallperson

@stupendouspeanutstarlight

@sublimereaction

@sullyluv3r

@sunflowey

@sunniest-bunni

@supchiquitita

@superloveeverything

@supreme-coffeeholic

@sweet2blossom-nana

@sweetbonniebel

@sweetirilly

@sxphia-g

@t4yy-r4yy-baggins

@taffycorpse

@taniasethi

@targazyen

@teamcap0221

@tess-love

@that--thing

@that-v03

@thatonekidolivia

@thatonenoob581

@the-disaster-in-waiting

@the-hufflebird-girl

@the-kanamori

@the-slasher-simp

@thearcana-moonlight

@theazrieldiaries

@theblackveilbridesworld

@thebookwormlovesherteacher

@thecooldino

@thedivinevera

@thefruster25

@thegrandimperfection

@themoonempath97

@thenonbotheredrobber

@thereis-nomurder-inparadise

@thereisa8ella

@thereisabella

@thereturnofsaturnn

@thesevi0lentdelights

@thewintersoldatt

@theyfwnadia

@thickynicky547

@thirstydarling

@thisisablogiguess2

@thoscheitardis

@thrandurilstits

@thrawns-back-seat-commander

@thtaperjeangirl

@thvatpsychoangie

@thylordfarquard

@tinyballoonpolice

@tinyfairies

@tippyeddy

@tired-simper

@tkemaladze

@tlyloy

@tododexx

@toejam02

@toffeemomochan

@tomietomiesishere

@torye

@toshitaroo

@totally-not-your-babe

@toxicberrie

@toyougou

@tremendousskeletonalienlawyer

@tricenorthman-blog

@TriceWalker

@trini-y

@troublepeas

@trying-2bcool

@tvbrainstatic

@twistedbonbon

@typhoons-mess

@ughdontbeboring

@ultraalexis16love

@umadirectioner

@unknown64sworld

@urmom69z

@ursforever129

@user3729201

@user55321458

@uvupotatogirl

@vaeh337

@valentineheart201

@valiantranchbonkshoe

@valit0

@valleytargaryan100

@vampirelovedme

@vampiresimpsrule

@Vanilla.lolita

@vanillaxoxolover

@vannilaxoxolover

@velvettequila

@venomhx

@venusdrago03

@vicftim

@viking-raider

@vikitoriv

@villiansimpqueen

@vintagelizziesblog

@violet-19999

@virgocathaunted

@vithe-potato

@vivi-qt

@wa-ni @wabi-sabi1090

@walleyaot

@wandaismummy

@webarebitches

@weepingclamfiredragon

@weepingfashionwritingplaid

@weirdlotiel

@weridkotiel

@weriner

@westc0astt

@whac-a-leo

@whassupmyman

@whimsycreatvre

@whore-for-chris-evans

@whoreforbillyhargrove

@whoreforquaritch

@whyyouwannaknowhmm

@wildlupinposts

@witchy-and-verybitchy

@witchywannabe3263

@wolvsteeth

@wpnsur

@wsptaylr

@wtfdudesblog

@xcarolinexo

@xnatx

@xoemee

@xxlaynaxx

@xxspacexdragonxx

@xxxqueenlaufeysonxxxxo

@xy0hreads

@xynokune

@yesthisismycurrenthyperfixation

@yg-ayumi

@ygreenk

@yhern07

@yoruse

@yourlocalbigtittyedbitch

@YuliaNikolaevna

@yumuramma

@yuutheshrimp

@zabadow

@zivacxx

@zlowtellow

@zoexme

@zombiipuppi

Wails of Wedded Bliss

Chapter 5 || Masterlist || Chapter 7

Chapter Summary: A carriage ride to Groveland parks leaves you and Sherlock in a snippy mood.

Pairing: Sherlock Homes x wife!reader

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, domestic abuse, No sex, (mentions of past events) .

Word Count: 9k

Author Notes: This took a while. I'll be posting chapter 7 very soon.

Inspiring Song: "Achillies" by Gang of Youth

7:01am Wednesday 7th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England

Early day on the street of London was a thick blanket of fog and horse cabs awaiting their clients. People in uniforms marched the streets, servants and servicemen that did not have lodgings with their employers.

Sherlock and you avoided the mud and horseshit on the cobblestones, stepping carefully. His hand was strong, cupping yours as you lifted your skirts above the stench. The floor path was filthy and the boy who usually scrapped the dung of the road was not to be seen so early in the day.

You shivered slightly at the cold breeze. Your jacket was not as warm as you had believed. You felt a pity for the sight of maids passing you both without even a shawl to protect them, their faces were flushed and pink, they cupped their bare hands and blew hot breath into them. You were grateful for your gloves.

You wondered if anyone down here in the street could’ve heard your shrieking up in the 221B apartment. You weren’t particularly quiet not holding back your screams. Your warm flesh was a fresh reminder that your detective husband walking so nobly and leading you was in fact a sexual deviant.

Sherlock wrinkled his nose and was careful not to plant his walking cane into any muck.

As you stepped closer to a hansom cabriolet, Sherlock pinched your elbow and walked you both closer to a hackney coach behind the latter.

“Jarv! I dare say! Jarvey!” Sherlock called up to the driver sitting on top. The man fixed his uniform cap and peered down at you both from the height.

“Where are you off to sir?” the driver called down.

Your husband smiled and opened his coat, his fingers slid into his pocket as he stated, “To Groveland Park, Southgate.”

Your eyes widened, from baker street it was a feet of travel one normally wouldn’t take. You were sure your own husband had to have been mistaken.

“Sherlock,” you softly informed while gently touching his arm “that’s over an hour away.”

He ignored you. His thumb skated across your back softly.

“Of course sir,” the driver nodded, “that should cost you one crown and a tanner.”

Your lips tightened, it was such a large expense. Now you really started to regret using your dowry to pay of Sherlock’s selfish debts. Why the hell was he taking you both across country side!?

The detective saw your disapproval and smiled, patting your hand he exclaimed, “Fret not wife, the expense is reimbursed by Scotland Yard.”

He gave the driver half the require costs from his pocketbook before he opened the door of the carriage for you. As you climbed inside, you jumped with a noise feeling his hand squeeze your backside.

You hissed as you sat on the leather seat. You tried to maneuverer your body to sit mostly on your hip. As he climbed in and sat across from you after shutting the carriage door, you pinned him down coldly with your gaze.

He returned an expression beaming in smirtle and tapped the roof with his cane, “Drive on Jarvey!”

You felt the carriage move with a jolt and sighed as the horse carried you through London’s different roads and pathways. You looked out the window and sighed as the carriage circled down the Regent Park and past the Zoo. You had never been to a zoo in your life, your grandmother stated it was too filthy and uncouth to stroll in pens merely to gaze at queer animals from different countries.

You tried not to stick your head out the window as you kept your eyes on the entrance gates you passed. Now that you lived so close and were a married woman with free time...you pondered if Sherlock would permit you a visit.

He was watching you the entire time. A soft smile came to his face. He took a glance out the window with you.

“I presume you’ve never been?”

Your eyes flickered between him at the steel zoo fencing and you timidly nodded, “I have always wondered what a lion looks like to the real gaze, my father promised to take me when I was a girl but-” you drifted off into silence and looked away from the window.

But he abandoned you for a cold woman in a opportunistic marriage...you hadn’t seen him for years.

“My grandparents would never approve,” You stuttered.

He nodded slowly with his silent thoughts and did not question you further.

You sighed, if you had known the journey would be to Groveland Park, you would’ve brought a novel with you to read. You cupped your hands and leant your head back.

As the cobblestones turned to soft mud and dewy grasslands you heard Sherlock finally clear his throat.

“Dear wife,” he said leaning back, racing his eyes all over your body, “What do you actually know of the Pennicott case? What details have come to light for you?” He spoke with balance.

You pursed your lips and blowed slowly. You didn’t want this to be another test of Sherlock in which he might insult you. You pinched your gloved finger and stated factually, “I recall hearing the Baron went missing a week or two ago. He took a ride on a horse in the middle of the night from his home and then sighted on a ship in Limehouse headed supposedly to France. That’s what the papers say. Then the information you shared with me this morning. You said he made a profit in his company?”

Sherlock nodded and shut the carriage windows. The light darkened the pair of you. Now your eyes adjusted to watch his face as he retold in secrecy, “Yesterday, while at the New Scotland Yard office building I decided to investigate his warehouse expenses. He was making a profit, he was destined to achieve a beating record.”

Lord Pennicott owned the largest suppliers of metal works and machinery parts, ranging from trains, to ships to food cans, to weapons.

“He partakes business often with the Vanderbilt family, very new money in the past thirty years, yes?” you noted aloud. American royalty.

There was talk of Vanderbilts heirs coming to marry English society members, Pennicott was a frequent mention in business.

Sherlock nodded and huffed, “His consultants were blithering idiots however who had barely any insight to his personal life. He was quoted being a private man...what they knew of him was that he was about to have his sixth child. I believe it is time his wife to be questioned. She has given a small testimony to the police already, but I have been offered to consult in this case by Scotland yard...and it is you that officially provoked my interest.”

Your eyes narrowed, “Me?” you exclaimed with disbelief.

He had been so hot headed the last time the topic was even mentioned. You hadn’t dared ask about it again.

“Yes,” he rubbed his hands together, “you.”

You looked at him with apparent annoyance, “Shall you elaborate how it is I that provoked you?”

He chuckled sheepishly, “because you made a an inquiry and berated me when I told you to pay attention on other matters...” His eyes glanced to the floor of the carriage before meeting yours, “I may have...reflected...and deemed it the necessary duty to follow up on the imbeciles of England’s detective division. You are perhaps not as dim as I took you for originally...”

You felt a strange buzz at the bottom of your spine with a tiny seed of smugness blooming upward.

A flutter of pride filled you from his praise until he snorted, “You’re still rather stupid, but with a value of insight.”

Your spark of light blew out. You tried to not roll your eyes.

With most of your diverse self, you desired to throttle him and argue. Instead you took your turn at observing what you could in the dim carriage.

Sherlock was not like the average gentleman. In fact, he was very abnormal to what you had gotten to know... He was incredibly unorthodox. He didn’t adhere to social norms and behaved in contradictions. Therefore you took a moment to hear his words and accept them as a hidden message. A riddle.

You smugly smiled.

“Was that an attempt to...apologise, Mr Holmes?” you finally mused.

Sherlock smirked, “That would require me to be have a sense of regret my dear wife, and I do not account such a folly.”

You smirked back and said sassily, “The words you seek, are ‘Sorry’ and ‘please forgive me.’”

Your toe nudged his ankle playfully.

He glared reliving the warm humiliation you inflicted to him this morning over Mrs Hudson. His grim look was contagious.

He shot back, “And pray tell, how does your backside feel Mrs Holmes?” he chewed his bottom lip. His brows lifted, "Mayhaps you've forgotten and in need of a firm reminder?"

When your smile fell and his grew. He had won this small battle of wits. You looked away from him, your face felt incredibly warm like your bottom.

“Come now,” he purred and lean forward to pat your knees, “Don’t be so bashful. Deep down, I know you just want to be run through...” Your eyes narrowed as he continued confidently stating, “You put on this coy little show last night.” Your lips parted, your teeth bared, yet he kept running his mouth further, “I have intuition like no other man my dear and you...you are scared I will find out all those lustful secrets inside your mind-“

You didn’t let him finish his words before you ripped off your glove and delivered a sharp ringing blow to his cheek. It was a foul sting that ricocheted into your own delicate palm. You huffed angrily.

“What I did last night was not a show,” you spat, uncontrollably hot tears touched the back of your eyes, “What you did was wrong and cruel. You threatened our marriage unless I debased myself. I did what I had to,” you jabbed his chest with your finger, “and I will continue to as long as you remain faithful...”

‘or I will kill you Sherlock Holmes.’

Your words echoed both in his and your memory. He didn’t really believe you were capable of murder, and yet he also knew not to press his thumb against the sharpened knife.

His rubbed his hand on the pink print you left on his pale cheek. He plucked his cane leaning on the seat beside him and hooked it into your collar, tugging you unceremoniously forward into his lap. You were forced to sit directly over his right thigh from the awkwardness of the carriage size. He curled his walking stick behind you and trapped you on top of him.

You could feel the heat between his legs. Oh how Sherlock really was just a animal.

“I find you may come to regret those words...” he panted and licked the spot under your ear, “You think me cruel now? Just you bloody wait until you feel the thrash of my cane.”

You fluttered your eyes shut, squeezing the tears away as you regained your breath and whispered icily back into his seeking mouth, “I look forward to it.”

He pulled back to gaze at your entire face. His eyes were full of confusion. He looked like he was lost on a foreign road with know knowledge on where to go. His lips twitched, unsure to smile or frown.

“I see,” he swallowed, “You can play martyr all you want then, my future masochist...and then we will see whether you truly are a slut...or a saint...but I doubt you’ll like either result...”

You would never describe yourself as a masochist. You didn’t particularly like pain...but after a period of time when he struck your bare bottom this morning you felt warm and floating. Your belly buzzed like last night. It was wrong and you knew it was. A spanking was a punishment not a entrance for pleasure.

Sherlock set aside his cane and cupped your waist. His thumbs ran up and down your torso. He pressed his nose to yours.

“Definitely stupid,” he whispered over your lips hotly before he gently pushed you back until you sat on your side of the carriage.

You felt a slight dizziness. You couldn’t understand Sherlock no matter how much you tried. You slumped in your seat and rubbed your forehead. You pulled back the curtains and watched as the many houses turned into more trees.

Sherlock in the meantime pulled out his pipe and began stuffing it with tobacco for his pocket tin.

The bright luminous shine of the match flame filled the dark carriage as he lit his pipe and puffed. He stared you down as his gums sucked and smacked the thin mouthpiece. A swirl of grey and white smoke tails snaked from his lips and nose. His eyes held no colour, only darkness. You wondered what urged him so drastically to hate and disrespect you.

His cheek was a huge darker in this lighting.

You shut your eyes and controlled your breathing. You tried to stare at your glove that you’d dropped on the carriage flooring.

You sat both in silence for the rest of the lengthy roads to your destination. You pinched the curtains and opened them.

8:23am Wednesday 7th May 1890, Grovelands House, The Bourne, London, England.

The forestry and gardens of Groveland Park were magnificent. Giant trees replaced tall buildings. Bird chirp washed out the gossip and clatter of people.

You sighed as you breathed the clear air hunted with the earthy dew scent on the wind.

Your husband finished his pipe and tucked it back into his pocket.

The carriage rocked and creaked to a stop. You felt the driver climb down and opened the door. Sherlock climbed out first, he cleared his throat and hugged his walking stick to his side. He held out his hand for you.

“Come along Mrs Holmes.”

As you reached for him, the both of you matched eyes. Your hand was trembling.

You stepped down to the gravelled path and Sherlock released your hand to pay the remaining wage of the journey to the driver.

You quickly ducked back through its little door to retrieve your lost glove. And when you grasped it you felt a warmth behind you.

Sherlock’s hands with his cane cupped your waist and pulled you back against him slowly. There was something cruel and intimate about it... He stole your glove from your covered hand and slid your naked palm through the material but not before pressing his lips against the inside of your wrist.

Your eyes flickered and your heart thrashed. What the hell was he doing? The driver saw it all and smirked. He climbed back to the top of the carriage and clicked his tongue, fleeing slowly away. Sherlocks eyes were full of obsession.

You crossed your brows and tore yourself from his arms.

“No,” you whispered. You didn’t truly know what you were saying ‘no’ towards. It wasnt right of your husband to play a angered beast to rise fear in you only to transform into an adoring dove.

His false softness reverted back to his smirking wickedness.

His eyes glance back over your shoulder and he chuckled.

“Good morning Inspector Lestrade,” he purred.

You turned around to take in the sight of a short gentleman who was the owner of a thick black friendly mutton chops.

He wore a happy and surprised expression.

He was also carrying on his forearm a walking stick. He nodded his head and tipped his top hat to the both of you. He wore no gloves and to the private eye you could see the darkened yellowing skin of his knuckles and back of his palm.

“Good morning Detective and-“ he paused glancing you up and down.

“Lestrade,” Sherlock cleared his throat, and turned to wave a hand in regards to your presence, “Meet my wife, Y/N.”

The officers whiskers twitched. He bowed his head briefly, acknowledging, “Mrs Holmes.”

You granted a small polite curtsy, repeating back with a soft tone, “Inspector.”

You graced him with a small smile and he flashed you a nervous grin.

He scratched the back of his head and said with a strain in his voice to your husband, “Sir, this is a matter of professional business, your wife present I fear might be deemed....” he grimaced, “irresponsible?” he shook his head at the thoughts, “I must insist she returns to home,” he waved out his arm to direct you to a buggy and horse besides the entrance gates, his vehicle no doubt, he smiled, “Madam.”

Inspector Lestrade was a clear average man with common decency and a good sense of propriety. Sherlock was bring you into his space of work fit for men, you had no place here...nonetheless you willingly came along...he didn’t need to spank that out of you at least.

But before he could take grasp of your delicate hand, Sherlock reached forward and lowered your reaching wrist with an annoyed sigh, “I invited her. She has valued skills I need. It’s the least you can do after yesterday.”

Sherlock lightly tapped to the dark spot growing along his own jawline.

“Mrs Holmes,” The inspector flushed and nervously smiled, “I apologise greatly for the deformation of your husbands face.”

You looked between the two men. From Sherlock’s jaw to the Inspectors knuckles. The dots connected within seconds.. A light noise mixed with amusement, shock and horror slipped out of your tongue as you exclaimed, “You struck my husband?”

“In my defence Mrs Holmes,” Lestrade leaned against his walking stick and glanced to the gravel unable to meet your eyes, “One might argue he deserved it. And he returned a brightful force himself...”

Sherlock deserving a punch? Noooo surely not! After all the pair of you had experienced these two or three days, you understood entirely. For you wished to do nothing more than the same as Inspector Lestrade.

Sherlock snickered, and you released a bubbling giggle, “That does not surprise me. I’m curious what drove you to such lengths as to strike him.”

It wouldn’t take a lot you suspected, Sherlock already proved his habit on making more than one person uncomfortable and offended.

But instead of a confident man of the law, he was still sheepishly pushing the gravel around with his walking cane.

“Oh yes, Lestrade,” Sherlock barked in amusement, “Regale to my wife what I did to provoke your fist...”

Sherlock slapped his cane against Lestrades forcing the inspector to lose his balance and fall on one knee.

“Blast!” the inspector cried as he wobbled to stand back up.

You smacked a hand against Sherlock’s chest and shook your head at him and for that he discreetly tapped your backside with the head of his cane. You bit back the gasp and clenched your fingers on his coat. You didn’t like witnessing your husband behave so openly as a bully. It was very unsightly.

“Your husband, Mrs Holmes,” Lestrade winced and dusted dirt off his knee, “decided to elude to that which I am incompetent in my work therefore in other things.”

You accusingly turned your attention back to Sherlock, “Other things?”

“I think the inspector has trouble,” he smirked, “getting it up.”

‘Getting it up? What up?...oh!’ your eyes flashed wide

“Sherlock you didn’t!”

Your husband cackled meanly and rubbed soft circles into your back with his thumb.

“I’d rather say he started it,” Sherlock claimed fluttering his eyes at you before he snarled in the inspectors direction, “Go on Lestrade...now, you tell her what you said to me before I insulted your virility?”

You turned your attention back to the officer.

The mutton chop cop sputtered embarrassingly. His hands straightened his jacket and lifted his hat to smooth back his hair.

He licked his dry lips and hastily muttered, “I dare not repeat the words I so indecisively chose especially in front of such a fine and polite lady.”

Sherlocks mouth was close to your ear as he whispered, “I think he’s rather scared.”

“Of what?” you snipped back still crossed with Sherlock’s behaviour.

“What you’ll do to him...after what he called you.”

‘After what he called me? What was said? When was it said?...’

You softly hummed, “Did he insult me?”

“Detective Holmes,” the inspectors face turned a darker shade as he tensely pressed, “This really isn’t professional.”

Your husband moved his hand and lightly guided you to stand behind him as if to be a protective wall between you and the inspector. He stood a full foot above the inspector.

He glared down and sneered, “Then why bother saying it yesterday when you can’t even say it today in front of the woman herself?”

You saw how his hand squeezed his cane furiously. It was that action alone that sent an icy stream of fear down your spine. You weren’t sure of it, but you couldn’t put it passed Sherlock to start a brawl, particularly since the two men had clearly tussled fearsomely yesterday.

You sighed obnoxiously loud and very unladylike. You clapped your hands to snap both their attentions your way.

“Listening to a pair of men bicker is tiresome and leaves my learning brain in wanting,” you rolled your eyes and walked ahead of them both, calling over your shoulder, “Let us put aside what frivolous nonsense occurred yesterday and perform our duty instilled by the righteousness of God and the Queen herself, yes?”

You were stepping towards the main large house where you were confident was the Pennicott Estate. The gravel crunched beneath your striding walk.

Sherlock and Lestrade appeared gobsmacked by the sight of your leading March.

“Very well,” the inspector relented and walked ahead.

Sherlock caught up with both of you and squeezed your elbow, he gestured forward with his cane, “Lead the way Lestrade.”

And as the gentleman walked ahead of you, Sherlock sucked his head back to your ear with a smug tone, “Nicely done, dear wife.”

You rolled your eyes and shook him off, as if he wasn’t the reason you performed such a song and dance if tell them to return to their work over his foul demonstrating behaviour.

HELPLINES:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers.

Australian Helpline Services

UK Helpline Services

American Helpline Services

India Helpline Services.

#sherlock holmes x female reader #sherlock holmes x poc!reader #sherlock holmes x y/n #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes x ofc #sherlock holmes x reader #henry cavill x y/n #henry cavill x ofc #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #henry cavill x female reader #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #milky fics

148 notes · View notes

boschlingtumbles · 4 years ago

Text

White Wedding Chs 26-32

Stannis (Vice and Wish 1 of x)

Stannis woke up slowly, dimly aware that he was cozy and warm and in the most comfortable bed he’d ever been in in his life.

There was something to be said for the Water Gardens, the ancestral summer palace of the Martells. It was a gorgeous oasis of greenery and fountains and sandstone arches that opened onto vistas of the sea.

When Ned had first broached the idea of a stag party in Sunspear with the gang, Thoros and (naturally) Oberyn had enthusiastically agreed. And Mace had a habit of agreeing with Oberyn no matter what was said. Same vis a vis Beric and Thoros. As for Jaime... well he still seemed rather confused about how he had come to be roped into this mess.

So it had fallen to Stannis to point out rather acidly that perhaps Dorne in AUGUST was not ideal.

To which he got:

“Fewer crowds!” (Ned)

“Off season prices!” (Thoros)

“The women wear much less in August, it is true.” (Oberyn)

And that’s when Robert decided they were going to Dorne.

“It’s only for three days,” Melisandre had laughed at his disgruntled expression. Or maybe his oversized suitcase.

“In my experience, that is ample time for Robert to get into trouble,” Stannis huffed, considering whether he should pack a light windbreaker (it could get breezy by the ocean and would come in handy if it did rain) or a heavy rain jacket (the only think that would stand up to Dorne’s infrequent but torrential downpours). After consideration, he decided to bring both.

“Do you even know what happened when they all went to Myr?”

“No, actually,” Melisandre frowned, a delicate wrinkle appearing on her forehead. “Do you?”

“No. And that is my point,” Stannis weighed a tube of waterproof sunscreen SPF 55 or non waterproof sunscreen SPF 70. After consideration, he decided to bring both.

“We know they won a bunch of money, and once when Robert was really drunk, he said that the Myrrish mafia weren’t so bad. Also he lost a tooth.”

“I take your point,” Melisandre sighed and wrapped her arms around him. “Come back to me in one piece.”

Stannis put his hands over her own to keep her there and sighed. He looked at the rape whistle and the mace that he’d gotten for Melisandre which she never ever used. After consideration, he decided to bring both.

“Are you even going to be able to carry that thing?” Melisandre looked doubtfully at the suitcase, which Stannis was now sitting on and struggling to zip.

“I... won’t need... to,” Stannis panted as he finally got it closed. “It rolls.”

He dragged it out into the kitchen and left it by their door. Mission accomplished, he wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead.

“I wish I were staying here with you,” he told Melisandre glumly.

“I won’t even be here,” she gave him a wan smile back. “I’m having a luxury spa experience at the Isle of Faces. Just Cersei and her bridesmaids, eating seaweed for seventy-two hours.”

Stannis winced. He knew how Mel got when she hadn’t eaten a full meal in a while. Between a wedding crazed Cersei and a hangry Melisandre... Stannis was retroactively grateful that he would be all the way in Dorne.

He was less grateful when he walked out of the airport to be greeted by a blistering wave of dry heat. Stannis squinted at the city of Sunspear before him, the air having the shimmery distorted quality of a desert. He had been the last to arrive, since he refused to take a half-day off work to humor Robert’s childish whims. Oberyn had gotten here days ago, Robert, Ned and Mace had arrived on a commercial flight earlier that morning, Beric and Thoros had driven down and Jaime had taken his family’s corporate helicopter. Stannis would have normally had some snark reserved for that particular expense, especially given that Jaime had not offered to give anybody else a lift, but Stannis had also gone out of his way to minimize the amount of time he had to spend with these people.

A short taxi ride later, Stannis was deposited in front of a walled gate.

“Is this the Water Gardens?” He asked, surprised at the relative shabbiness. His taxi driver managed to get the suitcase out with a groan of effort.

“No, that is the Water Gardens,” the driver pointed up to a large structure well beyond the gate and up an enormous hill. “I can’t take you further, there are no automobiles in the historic district. Tears up the cobblestones.”

“Cobblestones?” Stannis asked with some dismay, having already pulled out the handle to roll his bag.

“Aye. You’ll be on foot for the next couple miles.”

“...couple miles?” Stannis winced.

He had finally wrestled his bag up the promontory that he had initially described as a large hill and was now thinking of as a jagged alpine peak. Who knew Dorne had mountains?! He was sweating through his button-down shirt and starting to think he might prefer Cersei and her mud masks when he finally rang the buzzer.

“Stannis,” Oberyn opened the door, looking casually elegant and not sweaty in the slightest. “Welcome to the Water Gardens.”

And as a maid scurried to take his suitcase and a butler pressed some kind of frozen drink into his hand, Stannis slowly relaxed.

The others were hanging out by an infinity pool that looked out over the harbor. All sipping frozen cocktails or reading, Robert and Ned throwing a football back and forth in long lazy spirals over the water.

Was it just possible that Stannis was... wrong?

In his memory, this almost never happened. It was a foreign concept.

But a perfectly relaxing evening by the pool was followed by dinner in an open air courtyard with Oberyn’s older brother Doran and his wife Mellario. The fruits were deliciously fresh, the main curry dish a trifle hot for Stannis’ taste but still exquisite, and all the better when washed down with spiced wine.

He politely refrained from further helpings after cleaning his plate, instead sipping his wine and occasionally contributing to the conversation. Mace Tyrell apparently felt no such compunction, having gone back for fourths.

Doran was grilling Robert about the Sunspear Suns’ chances at a Super Bowl appearance, Mellario seemed delighted to find somebody who could speak Valyrian and was jabbering away with Thoros, Beric was trying to console Ned over the Tully Situation (as they were all calling it) and Oberyn had cornered Jaime and was trying to extract a commitment to go on a double date with him and Ellaria.

“So what’s the plan for tomorrow?” Doran asked Oberyn, during a momentary lull in the conversation.

“I have arranged for a walking tour of the Winding Walls, with lunch at the observatory on top of Spear Tower. Then we’ll go for a drive to the beach, spend the afternoon there, and have dinner at the Old Palace. I have tickets to a theatrical production of Nymeria’s War tomorrow night,” Oberyn answered.

“What a delightful day,” Mellario chimed in.

Stannis agreed, although he noticed Robert and Mace looking a little put out. Ned and Thoros exchanged a glance. Beric and Jaime seemed relieved.

“Mother will be so pleased. As am I. I think you’ve really matured over the last two years,” Doran beamed benevolently at Oberyn.

Sure, if you consider three children with three different women maturation, Stannis internally snarked.

But Oberyn only smiled pleasantly.

“I’m so glad you think so.”

“I want you boys to take my convertible tomorrow,” Doran said.

“Oh we couldn’t,” Oberyn purred, rather looking like he absolutely could.

“You only have one car between the eight of you—I insist.”

“Well if you insist,” Oberyn said nonchalantly.

“You might ask Arthur to dinner,” Doran mentioned.

Stannis’ ears pricked. Arthur Dayne? He was several years older than Robert, and was something of a legend at King’s Landing Prep because he’d gone on to represent Westeros in the Olympics for fencing. He’d gotten a gold medal. He’d also been Elia Martell’s plus one to the engagement party.

Oberyn dipped his head in acknowledgment, although Stannis got the distinct sense that he was slightly annoyed by the suggestion. Which was odd because the Martells and the Daynes had always been close. Regardless, Stannis looked forward to making Arthur’s acquaintance.

They had been escorted to their rooms, a guest suite well apart from Doran and Mellario’s living quarters, which had four rooms connected to a large common room and two bathrooms. Here at last came a slight fly in the ointment. By virtue of having arrived last, Stannis had no choice but to take the remaining sleeping quarters. Predictably, that was the other half of Jaime Lannister’s king bed.

“Hi Jaime,” said Stannis politely, rather aware that these were the first words he’d said to him since he’d locked his erstwhile ally in a room. He wondered if Jaime was still annoyed about that.

“You are my third least favorite person here,” Jaime informed him.

Stannis would take that as a yes.

“Why are you here?” Stannis asked, somewhat annoyed. Jaime was the one who had dragged his parents into this! All Stannis had done was lock a door!

Jaime only huffed and rolled over so his back was to Stannis.

The next day, Stannis carefully unpacked his belongings from his suitcase to create a daypack for the activities Oberyn had planned.

“Did you just pull a suitcase out of a larger suitcase?” Jaime stared.

“It is a daypack,” Stannis informed him frostily, having added his hiking boots, swim trunks, flip flops, towel, sun glasses, then a collared shirt and sports jacket for dinner and the theater. Then sunscreen for Robert, phone charger for Ned, snacks for Mace, a minibar sized container of rum for Thoros, breath mints for Oberyn... he hesitated and added the mace and the whistle for Beric... and... nothing for Jaime. He zipped up his daypack self-righteously. That would teach him a lesson in the importance of a daypack.

By the time he got to the breakfast room, people were done with breakfast and ready to go. Stannis certainly didn’t want to keep the tour guide waiting, so he eschewed the omelette bar that Doran’s personal chef had set up for a pop tart tucked in his pocket. The gang trooped out, to see Beric’s rather unremarkable jeep waiting alongside a gorgeous vintage convertible.

Stannis considered Robert to be more of the car person in the family, but even so he stopped dead. Robert was drooling, and Stannis pulled a napkin out of his day pack.

“Is that...” Robert began.

“A 1962 Rhoynar Dragon?” Oberyn grinned.

“Can I...”

“Drive it? Absolutely not. This thing is more precious to Doran than life itself. But I’ll let you ride shotgun.”

“SWEET! Ned, Stannis get in here!”

As Stannis sat back on the genuine leather bucket seat, a sea breeze ruffling through his hair as Oberyn pulled out of the Water Gardens, a smile may have even crept across his face.

However, Stannis couldn’t help but notice that they were not heading toward the Winding Walls.

“We’ll be late for the tour,” he pointed out.

“There’s no tour,” Ned said.

“I had to say something to get Doran to give us the Dragon,” Oberyn shouted over his shoulder.

Robert grinned.

“Does that mean...”

“Pretty much that entire schedule was made up,” Ned confirmed.

“But we are going to the beach,” Oberyn smirked.

Stannis tried to match the excitement of everybody else in the car. But all the same. He really wanted that historic walking tour.

“Mace and I were at Sunspear for college, if you’ll recall,” Oberyn was saying. “So I’ve arranged for a different tour. Of the local wildlife if you will.”

So snakes and wild horses? Stannis tried not to sulk.

But then they pulled up to a sparkling white beach that appeared to be overrun with college aged kids. And many of the ladies were... Stannis blushed, trying to keep his eyes firmly fixed on his feet. Topless. Many of the ladies were topless.

“Is this heaven?” Robert asked dazedly.

“This my friend is Dorne,” Oberyn grinned, extending his arms to encompass the sand, the sun, the sea, the sights as he walked backward from the car.

“Is this your car?” A particularly buxom young lady sauntered up.

“Absolutely,” Oberyn leaned against it.

Stannis fumed. Oberyn had three children. Ned had one, Robert was expecting. Were they really planning on flirting with co-eds?!

“You look familiar,” another woman was saying to Robert.

“I was the quarterback of the Suns for two years—I just got traded to Oldtown last year,” Robert preened.

Apparently they were. Stannis set to work changing from his walking tour clothes and into his beach clothes (and finding a discrete place to change, despite several women assuring him that it was entirely unnecessary). He had just emerged from behind a sand dune however, when there was the sound of a motor boat approaching.

“Is that our boat?” Robert asked delightedly. It wasn’t overlarge, but it had a small second floor platform that shaded the cockpit, and a water slide from that platform off the back. The boat was called the Feathered Kiss, Stannis noted.

As it pulled up to the shore, the captain, a black woman with short hair and a broad smile swung herself out into the surf gracefully to pull it ashore.

“All aboard!” She sang cheerfully, with the lilt of the Summer Islands.

There was a minor scuffle between Robert and Oberyn as they both attempted to be the first to reach her. Oberyn got in front with an elbow to the ribs, only for Robert to pick him up by his collar and fling him backward.

“I’m the bachelor, or the stag if you will. Robert Baratheon,” Robert extended his hand even as he eyed her up and down.

“Sara,” the captain gave him a firm handshake and an eye roll.

“But I’m the one who hired you,” Oberyn took her hand and pressed a kiss on it. “Oberyn—“

“Martell, I know who you are,” Sara laughed. “I met you at the Yronwood’s last party.”

“Of course, you were there with Edgar. Are you still dating?”

“No we—“

“Thank the gods. A woman such as yourself is wasted on that lump. May I just say, I look forward to boarding your vessel,” Oberyn was still holding her hand.

“No we’re engaged,” Sara smiled sweetly and removed her hand from his grip. Oberyn laughed heartily, not the least bit phased.

“Now which of you lovely ladies wants to come on a boat ride?” He asked, turning to the women around him. As a handful of giggling girls jumped up and down (to the extreme delight of Robert), Jaime rolled his eyes.

“You are my fourth least favorite person here,” he informed Stannis, as Oberyn helped several of them on to the already crowded boat.

Stannis did not deign to respond, instead clambering over to join Ned where he had barricaded himself behind several coolers of drinks. Jaime contented himself with extracting a bottle of champagne from the coolers and retreating from the group to wrestle it open.

As Stannis considered what alcohol might best wash down a pop tart, the boat gave a series of lurches, a loud roar of the engine, and then sped toward open waters as everybody cheered.

Sara, with casual expertise, began taking the boat full throttle along the coastline, her passengers cheering as they bumped over the waves. Well all the passengers except Jaime, who was finding the turbulence to be highly disruptive to his bottle opening experience. At length, Sara came to an inlet where a veritable flotilla of boats had been anchored together.

“We came here all the time in college,” Oberyn grinned. “Nobody to police underage drinking, lots of sun, lots of swimming...”

The raft of boats had created a sheltered area where pool floats and water slides had been set up. There were the screams and laughter of fellow boaters splashing about in the warm water and Stannis had to shade his eyes against the dazzling sun. As if to punctuate the idyllic scene, there was a pop as Jaime finally got the champagne bottle open. And then a squawk of outrage as Robert yoinked it from his hands, gulped and passed it on. It made a quick round of the boat, and had almost made it around again to Jaime when it landed in Thoros’ hands. He promptly drained it in one go, and handed the empty bottle back.

“You are my fifth least favorite person here,” Jaime said glumly to Stannis.

“You look familiar,” a girl was saying to Beric. Beric swallowed and looked around panicked for Thoros, who had already disembarked and was paddling toward a floating game of beer pong.

“Here you go,” Stannis handed Beric the whistle. Beric studied it.

“Just whistle, and Jaime will come over and flirt with them until you can sneak away,” Stannis said.

“I’ll do say what now?” Jaime raised an eyebrow.

“You did abandon me dangling from a window,” Beric pointed out.

“Ugh fine,” Jaime groused.

“It’s from that commercial right? 1-877-CAMP4KIDS,” the girl sang the final jingle.

Beric blew his whistle.

“Sixth least favorite,” Jaime muttered to Stannis before turning to the girl with a smile.

“CANNONBALL!” Robert shouted from where he had clambered on to the motorboat’s second floor platform. Stannis automatically stepped back, as Jaime looked toward the source of the noise, only to be promptly doused by the wave.

Stannis took a bite of his pop tart, washed it down with a mimosa and smirked.

Maybe it was the mimosas or the sun or Robert challenging him to a swimming race to the rocks that Stannis actually managed to win, but the sun got higher and higher, and Sara was rounding them up and ushering them back onto the boat, and Stannis actually felt sad to leave.

“I love a woman in authority,” Oberyn purred as she hoisted him one-handed aboard. She ignored him and turned back to the engine, which caught with a roar.

“Cut it out,” Stannis muttered as the boat began cutting back across the coastline, “she’s engaged.”

“Yeah aren’t the Yronwoods like super not big fans of yours?” Mace yawned.

“Stannis, a valuable lesson. Just because there’s a goalie…”

“Stop,” Stannis glared.

“Mace, you are correct as always, my good friend. But some might say it sweetens the pot,” Oberyn waggled his eyebrows.

The boat bounced over a particularly large wave and soaked Oberyn to the bone.

“Sorry about that,” Sara called over her shoulder, dark eyes dancing in mirth.

They waved goodbye to the Feathered Kiss some thirty minutes later, having hauled the remaining coolers onto the now empty beach by the cars.

Mace’s stomach growled.

“We’re having dinner at the Sandship,” Oberyn replied, as if in conversation with Mace’s stomach. Mace beamed.

“I thought we were having dinner at the Old Palace? Followed by tickets to Nymeria’s War?” Stannis asked wearily.

“Nope, we’re having dinner at the Sandship,” Oberyn grinned.

“It’s pirate themed!” Oberyn told Beric cheerfully, and Beric self-consciously adjusted his eye-patch.

“All you can eat,” Mace assured Robert.

“All you can drink,” Oberyn told Thoros.

“And it becomes a club after hours,” Ned informed Stannis and Jaime proudly. Clearly he was very invested in ticking off all the traditional bachelor party activities.

“Sounds great,” Stannis managed, rather sleepily.

“I told Arthur to meet us,” Oberyn sighed heavily. “It’s the type of thing Doran would mention to the Daynes later.”

“I thought you liked Arthur,” Mace frowned.

“I did. But now he’s so intent on making things serious with Elia. They’re happy the way things are. Why does everything have to change?” Oberyn huffed.

“Marriage doesn’t have to change things,” Ned interjected timidly.

“Says the guy we never see because he’s got a wife and son,” Oberyn rolled his eyes.

“We never see him cuz he’s in Winterfell,” Robert slung an arm around Ned a trifle defensively. “Like sure things are changing, but wouldn’t it be boring if everything always stayed the same? We’re having cool new adventures! We’re killing it!”

Stannis wondered how drunk he was if Robert actually sounded like he was making sense.

“I’m team Oberyn,” Mace suddenly announced. “Everything’s been going way too fast. Meeting Alerie, getting married, having Loras... I was thinking about this the other day. Sometimes I think the moment I was truly happiest was spring break of our senior year in Myr.”

“Didn’t you spend like that entire time thinking you were going to have a heart attack?” Beric scrunched his face.

“Shhh! Not in front of the newbies!” Robert hushed him.

“I’m not trying to be a downer,” Mace ignored them. “I just want to say that what we have right here is special too in its own right. So I wanted to propose a toast!”

Mace carefully took eight frozen shot glasses out of a cooler and poured something that looked neon blue into each of them from a thermos.

“What the hells is this?” Jaime held it up to the light dubiously.

“Tokio Electric Lemonade!”

“Can’t we just do normal shots?”

“Nope!”

Jaime scowled.

“You are my seventh least favorite person here,” he told Stannis.

“...There are only seven other people here.”

“To not growing up too fast,” Mace grinned, raising his shot glass. “We are still those five kids in Myr...”

“There were six of us,” Ned interjected. Stannis, who hadn’t even been invited on the Myr trip, rolled his eyes.

“and here’s to recapturing that magic tonight!” Mace shouted.

Oberyn wolf whistled and the eight of them downed the electric blue concoction.

And then...

They had gone to that pirate restaurant? Had they seen Arthur?

Stannis shifted in his bed uncertainly. That had only been yesterday up until like five o’clock. They’d been going to dinner, that was the plan. He remembered that, right?

He frowned.

Stannis didn’t remember anything after taking that shot.

Stannis cracked a bleary eye open.

Bright. It was too fucking bright.

He twisted on his side, intending to see if Jaime was awake.

But Jaime Lannister was gone.

Beric (Vice and Wish 2 of x)

Beric woke groggily, aware that he was half pinned down by Thoros. He struggled to extract his arm from under his drooling boyfriend without waking him, and then with a yawn, worked to get Oberyn’s grip around his waist loose. Once free of that, he sleepily pushed Ned’s leg off Thoros—that was his boyfriend Stark was spooning—and clambered over Thoros then Ned then Robert to get to the bathroom.

It was about the time that Beric put his foot down on Mace’s stomach where he was sleeping in a nest of couch pillows that he had the dawning sense that things had gone terribly awry in a way that he had perhaps experienced before.

“Sorry Mace,” he said slowly.

“S’fine,” Mace mumbled, turning over.

Beric backed away from the bed and rubbed his eyes.

Just because they were all in the same bed AGAIN and he couldn’t really remember what happened last night AGAIN didn’t mean...

He carefully rolled Robert over. Half his face was mottled purple and swollen into a black eye.

Shit.

But Ned was still here. Beric’s brain seized on the fact with relief, even as he moved Ned’s leg off Thoros a second time. Ned hadn’t disappeared, which meant probably things were fine and he had just blacked out because he did have a really low alcohol tolerance, especially considering who he was dating.

Beric cautiously crept toward the door, and then looked back, hoping that it had just been some kind of weird mirage and the bed would be empty except for Thoros.

Robert let out a snuffly grunt and rolled onto his stomach again. Ned shifted at the mattress movement and hooked his leg over Thoros once more.

No, their last day in Myr couldn’t have possibly repeated itself, Beric tried to console himself, as he pushed Ned’s leg off and then with a grunt deposited a very naked Oberyn between Ned and Thoros.

Oberyn yawned and wrapped his arms around Ned’s waist. Ned snuggled closer and over went the leg. Much better.

Statistically speaking, what were the odds?

Beric wandered out into the common room, wincing at the disaster they had made. There was what looked like urine on the floor. Or beer? Beric leaned over and took a sniff. Definitely urine. A jaunty tricorne hat and a lacy thong on the coffee table. Buried in the ice bucket was an honest to goodness sword. And the entire couch looked like it had been clawed apart by a wild animal.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths.

Okay, it couldn’t be like it had been before because Oberyn had been on that weird kick to find the cure to the hangover. He’d been crushing pills that entire week. Friday night, in contrast, there had been nary a drug in sight. And Beric for one had made a point of refusing to eat or drink anything Oberyn handed to him.

Beric proceeded into the bathroom, fished out a dead phone (Ned’s phone, fuck this was just like had happened before, but it couldn’t be because Ned was quite happily cuddling with Oberyn even now), and relieved himself.

He washed his face and blinked blearily at his reflection.

Okay, he could do this, there was probably some perfectly logical explanation why six of the eight people in their group were camped out in his and Thoros’ room.

Beric opened the door to Robert and Ned’s room hesitantly. There, set up next to the bed, was a bassinet.

What.

Beric gulped and inched closer. With the feeling of someone in a horror movie, he carefully peeked over the side.

A tiny baby with a floofy halo of black fuzz on its head was nestled there. As if sensing his presence, it gave an adorable yawn and opened its black eyes.

“Hi there,” Beric said nervously. The baby giggled. Beric edged out of the room and closed the door behind him. Then he leaned against it.

Had they abducted a baby?! Gods they were going to be in so much trouble. There was probably a manhunt going on this very minute, what if Cersei found out, she’d probably skin them all alive and this poor black haired black eyed baby would...

Wait a minute. Oberyn had black hair. And black eyes. Sure the baby was a little paler than him, but didn’t he mention a couple months ago that he’d just had a baby with a septa up north? The Northerners were a pale lot. Beric pressed his fingers to his temples, desperately trying to rationalize this. The septa probably wasn’t allowed to keep her baby, so she brought it to Oberyn and he’d installed it in one of the bedrooms while he found a nurse, so Doran wouldn’t find out? Because Beric definitely got the sense that Oberyn was a little intimidated by his older brother.

With a sigh, Beric pushed open the door to Mace and Oberyn’s room, hoping (for the first time in his life) to see a young lady in a habit waiting for him.

An enormous, simply enormous, dark grey direwolf was standing on the bed, its golden eyes locked onto Beric. He felt the breath rushing out of his lungs in a squeak, even as he saw the back legs bending, preparing to pounce. Acting purely on instinct, Beric threw himself to the left as the direwolf lunged with a snarl. Scrambling, he managed to slide back out the door and slam it shut even as it shuddered with the force of the direwolf’s second spring.

The sound of the door slamming apparently offended the baby’s sensibilities, and it began to wail.

The door to Jaime and Stannis’ room opened, and Beric braced. But it was only Stannis, his thinning black hair looking rumpled with sleep. Beric let out a sigh of relief.

“I think Jaime is missing,” Stannis said.

Beric flinched as his final feeble hope that this was not what he thought it was flickered out.

“Why is there a baby crying?” Stannis asked, seeing as Beric had made no response.

Beric was fumbling in his pockets for what he wanted.

“Is that piss?” Stannis wrinkled his nose at the floor.

His fingers closed on the item in question.

“Say Dondarrion, can you catch me up on what happened last night? My memory is a little...”

Beric blew his rape whistle loudly enough to wake the dead.

Half an hour later found their party more or less dressed (minus Oberyn and Mace whose room was occupied by a direwolf) and in the common room. Thoros had pulled the sword from the chunk of ice in the ice bucket and used it to hack off enough for Robert to put on his face.

“I don’t see why you need to sleep naked,” Ned was glaring at (the still nude) Oberyn.

“Blame Thoros for stealing a direwolf and putting it in my room,” Oberyn shrugged.

“I didn’t steal a direwolf!” Thoros waved his sword.

“Like you didn’t steal that elephant?”

“That’s objectively different! A direwolf is a predator! And like I’ve been mauled by a dog before, remember? I wouldn’t have stolen a direwolf!”

Oberyn looked unconvinced. As did Robert and Mace, who also remembered the elephant incident.

“You believe me don’t you?” Thoros asked Beric wanly.

“Of course,” Beric said firmly. Robert made a gagging sound.

“So we’ve lost Jaime, Thoros stole a direwolf, Robert probably has another Dothraki gang after him,” Mace began. “But what’s up with the baby? That wasn’t here last time.”

“Last time?” Stannis arched an eyebrow.

“Yeah in Myr—mmmf,” Mace was cut off as Robert clapped a hand over his mouth.

“We swore a vow of secrecy!” Robert scolded.

“That didn’t happen in Myr,” Ned frowned. “I was there, remember?”

“Except you weren’t there for the—,” Oberyn was cut off by Robert’s other hand.

“Does a vow of secrecy mean nothing to you guys?!” Robert whined.

Beric exchanged a glance with Thoros. Ned and Stannis were both looking supremely confused, and vows of secrecy or not, nothing was going to get done until they were all on the same page.

“The last morning in Myr, we woke up with no recollection of what happened the night before. Oberyn had accidentally poisoned us. It turned out that Robert had a fight with the khal of the local Dothraki, Thoros stole an elephant from the Golden Company, Mace married a stripper, and Oberyn accidentally stole sixty grand from the Tattered Prince. We thought he’d kidnapped you in retaliation, so we tried to ransom you back only to discover that his hostage was actually the girl Oberyn had brought home that night. Also we entered Robert in an underground boxing match and won a bunch of money,” Beric scratched his head, wondering if he was leaving anything out.

“What?” Stannis’ eye was twitching. Had it always done that?

“Wait, so the entire time I was just hanging out at the airport trying to move my flight, you thought I had been kidnapped?” Ned stared.

“Yup,” Robert nodded. “So Jaime is probably fine. Oberyn probably poisoned us. And Thoros probably stole that direwolf. But beats me about the baby.”

“Um I have a theory about that...” Beric began.

“I didn’t steal the direwolf!”

“I DIDN’T POISON YOU!”

Beric blew the whistle again.

“Giving that to you was a mistake,” Stannis mumbled in the relative quiet.

“Look, there’s a black haired, black eyed baby in that room. I don’t see why it’s complicated. Who is most likely to have a child out of wedlock?”

Six people pointed at Oberyn. Oberyn pointed at Robert.

“I mean...” Thoros began, only for Robert to kick him.

“Didn’t you say you’d just had a baby?” Beric prodded Oberyn.

“Yes but...”

“Well had you seen it yet?”

“No but...”

“So why don’t you call your septa and ask her if she dropped off a child with you?” Beric growled.

“I can’t,” Oberyn admitted after a pause. “The sisters aren’t allowed electronics. I can call the sept?”

There was a minute or two of waiting.

“Um they haven’t seen her or her child in a day or two, but they say it’s normal. Lyene has family in the area she visits with,” Oberyn said hesitantly.

“Or she thought she’d take the opportunity to bring you the baby,” Beric pointed out.

Ned had been keeping the child occupied, but at that, he handed him to Oberyn.

“C’mon, he could totally still be Robert’s!” Oberyn tried. “He’s more Robert’s skin tone, and Robert has black hair too!”

“Nuh-uh,” Robert crossed his arms. “He has dark eyes. All Baratheons have blue eyes.”

“...That’s not actually how genetics work, buddy,” Ned patted him on the shoulder. “But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s Martell’s.”

“Fine,” Oberyn huffed, cradling him to his chest. “He’s too cute to be Robert’s anyway.”

“Okay, so that leaves finding Jaime and returning the direwolf,” Beric got them back on track.

“Jaime is totally at the airport, I’m not worried,” Robert yawned.

“Are we sure about that?” Stannis said, looking at his phone. He looked up at the group, face drawn. “Because I got a text this morning that says ‘Caught L snooping around the Water Gardens, threat neutralized, details to follow.’”

“Look, if Myr taught us anything, it’s that texting by initials allows for mixups,” Mace said earnestly. “It probably has nothing to do with Jaime.”

“It’s from Jaime’s cell phone number,” Stannis said flatly.

There was a dispirited pause.

“Well we all know what to do,” Beric sighed.

“We do?” Ned said, sounding rather frazzled. “Because I have literally no idea what to do about any of this.”

“We need to check our phones and our pockets for clues as to where we lost Jaime,” Robert patted Ned on the shoulder. “Relax, the last time was hilarious.”

“I have a sword,” Thoros struck a pose. “Umm nothing in my pockets.”

“My phone is out of juice. I’ll charge it after. And... I have a ticket to a pawn shop?” Robert offered. He frowned, looking around. “What could I have pawned though? Oh fuck, THE RING!”

“Right here,” Ned produced the ring from his pocket. “I would have never gotten so drunk that I let you carry it.”

“Thank the gods,” Stannis sighed. “I almost had a heart attack.”

“You’ll feel that way a lot for the next twenty-four hours,” Mace said sagely.

“Okay, I had the ring. But I can’t find my phone,” Ned frowned, patting down his pockets.

“It was in the toilet. I left it on the bathroom counter,” Beric sighed. He’d had the whistle and a used condom (seriously?! He hoped the one on the tv wasn’t his). He checked his phone.

“Nothing on my phone,” he said after a beat, trying to keep his face blank. Because there absolutely had to be some kind of rational explanation.

“I have a number on my arm and my phone is dead,” Oberyn offered.

A very logical and rational explanation.

Neither Stannis nor Mace had anything to contribute either, beyond Stannis’ text from Jaime’s phone.

A very logical and rational explanation as to why he had ten missed calls.

“Robert, can I borrow some clothes?” Mace asked, with a nervous glance over his shoulder at the closed door beyond which a direwolf prowled.

From ten different numbers. Which were entered as ‘Beki from the Bar’ ranging to ‘Zenia Love Of Your Life’. Beric forced himself to put the phone away and focus.

Robert had procured Mace some gym clothes, as Mace (clearly rather embarrassed at his growing girth) turned his back to the group and wrestled his now very wrinkled shirt off and exchanged it for a Maesters tee shirt.

When he looked back, it was to find the entire group staring at him.

“It’s just a little dad bod,” he said self-consciously.

“No,” Oberyn said flatly.

“Um my mom thinks it might be thyroid issue,” Mace mumbled, flushing red.

“No,” Beric pinched the bridge of his nose. “What Oberyn means to say is...” He trailed off, unable to continue.

There was an awkward pause.

“What?” Mace squeaked.

“Dude, you’ve got a tramp stamp of a rose on your ass,” Robert said bluntly.

The next few minutes were very loud. Mace proceeded to scream and then run in a circle trying to get a look at his backside. Oberyn, concerned that the noise would attract someone from Doran’s household and they would discover the disastrous mess the group had made, proceeded to launch himself at Mace’s head in an attempt to wrestle him to the ground. Now blinded, Mace ran straight into the plasma television, which dislodged from the walk with a crash and a shower of sparks. Robert was lying on the couch practically sobbing in laughter, as Ned and Stannis attempted to free the duo from beneath the television.

“I really don’t think I stole that direwolf,” Thoros edged over to Beric in the midst of the confusion.

Beric tried to smile at him. He’d been avoiding eye contact since he’d checked his phone, firmly suppressing the last awful fact.

“I believe you,” he said, because he did. Just like he believed that there was a perfectly good reason that he’d had an hourlong phone conversation with Allyria Dayne at two in the morning.

“I’m going to keep the sword,” Thoros said cheerfully, leaning his head against Beric’s shoulder.

“Mmm,” Beric said neutrally. Allyria was a good friend, possibly their only friend who was initially Beric’s friend and not Thoros’. But Beric had once told his parents that he was dating Allyria before he came out to them as gay. And that had led to the one really terrible fight they’d ever had, a fight that still occasionally featured in Beric’s nightmares. And considering he’d legally died on two separate occasions, he was pretty sure his nightmares were more intense than most.

“Did you know mace is flammable? Like if you had a lighter and sprayed it, you’d have a mini flamethrower?”

“Mmm.” So there was probably some completely inane reason he’d had a heart to heart with Allyria at two in the morning. After collecting no fewer than ten women’s numbers. They had been supposed to meet up with Arthur Dayne after all, and he was Allyria’s cousin (although Beric knew the two branches of the Dayne family were not on good terms). And Beric had really never thought of her (or any woman) in a more than platonic way. Regardless of what Zenia, love of his life, might think. But that didn’t change the fact that he didn’t want to upset Thoros unnecessarily. Except him not telling Thoros made it seem way more sketchy, didn’t it? Oh gods, he was going to have to do this, wasn’t he?

“So in theory, you could coat the sword with mace and then light it, and have a fire sword!”

“I got a ton of numbers from strange women and it looks like I spoke to Allyria Dayne at like two in the morning last night,” Beric blurted.

Right as Thoros said:

“Can I borrow that mace Stannis lent you?”

There was a beat as they both tried to figure out what the other person was going on about.

“I’m like a thousand percent sure that Allyria had something to do with Arthur and not us,” Thoros offered.

“That sounds dangerous and I will not help you make a fire sword,” Beric ventured.

“Sometimes it’s like I can't predict your reactions at all,” Thoros sulked. Beric couldn’t agree more.

“Okay,” Oberyn got the group’s attention, rubbing his head and glaring at Mace. “Mace and I have discussed...”

“Is that what we’re calling what just happened?” Stannis groused.

“...and we think we know where he got that tattoo. It’s a parlor in the Shadow City that we went to once in college and he chickened out before he got anything.”

“I didn’t chicken out, I thought better of a bad idea!” Mace wailed, looking at the rose in the mirror.

“It’s nothing that some laser treatments won’t fix,” Ned tried to calm him down.

“And how am I supposed to keep that from my mother?! From Alerie?!”

“So the plan should probably be to go to the shadow city and talk to the people at the tattoo parlor and see when we were there and if Jaime was with us,” Oberyn pressed on.

There was a ding from the charger in the corner as Robert’s phone came back online.

“Oh I got a text!” Robert said cheerfully. “It says...” he appeared stymied by his inability to see out of one eye. With a harrumph, Stannis snatched it from him.

“Caught L snooping around the Water Gardens, meet me at the airport, Long Term Parking Lot J at 2 to discuss the terms of surrender,” Stannis read. “It’s an unknown number.”

“It’s eleven now,” Mace pointed out. “The airport isn’t that close to the shadow city, we need to get over there and figure out what we’re dealing with before we negotiate the return of what is definitely the wrong hostage.”

“Okay!” Robert bounded to his feet. “I’ve always wanted to see the shadow city! I mean, I guess I did last night, but since I don’t remember...”

Ned and Stannis exchanged a glance.

“Maybe you should stay here,” Ned began.

“Actually, you and Oberyn and Thoros should all stay here,” Stannis said flatly.

“What?”

“Wait no!”

“C’mon, I DIDN’T STEAL THE DIREWOLF!”

“It’s just your face looks terrible,” Ned said hastily. “And Oberyn needs to take care of his baby. And both of your phones are basically dead, so if Thoros stayed...”

“You are all incredibly irresponsible and I am not taking you to a hostage negotiation,” Stannis shoved his hands in his pockets and stomped out.

“Please Robert, just stay out of trouble until we get back?” Ned asked with puppy dog eyes as he moved toward the door.

“Ugh fine, good luck out there,” Robert sighed, and slapped Mace on the lower back.

“FUCK!” Mace yelped, grabbing at his still tender tattoo, and scampered after Stannis and Ned.

“You don’t think I’m incredibly irresponsible do you?” Thoros asked Beric, scratching his head with the sword.

“Oh, look at the time!” Beric squeaked, and ran after the rest.

Oberyn (Vice and Wish 3 of x)

Oberyn finished wrapping the baby to his chest with the wrap carrier he’d used the last time Nymeria and Nymeria came to visit. The baby tilted his head back and giggled. Oberyn smirked down at him, carefully lifting his aviators and placing them on the baby’s nose.

Even though he and Thoros were essentially on babysitting duty (and he was referring to Robert, not the literal child strapped to his chest), he was in a great mood.

The reason was that he was in possession of a scrap of information that nobody else knew.

Unless he was very much mistaken, the sword that Thoros was currently using to mock fight a poker-wielding Robert was the literal Sword of the Morning. Aka Dawn, aka a priceless family heirloom of the Dayne family.

“I’m thirsty,” Thoros yawned, leaning on the sword like a walking stick.

Oberyn took a moment to visualize the expression of horror and outrage on Arthur Dayne’s face if he were here right now.

“Why don’t you use that sword to cut up some oranges for us?” Oberyn offered. “I’ll make mimosas and we can walk around the historic district. It’s all open container.”

“I love it here,” Thoros said dreamily.

“Less talking, more chopping,” Oberyn pushed him.

He had always gotten along well with Arthur and his younger sister Ashara. They were another old Dornish family who kept a pied a terre in King’s Landing so their children could attend the best schools. He and Elia had played with Arthur and Ashara often growing up. It had actually been through Arthur that Elia had met Rhaegar, way back in middle school.

Arthur had already graduated when the whole Rhaegar and Lyanna fiasco had happened, so it hadn’t even interfered with their friendship. And when Elia and Arthur had begun dating, Oberyn had been even a little relieved. It wasn’t healthy to nurse a broken heart for two years. Arthur was a safe rebound who could be counted on to treat Elia well. But maybe too well. She was 24 years old, what was the rush?!

So while he had no idea how they had managed to get a hold of Dawn, he couldn’t help but think good riddance to a certain charmingly modest Dornish swordsman who ran around sweeping certain sisters off their feet.

Once their phones were recharged Oberyn ushered Robert and Thoros out the door, thermoses of mimosas in hand (and keeping a wary eye out for Doran) and gave a deeply contented sigh. This was was the life. Let the others worry about Lannister and how the disappearance of the bride’s brother might impact the wedding.

Ugh, the wedding.

He had always assumed Ned would get married depressingly early. Elia naturally. Arthur a bit of a surprise. Mace totally left field. But Robert?! ROBERT?!

Somehow Oberyn had always assumed that even if Elia and Doran and all his friends settled down, he could still count on Robert to be cheerfully stag. Was Oberyn going to be the awkward single guy at a thousand children’s birthdays?? He was Oberyn Nymeros Martell, for the seven’s sake! He didn’t do awkward!

“What a cutie!” An elderly woman approached him. Oberyn preened.

“What’s his name?”

Oh fuck she was talking about the kid.

“Daemon,” Oberyn said smoothly. “Daemon Sand.”

Right. Another fact he’d kept to himself.

“Awwww, you’re lucky to have such a super dad! Where’s your mommy?”

This kid.

“Her other daddy is right here,” Oberyn casually slung his arm around Thoros, just to see the woman’s face.

“We used a surrogate and a special cocktail. So really either of us could be the biological father,” he continued.

The woman glanced at the black haired black eyed baby and then at red haired blue eyed Thoros.

“Right,” she mumbled and backed away.

“Shove off,” Thoros pushed him.

“Hey! Baby on board!” Oberyn huffed.

The second bit of information that Oberyn had kept to himself was that there was no possible way this kid was Oberyn’s. Because Lyene sent him a letter that referred to his new daughter Tyene and used female pronouns throughout. And unless the sept was way way more comfortable with gender fluidity than he gave them credit for, he was pretty sure that meant little Tyene was not rocking the parts that this baby was equipped with.

He had neglected to share that fact for two reasons. The first was that he already had twice as many kids as Ned or Mace, let alone the rest of the crew. If anybody was equipped to hang out with some stranger’s baby for an afternoon, it was definitely him.

“Awww, your son is adorable! You must be so proud!” Another, significantly more age appropriate, woman cooed.

“It’s hard as a single father but I do my best,” Oberyn smiled.

“Divorced?” The woman looked sympathetic.

“Widower,” Oberyn gave a tragic and wistful sigh.

“And so young!” His new friend shook her head.

“It is hard sometimes. But I know in my heart, she’d want me to move on with the right person,” Oberyn began.

The woman simpered.

Hello reason number two. As Oberyn flirted, he reflected that he might have to consider keeping little Daemon Sand around long term. The boy was really earning his keep.

“Hey, let me try,” Robert nudged him once Oberyn had collected her number.

“Sorry, only actual fathers can pull off this move,” Oberyn sniffed.

Thoros coughed and Robert kicked him.

“C’mon, that’s not a real rule,” Robert whined.

Oberyn was saved from having to answer by the chime of his phone.

“Sorry got a text,” he said glancing down.

I have L. Meet me in the shadow of the Tower of the Sun at 2.

“What?” Robert said, looking over his shoulder.

“Huh,” Thoros said, looking over his other shoulder.

“It’s not the same number as the text you got,” Oberyn frowned.

“And it’s a completely different location,” Thoros scratched his head.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Oberyn grinned.

“That we should check this out?” Thoros was also starting to smile.

“Ned said to stay here you guys,” Robert warned.

“Here like in the Water Gardens. We’ve already broken that rule,” Thoros waved a hand airily.

“We’re helping them,” Oberyn explained. “They can’t be in two places at once.”

Besides, why should Stannis and Ned and Mace and Beric get to have all the fun?! He couldn’t think of four individuals it was more wasted on.

“Well,” Robert wavered.

“Grrrglag,” Daemon said.

“Fine,” Robert caved immediately.

“Let’s head back to the Water Gardens and find this guy a car seat,” Oberyn patted his little curls.

Further buoyed by this intriguing text, Oberyn practically sauntered back to his brother’s. There was some formula in the room under the bassinet. He could heat that up and then...

The intercom buzzed.

“Hello?” Oberyn asked.

“Sir, Arthur Dayne is here to see you. Shall I escort him to your suite?” One of his brother’s staff asked politely.

“Of course,” Oberyn said slowly. The intercom beeped off.

“Shit! Thoros, pull that throw over the sofa! Robert, grab a towels and get the floor!” Oberyn picked up the destroyed television and tried to prop it back up on its console table with mixed success. That would have to do—he threw the women’s panties in the bathroom, dumped the bottles and assorted other detritus in the trash—Thoros had cleared the floors and was ‘leaning’ against the television to hold it in place and Robert was sprawling semi casually on the couch in an attempt to keep the throw rug in place and conceal as much of the remaining couch as possible.

Daemon gurgled, and Oberyn hastily unwrapped him and put him in the bassinet that had been left in Robert’s room. And then put the bassinet in the closet. And then shut the door. And then the door to that room.

There was a knock from the hall.

Oberyn frantically scanned the common area. He thought it held up to inspection reasonably well. Robert was half lying to cover as much of the couch as possible and Thoros had put the sword down to prop up...

Fuck, the sword!

There was a second knock, and as the handle turned, Oberyn hastily shoved it into the umbrella stand with one hand as he swung open the door with the other.

“Arthur!” Oberyn gave him an enthusiastic hug, turning him with his back to the umbrella stand, even as he kicked the door shut in the maid’s face.

Arthur had black hair and striking violet eyes. He was not quite as tall nor as broad shouldered as Robert, but it was close, and he moved with a lithe gracefulness that was almost feline. And where Robert had never quite lost his baby fat around the face, making him look perpetually younger than he was, Arthur Dayne‘s jawline could have been chiseled from stone. Basically, Oberyn had always been just slightly resentful that Arthur was straight.

“Oberyn,” Arthur said stiffly, taking off his sunglasses, and Oberyn noticed that he too looked badly beaten about the face. Robert and Thoros awkwardly waved while trying to move as little as possible from their stations.

“Look, last night got out of hand,” Arthur began sternly. “Obviously we all had far far too much to drink, but I want it back.”

Robert and Thoros both looked nonplussed. Oberyn tried not to glance at the umbrella stand.

“Right,” Robert said uncertainly. “So when you say you want it back...”

“I am not leaving this room until it is in my hands,” Arthur growled. “You might have won last night, but I assure you I’m sober now.”

He was advancing on Robert, who was still awkwardly half slouching half lying on the couch. Unable to move, Robert craned his neck to maintain eye contact.

“Won?” Robert said.

“Our stupid bet, who was the better boxer,” Arthur said impatiently. “Now stand up gods damnit.”

“...No,” Robert said after a pause.

“Robert Baratheon, you fucking child, stand up or I swear...”

“You had a boxing fight?” Oberyn interjected.

Arthur shot him a sour look.

There was a muffled sound of a baby crying, and Arthur wheeled.

“What the hells?!”

“Ahem,” Thoros cleared his throat loudly. “Sorry I think it’s allergies, it makes my throat itch.”

Another muffled cry.

Thoros immediately dissolved into a coughing fit to conceal it.

“If you’ll just excuse me,” he mumbled edging toward Robert’s room without ever loosening his grip on the television. Finally, he slowly let go. It stood on its own power, and with a sigh, Thoros hurried for the other room, swinging the door shut after him.

As it slammed, the television slowly toppled over and landed on the ground with a crash.

“What just... you know what, I don’t care,” Arthur massaged his temples. “Where the fuck is it?! Is it in here?” He stormed toward the room with the direwolf.

“Woah,” Oberyn scurried to intercept him, gently steering his shoulders back toward the room. And accidentally toward the umbrella stand. “Arthur!” He continued the spin until they had gone a full three quarter circle.

“Martell,” Dayne glared at him. “Start explaining. Now.”

“I was hoping you could do the same,” Oberyn said in a soothing tone. “You see, you find us somewhat... memory impaired.”

“What?”

“We were wasted. Blotto. Blacked out.”

“We can’t remember shit,” Robert contributed helpfully.

“You’re telling me you don’t remember what happened last night?” Arthur said slowly.

“And since you seem to...” Oberyn prodded. “I only ask because I trust you. You are one of my very best friends.”

Arthur made an incredulous sound.

“That’s not what you were saying last night! I had gotten the ring that I’m going to propose to Elia with...”

Wait, WHAT.

“And you told me that I had to prove myself worthy of Elia by winning a challenge.”

“A challenge?” Oberyn repeated.

“Yeah, against one of your stupid friends,” Arthur scowled.

“Hey!” Robert protested from the couch.

“Only I kept losing! Like the first was just to go up to a girl with your friend with the eye patch and she had to give me her number instead of him. But we went up to like ten girls and he got the number EVERY TIME! He wasn’t even trying!”

Heh. Okay that was kind of funny.

“So then you had me do this drinking game with that guy,” Arthur pointed towards the room where Thoros had disappeared to console the baby. “Who could do the most shots in a minute.”

Wait, this was hilarious. He loved drunk Oberyn.

“And then after I got crushed by that, and could barely see straight, you had me box Robert in the parking lot!”

“Oh I’m great at that,” Robert said. Arthur glared at him, or Oberyn assumed that’s what he was doing under all the bruises.

“And then you said to make it interesting, Robert and I should bet our engagement rings on the outcome, because Robert had gotten Cersei’s resized earlier,” Arthur poked Oberyn in the chest.

Oh this was just too wonderful.

“So what you’re saying is...”

“You hustled me out of my engagement ring! And if you don’t give it back right now, the next time I come, I will have Dawn and I will be using it to separate your heads from your shoulders,” Arthur growled.

This really seemed to be one of those good news bad news situations.

The good news was that it sounded like last night was amazing and that drunk Oberyn was an absolute prince.

The bad news was that they definitely didn’t have the ring. And it sure sounded like Arthur hadn’t realized Dawn was missing, and he should under no circumstances be allowed to look at the umbrella stand.

“So the ring,” Oberyn began. “We will absolutely get it for you.”

“What do you mean get it for me?” Arthur grabbed Oberyn by the shoulders. “It’s not here?! Where the fuck is it?!”

“It’s not here, it’s ah...” Oberyn looked at the ceiling for inspiration.

“With Ned,” Robert interjected. Oooh nice one.

Arthur wheeled on him, still holding Oberyn in a death grip.

“Explain,” Arthur growled.

“We’ve misplaced Lannister. Ned is off hunting him down with Stannis and Mace and Beric. He has the ring because I’m not to be trusted with valuables. I’d probably pawn it or something.”

Oberyn really respected Robert’s skills as an improvisational liar. Also he had definitely pawned Arthur’s ring. They should probably work on getting that back.

“Lannister?” Arthur frowned. “He was with you last night at the strip club. Everybody was there but him,” Arthur waved at the direction Thoros had gone, “and the guy with the eyepatch. Beric.”

Probably off stealing direwolves.

“What happened at the strip club?” Robert asked.

Arthur arched an eyebrow.

“Anything unusual could be helpful for tracking Jaime down,” Oberyn said smoothly.

“But also like did I get a lap dance? Was she hot? Are there pictures?”

Arthur sighed.

“You got several. Your friend Ned took plenty of photos. And the only unusual thing was Oberyn nearly got us kicked out trying to take pictures of Edgar Yronwood in the private room.”

“Yronwood was there?” Oberyn frowned.

“Getting the full service treatment it appeared. Anyway, we left around two in the morning and you appeared to be heading back to the Water Gardens. Jaime Lannister was present and accounted for.”

Arthur appeared to have calmed down somewhat, under the mistaken impression that his ring was in good hands. Oberyn thought now might be the appropriate time to escort him out.

“So we’ll call you the second Ned gets back and you can pick up the ring,” Oberyn said, walking him toward the door.

“Great, I didn’t mean to come on so strong, I just woke up this morning and was really freaked out,” Arthur was saying.

“It happens to all of us,” Oberyn accepted his apology with a wave of the hand.

“Thanks, and I owe you man for that fight!” Arthur turned over his shoulder to shout cheerfully at Robert. Robert guffawed, Oberyn opened the door, everyone was happy.

Arthur, turning back, looked at the umbrella stand. Oh no.

His head tilted.

There was only one thing to do.

“Is that—“ Arthur began, only to be cut off by Oberyn kissing him firmly on the mouth.

“What the fuck Martell!”

“Welcome to the family,” Oberyn purred. The door slammed.

“Is it safe?” Thoros poked his head out, baby in his arms.

“Yup,” Robert straightened up.

“What’d I miss?”

“We have to go the pawn shop and get Arthur Dayne’s ring back. Jaime was at the strip club. You were not,” Oberyn shrugged.

“Oberyn got to first base with his future brother in law,” Robert added.

“No accounting for taste,” Thoros shrugged.

“Yes some of us prefer Olympic athletes and some prefer blond beanpoles who blush if you say ‘balls’. Unfathomable,” Oberyn rolled his eyes.

“So the pawn shop?” Robert asked.

“Found a car seat in there,” Thoros jerked his head.

“I’ll bring the car around,” Oberyn offered. Oh. The car. He really really hoped the Dragon was okay. There were only like three in existence.

Fortunately, it sat perfectly parked in the garage. Oberyn let out a sigh of relief and circled it, just to make sure there wasn’t any scratches he was missing. It appeared pristine. He got in and started the engine, and pulled it out into the road, preparing to drive it up to the main entrance.

THUMP!

Uh oh. He looked around. Had he hit something?

THUMP!

Was that... coming from the trunk?

THUMP!

Oberyn sped up slightly, since he could hardly stop in the middle of the street. Had they locked Jaime in the trunk as some kind of practical joke? Drunk Oberyn had certainly been on a role last night, and if he were honest he would admit that there was something about Lannister’s attitude that had always annoyed him slightly...

THUMP!

“I’m coming!” Oberyn shouted, as he pulled into the driveway and parked the car. Robert was holding the baby, Thoros had the car seat, both patiently waiting some ten yards distant.

“He’s in the trunk!” Oberyn called to them, as he swung out of the driver’s seat and ran around. He flipped the latch, already wincing at what promised to be a rancid temper tantrum.

Instead, a naked middle aged man that was emphatically not Jaime Lannister stared up at him.

“AHHH!” Oberyn jumped back.

“AAAARRG!” The man surged up and forward, wielding a tire iron indiscriminately.

Fuck! Oberyn stumbled, barely sidestepping the first swing and blocking the second with his forearm, which sent a spiraling pain through the entire right side of his body. His pasty opponent pressed his advantage, getting in at least five more blows, mostly to Oberyn’s arms where he was shielding his face, and one hard strike to the ribs, before he saw Robert and Thoros running toward them.

Evidently deciding that three on one was not good odds, even with a tire iron, the naked assailant whipped it at Robert’s face and fled.

“Fuck,” Oberyn groaned, trying to straighten. “I think he broke my fucking arm.”

“Who the fuck WAS that?” Thoros stared after him.

“Fuck if I know,” Robert scratched his head with the tire iron, which he’d managed to catch one-handed. “Did he look just a little familiar to you?”

“He did not,” Oberyn wheezed. “Now go get the baby. We’ve got to get to the pawn shop or we’re fucked.”

“Maybe first the hospital,” Robert said tentatively, poking at Oberyn’s right arm.

“FUCK!”

Ned (Vice and Wish 4 of x)

“It’s going to be okay,” Catelyn had taken Ned’s chin in her hand the morning after the Incident, bringing his gaze from the ground up to meet her.

They had met at six in the morning, by the river in the Tully’s backyard, where they had used to sneak kisses in the groves of willows in high school. In high school, before Hoster Tully had realized how serious they were about each other, when he welcomed Ned with a benevolent smile and a question about his father or his brother. Before they had gotten married and Hoster had glowered disapprovingly through the entire ceremony. Before he had ceased talking to Ned entirely. Before he had started sabotaging their marriage and Ned had reacted like the deadbeat that Hoster Tully had always thought he was.

“Is it?” Ned asked dolefully. “I’m so sorry Cat, I don’t know what came over me, I feel terrible.”

“It wasn’t... ideal,” she admitted, eyebrows briefly knitting, and he wanted to kiss the wrinkle away. Instead he settled for kissing Robb, half asleep in his arms.

“You know his behavior has been every bit as appalling as yours,” Cat continued. “I just... it would have made things easier if you hadn’t stooped to his level.”

“I can’t think what came over me! I don’t even understand how I got the idea in the first place,” Ned groaned. “It’s just so out of character!”

“Look, at the end of the day, I love you and you love me, and that will always be enough. But if there’s a way for me to do this without losing my relationship with my father, I’d like to try,” Cat sighed, pressing her head into his chest. Ned shifted Robb to his hip and wrapped his free arm around her, a three-person hug that brought his arms around everything he needed in life.

“Of course Cat, I’ll do anything,” Ned promised into her hair.

Anything turned out to be a family brunch brokered by Catelyn the Monday after the Dorne trip. Ned’s father, who had always gotten along well with Hoster Tully, would be there, as would Brandon. Brandon had promised to act like an obnoxious cad to remind Hoster that high-powered finance careers weren’t EVERYTHING. Ned would swallow his pride and grovel and Hoster would apologize for how he acted. In theory. Or that’s what Cat thought would happen anyway. Ned had his doubts. Regardless, Ned primarily had to show up Monday at eleven sharp.

“It’ll be fine,” Robert had promised on the plane. “If anything, the problem is that you accidentally antagonized him. Have you tried intentionally antagonizing him?”

“When I’m attending your funeral after some ‘accident’, I’ll remember that,” Ned said drily.

“Listen,” Mace had said earnestly. “Why even get involved? When I knocked up Alerie, you can bet I was persona non grata at the Hightower household. But then my mother went and spoke to Old Leyton and next thing I knew it was all settled. Just send in your father and call it a day.”

“Well my father will be there,” Ned winced. “But I don’t know that he can produce quite the effect of Olenna Tyrell. She is unique in that regard.”

“No no no,” Thoros made a warding gesture when Ned tried to bring it up by the pool Friday evening. “This is not my forte. Just don’t get a haircut, you‘ll spend the rest of the year trying to grow it back.”

“You are a kind husband, a good father, and you love his daughter endlessly,” Beric said firmly at dinner. “He will see how happy you make her and he will find at the end of the day that’s all that matters. Even if you aren’t quite who he imagined Cat would end up with.”

“You think?” Ned said hopefully.

“Absolutely,” Beric smiled. “It worked out for me.”

Beric’s calm confidence was contagious. Friday evening went perfectly, the Saturday surprise boat ride impeccably executed, and as they motored back to Sunspear, Robert collapsed half on top of Ned.

“This is the best stag ever,” he said sleepily. Ned beamed. Oberyn had arranged for an evening in the shadow city next—including dinner and a strip club—and then Ned would have done his duty. They could sleep off their hangovers tomorrow, and he had a six p.m. flight back to King’s Landing, landing at ten, and he would be bright eyed and appropriately chagrined at brunch the next morning.

That was the plan. How it had devolved into standing outside a tattoo parlor as Mace tried to convince the owner to pull security footage quite escaped him.

“There’s no law that I have to pull security footage just because you ask,” the owner growled.

“But there is a law against giving intoxicated customers roses on THEIR FUCKING ASSES!” Mace roared.

Ned wasn’t sure this was going anywhere fast. Apparently Stannis agreed.

“What my companion means to say,” he interjected. “Is that if you pull the tapes, I will pay you two hundred dragons,” he emptied his billfold. “And if you do not, we will be contacting the Better Business Bureau.”

The bills vanished with magical speed. Ned was glad that Robert had invited Stannis, and doubly glad that Stannis had deigned to come.

“Look, I’m going to get some more cash. This has the feeling of an expensive day,” Stannis rubbed his forehead.

Which left Ned to stare blankly at footage of the eight of them laughing and drinking and Mace stumbling over to the chair and promptly passing out. Ned watched through partially covered eyes as Oberyn leaned over to talk to the tattoo artist. Was he supposed to take anything away from this? Other than that was definitely Jaime shaking his head as Mace snored?

Ned sighed. All he wanted was to throw his best friend, his brother in all but blood, the best stag ever. And be home in time for brunch tomorrow with his appalling father in law.

Speaking of appalling father in laws, what would Tywin Lannister’s reaction be to his eldest son’s disappearance?

He looked over to Stannis, who was scowling at an ATM. Beric, who was talking rather animatedly on his cell phone. Mace, who was still arguing with the owner of the tattoo parlor.

“Do you know my bank account has been frozen for fraudulent activity?” Stannis growled after a minute.

“Um, Allyria Dayne just told me that Oberyn bet me and Thoros five hundred dragons that we couldn’t steal the Dayne ancestral family sword. And she spent an hour on the phone walking us through her family’s security settings,” Beric looked on the verge of a panic attack.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN I PUT IT ON MY MOTHER’S CARD?!”

Mace actually was having a panic attack.

Ned got the distinct impression that his troops were in disarray.

“Listen, Lannister was here,” Ned said, trying to be encouraging.

“Do you think that sword in the ice bucket was the Dayne’s’ ancestral family sword?” Beric asked anxiously.

“So I think we should figure out where we went next,” Ned pressed on.

“If my account is frozen, then Robert’s cards are too, I routed all of his spending to go through mine so I could keep an eye on it,” Stannis frowned.

“Sir, did we say anything about where we were going next?” Ned asked the owner.

It took Mace emptying his own bill fold to procure an answer.

“The Sandship,” the owner snatched at the cash.

Mace thankfully knew where that was, and the group trudged deeper into the warrens of Sunspear’s infamous black market. It was casual and even at a late lunch hour, operating at a dim roar.

“Well at least we know we here,” Stannis sighed. Ned looked over and Stannis jerked his head at the board.

Sure enough, under a list of banned customers, was a Polaroid of Robert grinning, face bloody.

“...is that Arthur Dayne?” Mace squinted at the photo next to it.

Ned stared. Arthur had been two years ahead of them in Prep, brilliant, kind, an all star athlete. He’d also been Ned’s girlfriend at the time’s older brother, and Ned had a tendency to get tongue-tied in his presence. When Ashara had dumped Ned on her way to college (it was amicable—even if he’d been disappointed, he recognized that she was not somebody who could make long distance work), Arthur had sent him a very kind text expressing his disappointment and best wishes for what would be an undoubtedly bright future. Ned still had the text saved somewhere, he occasionally pulled it out and reread it when he was feeling down.

And here Arthur was, right next to Robert in the bar’s hall of shame, wincing at the flash of the camera and looking like he’d just been run over by a truck. Had they fought? That was impossible! Robert loved Arthur. EVERYBODY loved Arthur.

Accessing the security footage here took Beric emptying his wallet, and then they were treated to... well a disaster.

“Why am I hitting on all of those girls in front of ARTHUR DAYNE!” Beric groaned. “Well and Thoros. But also ARTHUR DAYNE!”

“Is he doing shots with Thoros?” Stannis frowned. “I can’t see that ending well.”

“Why am I handing the engagement ring to Robert?!” Ned pulled at his hair. “Never give the engagement ring to Robert!”

“Seriously,” Mace shook his head. “Trust me, rings turn out to be huge hassles in these scenarios.”

They all watched in silence as Robert and Arthur appeared to hand rings to Oberyn and walked out the door.

“Well Jaime is still with us at ten pm,” Stannis noted, pointing to the screen where Jaime had buried his head in his arms.

“Did you happen to hear where we were headed next?” Beric asked the manager hopefully.

“A strip club. The Dornishman’s Wife is the closest,” the manager said.

There was a pause.

“We’re supposed to show up for the hostage exchange at two,” Ned said at length.

“Oh it’s super close though, we definitely have time to visit the strip club,” Mace pointed out.

“You never know with traffic around here, and I really don’t feel comfortable speeding,” Beric interjected.

“What traffic? It’s in the middle of the day on a Sunday!” Mace gestured out the window to where there were no cars.

“Plus we should get there early, scout out the terrain,” Stannis said, lifting his voice to talk over Mace.

“What terrain?! We’re meeting some dude at the airport long-term parking lot! They are the same in every country!”

“Great point, Stannis,” Ned nodded.

“It’s a stupid point!”

“So we’re all agreed that we can skip the strip club?” Beric asked hopefully.

“NO!” Mace shouted.

“Absolutely,” Stannis said quickly.

“To the airport!” Ned cheered. He always liked when everybody got along.

Airport Long Term Parking Lot J did look the same as all other airport parking lots, Ned was prepared to admit. And since there was no traffic, Beric made very good time.

“Do you see anyone?” Ned whispered to the group at large as they slowly cruised down the lane of parked cars.

“Why would we, we’re an hour early,” Mace sulked. The rest of the group, by unspoken agreement, ignored him.

“Maybe we should just park and wait,” Stannis chipped in. Beric found a spot in the far corner, where they could see anybody who entered the lot. Even better, it was a straight shot to the exit in case things went bad.

“So what should we talk about?” Beric asked brightly.

“Can I maybe run a couple of apologies to Hoster by you guys,” Ned began.

“NO!” Mace shouted.

“I will get out of this car and wait outside if I have to,” Stannis glared.

“Actually, maybe we don’t need to talk,” Beric demurred.

So the next hour passed in semi-companionable silence.

And then Robert’s phone rang.

“Fuck! What do I do?!” Ned stared at the unknown caller ID.

“Just answer it,” Stannis huffed.

“But what if he asks why it isn’t Robert? Or what if he wants cash? Fuck, we barely have any cash! Or what if—“

“Knock knock,” said a blond man, tapping his gun against the passenger side window.

“What do I do?!” Ned squeaked.

“Open the door!” Stannis hissed from behind him. As that was also what the fellow with the gun wanted him to do, that seemed like sound strategy.

“All right, out of the car. Let’s have a look at you,” the gunman drawled, waving Ned out. He was wearing a crisp looking white linen suit and had mild gray eyes that made him look rather friendly. This friendliness was somewhat belied by the gun.

“You must be Ned,” the stranger said. “Bobby has told me so much about you!” He clapped Ned into a hug.

“Bobby?” Ned managed, trying to keep an eye on the revolver.

“Bobby B!” The man waved his hand and Ned ducked instinctively.

“Wait is that...” Mace pushed out of the car and stared, blinking.

“Harry Strickland?” Beric also got out of the car, looking more like he was contemplating doing a runner.

“Mace Tyrell! Never forget a face! How the hells are you?” The man slapped Mace amiably on the back.

“What are you doing here?!” Beric spluttered.

“And you. Beric Dondarrion,” this Harry fellow said flatly. Beric gulped.

“Forget that. Who are you?!” Stannis demanded.

Harry frowned.

“Who are you?”

“I asked first! And I am Robert’s brother!”

“... Robert has a brother?” Harry looked genuinely baffled.

Ned winced. Stannis’ face was going a dark red and he seemed to have lost the power of speech.

“Homeless Harry Strickland,” Beric whispered in Ned’s ear, “is the head of the Golden Company.”

Ned blinked.

The Golden Company was a criminal syndicate that could trace its roots back to the Middle Ages. They were primarily active in Essos, but they had operations as far east as Yi Ti and as far west as well, Westeros.

“Alas,” Harry shrugged lackadaisically. “I have been ousted. Homeless Harry again, in more ways than one. I had to leave Myr rather unexpectedly.”

“Ousted?” Mace frowned.

“By a blue-haired cunt who I could cheerfully disembowel with a butter knife,” Harry wrinkled his nose. “I came to Sunspear to pick up a cache I left for a rainy day like this one, and then this morning I remembered that Bobby was in town for his stag!”

“Robert has TWO brothers!” Stannis snapped, having finally found his voice.

“I thought I’d drop by, say hello, wish him all the best, catch up on tricks,” Harry continued, unconcerned. “And that’s when I saw him!”

“Saw who?” Ned scratched his head.

“Jaime Lannister! I recognized him from the engagement party spread in Agora! He was sneaking out of the grounds of the Water Gardens, carrying some kind of package! And he threw it into the river! The whole thing was done in a furtive manner, highly suspicious. And that’s when I remembered.”

“Remembered...?” Beric prompted.

“That he was trying to sabotage the wedding! Robert told me all about it, he was thinking about disappearing him. You and he talked about it remember?” (This last was addressed directly to Ned, and Ned had a slightly sinking feeling that he did possibly remember this. He hoped the trunk was soundproof.) “He clearly followed you down to Dorne and stole something in the middle of the night! At a guess I thought it might be the wedding ring,” Harry continued. “Robert was very clear that Lannister said to Robert that the wedding was happening over his dead body. And I thought, what the hell, right? That can be arranged.”

Ned felt the ground spin beneath his feet.

“You didn’t...”

“Of course not!” Harry laughed heartily, and Ned laughed too, a little weak at the knees. “It’s not much of a wedding gift if I get to have all the fun!”

“Hahaha what?” Ned’s chuckling dropped off.

“Oh I thought Robert would be coming naturally, but you are his best man. Fitting for you to do the honors.”

“The honors?”

Harry smiled and offered his gun to Ned. Ned stared at it stupidly.

“That silver sedan six cars down. Just pop a couple shots through the trunk. The beauty of long term parking is that it’ll be weeks before anyone notices.”

“Jaime Lannister is in the trunk of your car and you want me to shoot him?” Ned said slowly.

“Well it’s not my car of course. That would be crazy,” Harry beamed.

“Right, crazy,” Ned repeated.

“I got here a couple hours ago and hot wired one with a permit through the end of the summer. It’s always best to arrive to a hostage negotiation early I’ve found. Four hours at the very latest,” Harry tapped his temple and winked.

“Is he always... quite this murder-y?” Ned asked Mace and Beric under his breath.

“Always,” Beric said glumly.

“Harry, this is a lovely gesture,” Ned sighed, trying to think how to get placate the psycho and get Jaime back unharmed. “Robert will be very touched. It’s just... well there seems to have been a miscommunication.”

“A miscommunication?” Harry frowned.

“Jaime realized he was being an idiot and patched things up with Robert. He wasn’t sneaking around the Water Gardens, he was a guest. Robert invited him. And he definitely didn’t steal the ring, see?” Ned produced it.

Harry considered, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

“How embarrassing!” He laughed at length. “Oh well, an honest misunderstanding, right chaps?”

They all laughed nervously.

“I would love to know what he was throwing in the river though. I suppose we can ask him!” Harry chuckled and shook his head, ambling down the row to the aforementioned silver sedan.

Ned trailed after, trying to remember to breathe.

Humming a jaunty little tune, Harry popped the trunk and took a step back. Ned peeked over the edge.

A bound and gagged Jaime Lannister glared back at him, a blazing hatred twisting his face into a scowl. Seeing Ned, his eyes widened.

“MMMMMF! MRG MF MMMM!” Jaime thrashed, looking like he might break free of the trunk through sheer frenzied struggle.

“So,” Harry said tentatively, shutting the trunk again. “Last chance.”

“What?” Ned asked, startled.

“Well he’s clearly very upset. In my experience these things are always a downer at weddings. Still time to just shoot him and call it a day.”

“Ah,” Ned swallowed. “Right. I thank you for the very tempting offer, but I think we’d better let him out.”

“Your funeral,” Harry sighed, looking rather disappointed.

Ned popped the trunk, and with some assistance from the others, managed to wrestle Jaime out.

“Don’t you have a pocket-knife in your day pack?” Ned asked Stannis, fumbling with the knots that were keeping Jaime’s hands behind his back.

Stannis muttered something about a good day pack being wasted on Lannister, but they had Jaime free in short work.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Jaime howled, when they removed the gag.

“I did warn you,” Harry stuck his pinkie in his ear.

“WHO IS THIS NUTJOB AND WHAT IS HAPPENING?!”

“Jaime, this is Harry Strickland. Harry, this is Jaime Lannister,” Mace introduced them politely.

“Charmed, simply charmed old chap,” Harry tipped his head in acknowledgement.

“You chloroformed me! I AM THE OPPOSITE OF CHARMED!”

“Bit of a mix up, that! We’ll laugh about this in a few months, I’m sure,” Harry patted Jaime on the shoulder. Jaime growled.

“What happened?” Ned asked cautiously, moving between Jaime and the ex-mafia killer. Situations with Jaime had a habit of escalating.

“Before this weirdo with a pocket square mugged me?!” Jaime spat.

“Uh yes. Harry said he saw you throwing something in a river?”

“Right,” Jaime took a deep breath, still staring daggers over Ned’s shoulder.

“I caught Armory Lorch snooping around the Water Gardens this morning with a camera. He’s one of my father’s guard dogs. Clearly father sent him to tail Robert. And since I don’t have a fucking clue what we got up to last night, I thought it safest to knock him out. I put him in a judo sleeper hold, stole his clothes so he couldn’t go anywhere, then dumped his clothes and his camera in the river. I left him in the trunk of the car, I was texting Stannis when I was VICIOUSLY ASSAULTED!”

“Just to play devil’s advocate,” Harry interjected amiably, “at least I didn’t strip you naked and dump your clothes in a river.”

“AAAAAHHHHH!” Jaime dove for Harry, and it took both Ned and Mace to restrain him.

“Look on the bright side,” Harry said at length. “You have done Robert a great service. You lot can go, get the car, drive it out to a long term parking lot and put an end to all this nonsense.”

Ned, Stannis, Mace and Beric exchanged an uneasy look.

“Where is Robert anyway?” Jaime pinched his nose.

“Oh... we left him and Oberyn and Thoros back at the palace,” Ned said uncertainly.

“And the car?” Jaime looked at him in dawning horror.

“Also at the palace. But we told them not to leave,” Mace said, wringing his hands.

The five of them looked at each other.

“FUCK!”

Thoros (Vice and Wish 5 of x)

“How am I supposed to have sex in this?!” Oberyn complained, flapping the sling that his arm had been wrapped in. He looked like an angry albeit lopsided bird, and Thoros concealed his smile by pulling a face at the baby currently in Robert’s arms.

“Agug,” the baby giggled. Thoros’ sentiments exactly.

“Doggie style or her on top, I would think,” Robert pondered. “Or if you were lying on your left side, and she was doing the work. Reverse cowgirl. Wheelbarrow. Dornish Lotus. Put her on a table and—“

“Okay,” Thoros interjected, because the last thing he wanted to do was get stuck in a conversation where Robert and Oberyn swapped sex positions. They had somewhere to be in two hours. “Did you go through the printout the doctor gave you?”

“Two fractured ribs and a broken arm,” Oberyn sighed. “Here, you can read the fine print.” He shoved the papers at Thoros. “How do you figure a Dornish Lotus?” He turned back to Robert.

Thoros rolled his eyes and looked at the pages. The doctor had given Oberyn some pain medication, and a prescription for some more. There were notes here on follow up visits, a toxicology report, medical hist—hold the phone.

“You were roofied!” Thoros blurted.

“Come again?” Oberyn frowned.

“It’s here in your toxicology report! Rohypnol!”

“Wait, does this mean THAT’S why none of us can remember anything?” Robert frowned. “I assumed Oberyn brought back his hangover cure.”

“I never could remember the exact proportions,” Oberyn shook his head sadly.

“Ugh this is way creepier. Who would want to roofie us?! I mean, probably a lot of women actually. Who would want to roofie Thoros?!”

“Everybody got roofied, not just the three of us,” Thoros rolled his eyes.

“Oooh so you think it was one of Beric’s groupies? Like if we were ordering pitchers at dinner or something, and they just dosed the whole thing?” Robert grinned.

“No I don’t think that!” Thoros spluttered. Well he HADN’T anyway. Thanks Robert.

“Look, we should get going if we’re going to get Arthur’s ring back before our meeting,” Oberyn pointed out. “Let’s put a pin in this mystery.”

“Along with the naked man,” Thoros sighed.

“Awuhah,” said the baby.

“Right, don’t forget the direwolf,” Robert patted the baby on the head.

The good news was that the ring was still there. The bad news was that the proprietor wasn’t giving it up for less than thirty-five thousand dragons.

“Fuck, Stannis froze all my cards,” Robert winced, as an unamused Dornishman tried a fourth credit card unsuccessfully.

“It might be all of us,” Oberyn frowned, standing at an ATM. “Thoros, you try.”

Thoros’ card was not rejected by the ATM.

“Sweet, two hundred seventeen thousand. Use your debit card and I’ll pay you back,” Robert said, peering over his shoulder.

“That doesn’t say two hundred seventeen thousand,” Oberyn squinted. “It says two hundred and seventeen cents.”

“Wow you must contribute a lot to your retirement account,” Robert blinked.

“Let’s go with that,” Thoros sighed and shoved his card back in his wallet.

“No money, no ring,” the proprietor glared at them.

“What if we could get you a different ring?” Oberyn asked.

“Eh?” The proprietor considered. “A better ring?”

“Yes, a better ring,” Oberyn assured him.

“Wait...” Robert began.

“Would depend on ring. But yes, I’d trade.”

“I don’t really like this idea—“

“Then sir, I suggest you keep this ring out of sight. Because I have a far better alternative for you,” Oberyn grinned. “Remember to get it from Ned,” he told Robert.

“Look, Martell, I might be scared of Arthur Dayne but I’m terrified of Cersei. I am absolutely not trading my engagement ring for his,” Robert glared.

“You’re not losing it. C’mon, you’re a millionaire. We’ll swap rings and figure out how to get some funds unfrozen.”

“Ugh fine,” Robert huffed.

“So the shadow of the Tower of the Sun, yeah?” Thoros checked his watch.

“Maybe Jaime has money!” Robert brightened.

“Onward!” Thoros jabbed his sword. Half the fun of having a sword, he’d discovered, was making epic gestures. The other half would be making a fire sword if SOMEONE wasn’t such a buzz kill.

“Sir, I might be willing to trade that sword for the ring,” the proprietor suddenly interjected.

“Hardly necessary,” Oberyn jumped in. Thoros frowned suspiciously. While he would obviously prefer to keep this awesome sword he’d plucked from the ice bucket like Excalibur, he would have thought Oberyn would jump at the opportunity.

“Yeah wait, why not?” Robert scratched his head.

“Well we’re going to negotiate the return of a hostage right? ONE of us should be armed, don’t you think?” Oberyn said.

Okay, he was clearly lying. This was the dumbest thing Thoros had ever—

“Great idea! Here, Thoros, let’s trade,” Robert shoved the baby into his arms.

And thus Excalibur was lost.

At three pm the shadow cast by the tower of the spear was small indeed. Thoros, who had been skeptical of this as a meeting place (he considered himself something of an expert, as the only one of the three who had been present for the last ill-fated exchange in Myr), was prepared to concede it had merits. Lots of people though. Witnesses, which was a good thing if they were worried about getting stabbed. A bad thing if Robert planned to be doing the stabbing.

A man was already waiting for them, perhaps early forties, black bearded and swarthy. He stood about Oberyn and Thoros’ height, lean and scowling.

“Oh shit,” Oberyn breathed. “That’s Edgar Yronwood.”

“Who?” Robert scratched his head.

“The Yronwoods are like the second family in Dorne after the Martells. This guy is super loaded, it can’t be about money. He literally has an enormous basement treasure room filled with priceless artifacts,” Oberyn muttered under his breath. ��It’s supposed to be nearly as good as my parents’,” he added smugly.

“Martell,” Yronwood hissed, stiffening as he spotted them. “I’m surprised you even have the nerve to show your face in person after what you’ve done.”

Thoros was having flashbacks to Arthur Dayne. Why did everybody have to be so friggin’ vague?!

“Whatever it was, I’m sure you deserved it,” Oberyn said flippantly.

“Whatever it was?!” Yronwood spluttered. “Don’t you dare act like you don’t remember!”

“Hang on, I got this one!” Robert shouted, gesturing with the sword. Thoros looked sadly down at the baby. Nobody ever gestured with a baby. “Oberyn crashed your private room at the strip club! Dayne said it earlier, remember? Say, I don’t suppose you could describe to us in highly specific and measured detail the proportions of our time there?” Robert turned to Yronwood hopefully. The man looked nonplussed.

“Wait, this is about depriving you of a happy ending?!” Oberyn laughed. “Are you serious?!”

Thoros did not consider himself heavily invested in Jaime Lannister’s personal safety, but he wondered if blatant antagonism was really the appropriate route here.

“Yes! It is about depriving me of a happy ending!” Yronwood roared, loud enough that several passersby gave them strange looks.

“Just go back tonight, jeez,” Robert muttered under his breath.

“You took photos of me having sex with a prostitute and sent them to my fiancé!” Yronwood jabbed at Oberyn.

Oh dear.

“She’s broken the engagement! My life is in shambles!”

Oberyn rolled his eyes.

“You’ve stolen the greatest love I will ever know!”

At this Oberyn’s eyebrows knitted slightly.

“Are you saying...” he cleared his throat, “that Captain Sara is single?”

Were it possible to spontaneously combust, Thoros would have run for cover. Yronwood was glaring at Oberyn with deep loathing, fists balled and clenched at his sides.

“This is exactly how I thought someone of your... ilk would respond.”

“My ilk?” Oberyn still sounded amused.

“A bisexual butterfly of a dilettante, shaming your family’s traditions, leaving bastard children everywhere you go, no sense of duty or honor or...”

“No need to get personal,” Robert said mildly.

“I want a duel,” Yronwood said flatly.

“A duel?” Thoros blurted, forgetting he wasn’t really part of this conversation. But still, seriously?! And Westerosis thought people from Essos were crazy.

“As my red-headed friend says, come again?” Oberyn tilted his head.

“I knew you would react like this,” Yronwood crossed his arms. Thoros wondered if he realized MOST people would react like this.

“It is high time you learned the value of honor. And anticipating your reaction, I took the liberty of insuring your participation. I have abducted your paramour!”

He announced the last dramatically, clearly expecting it to land like a bombshell.

There was a stifled pause, heavy with the anticipation of who was going to break first. Thoros put his hand to his mouth to try and hold in the guffaw.

“BAHAHAHAHAHA,” Robert finally broke with a belly laugh that could be heard across the plaza. Thoros finally let slip his own laughter which had been shaking him in silent paroxysms of mirth.

Oberyn only smirked at Yronwood.

“He is pretty, I’ll give you that. But no, I do not know Lannister on those terms.”

Yronwood looked confused, both nonplussed by the less than intimidated reaction from the group and Oberyn’s response in particular.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I was waiting outside the Water Gardens this morning to confront you about your despicable and cowardly behavior, when I saw a young woman in a septa’s habit emerging. She had a furtive air, as I imagine so many young women who awaken to find themselves in your bed. I trailed her for a block or two, and then had my chauffeur escort her to my estate.”

They all blinked at him.

“A septa’s habit?” Oberyn said slowly.

“Yes, thought some of the language that came out of her mouth was certainly not learned in a sept.”

“Was her name Lyene?” Oberyn growled.

“That sounds correct,” Yronwood sneered disdainfully. “I can only imagine what Sara would say if she knew that even as you were trying to lure her into your arms, you were debauching a septa. I thank the gods that Doran was born first. I imagine your parents and their shareholders do as well.”

“So let me get this straight. You are holding a septa, the mother of my child, I might add, hostage until I agree to DUEL you?!” Oberyn said quietly.

“Yes. Pistols or swords, your choice. In light of your youth and my long-standing friendship with your family, I shall agree to first blood,” Yronwood replied. How magnanimous of him.

Oberyn was grinding his teeth.

“I can’t,” he said finally.

“This craven behavior will not stand. You will take your lumps or this so called septa will be my permanent—“

“No you blithering idiot,” Oberyn snapped. “Has it honestly escaped your attention that my arm is in a sling?! It’s broken you twat.”

“We have a doctor’s note,” Thoros said helpfully, shifting the baby so he could dig through his pocket.

“Fuck your doctor’s note,” Yronwood snarled. Rude. “I demand satisfaction!”

Oberyn rocked on the balls of his feet, clearly trying to resist the urge to leap forward and beat Yronwood about the head with his cast.

“I have a proposal,” Oberyn said at length.

“Make it good,” Yronwood said.

“My friend Robert here will be my champion.”

“I will?”

“As you can see, he’s a reasonably adept swordsman.”

“I am?”

“The only caveat is, as you may be aware, he has a heavily publicized wedding next weekend. So he really can’t be seen engaging in this sort of thing.”

“I can’t?”

“So we will meet you tonight at midnight on the beach. Bring Lyene and wear a baclava or something similar to conceal your features and Robert shall do the same. You shall have your duel, and I shall have my septa. Are we agreed?”

Thoros had no idea what game Oberyn was playing, but at least he wasn’t the only one.

“You are missing a key element,” Yronwood interjected. “That my primary motivation in dueling you is the opportunity to beat you silly.”

Oberyn arched an eyebrow that indicated he held that possibility to be remote indeed.

“Very well,” he said after a beat. “Let’s say we sweeten the pot. Do you see that sword my friend is carrying?”

Yronwood tilted his head, interest piqued.

“A priceless artificial that quite recently came into the Martell family collection. Would you care to examine it?”

The man walked over to Robert and tried to take it. There was a brief tug of war, before he realized he would have to content himself with inspecting it while it remained in Robert’s grip.

“Is this...” Yronwood suddenly looked up.

“It is,” Oberyn said silkily. Thoros wished someone would just explain what was going on.

“Why this is one of a kind,” Yronwood said, and for the first time since their conversation began, he sounded almost... excited?

“Why if the owner of the second greatest treasure hoard in Dorne came into possession of such an artifact...”

“They would undoubtedly be the owner of the second greatest treasure hoard no longer,” Yronwood finished.

“The deal is simple. If my champion loses, you get the sword.”

Yronwood eyed Robert, who was nonchalantly holding it like a baseball bat.

“You surprise me Martell. Midnight on the beach was it?”

“Let’s say the Orphan’s Cove. Don’t forget your baclava,” Oberyn tipped his head.

Yronwood scoffed and walked away.

“Give me my son,” Oberyn turned on Thoros.

“Oh now he’s your son,” Thoros rolled his eyes, but handed the baby over. He didn’t actually like babies that much. If he had to be responsible for a child, he would prefer it clock in at the eight to twelve age range.

“Gentlemen, I present Tyene Sand,” Oberyn beamed.

“That’s a girl’s name, dude,” Robert pointed out.

“Super girly,” Thoros agreed. “Kid’s going to get bullied.”

“I do not disagree. Lyene has her eccentricities. As any sexually deviant septa does, I suppose. I will be legally changing it to Daemon as soon as time permits.”

“So did you just volunteer Robert for a duel with like swords and stuff?” Thoros brought them back to their more immediate problems. Because yeah Robert was pretty much an unstoppable fighting machine, but didn’t sword fights have rules? He was pretty sure Robert hadn’t been getting up on Saturday mornings to put on a mask and learn en pointe or whatever.

“Also did that guy say this was a priceless historical artifact?” Robert said, using the blade to scrap some mud off his shoe.

“I did. Because it is,” Oberyn said, matter of factly. “Yronwood is famous for having a massive underground treasure chamber. Think Indyana Giones. He would have immediately recognized that as the Dayne family’s ancestral blade, Dawn. Allegedly it was forged from a meteorite more than fifteen hundred years ago.”

“Dayne? Like Arthur Dayne?”

“Yes, I can’t imagine how it came to be in our possession. But that brings me to my next point. We need to return it. Immediately.”

“We can’t return it! You just bet the damned thing!” Robert said incredulously.

“Right. But you won’t actually be fighting him. No offense Robert, but have you ever even held a sword until today?”

“Nope.”

“Right, you don’t have a shot at winning. Yronwood is an accomplished duelist, he’s been doing this for decades.”

“He’s been challenging random people who flirt with his fiancé to duels for decades?” Thoros scratched his head. Dorne was so weird. And he had lived in Ibben.

“So here’s the plan. We’ll tell Arthur that in exchange for getting his wedding ring back, he has to be my champion in the duel.”

“But there’s no way Yronwood would voluntarily fight the current gold medal holder,” Robert pointed out.

“Right, but he thinks he’s fighting you. At midnight? Wearing a mask? You and Dayne are about the same height and build. I’m betting he thinks it’s you,” Oberyn shrugged.

Robert and Thoros looked at each other. Well it wasn’t the worst idea?

“But he’ll definitely want to use Dawn. So once we swap the rings, we’ll need to call Arthur to come to the Water Gardens and pick it up and then use the time that he’s away from Starfall to put the sword back,” Oberyn said.

“How are we going to get in to Starfall?” Thoros ventured.

“I haven’t figured that out yet,” Oberyn admitted.

“Wait a minute,” Robert frowned. “If Yronwood had your septa, does that mean the other guys found Jaime?”

“Only one way to find out,” Thoros said, feeling cheerful. All things considered, this was much better than their first go round. After all, they had a plan! One that didn’t require him to transport a wild animal anywhere!

His good mood lasted until approximately two steps into their quarters in the Water Gardens. Because that’s when he saw Homeless Harry Strickland, the leader of the Golden Company, homeless in the sense that he was very much a fugitive in like fifteen different countries, sitting on their couch with a mimosa.

“Bobby!!! D’you know you have a direwolf in there? Bloody thing nearly took my fingers off!” Harry Strickland waved cheerfully, as if it were completely normal that he would be hanging out in their private suite and not watching a body slowly disintegrate into acid or whatever organized crime leaders did in their spare time.

Thoros dropped back uneasily, aware that he was really not this guy’s favorite person. How had this even happened? He couldn’t still be mad about the elephant thing right? But then why was he here?

“HARRY!!! You got my text!” Robert bounced across the room and scooped up the man into a bear hug.

Oh. That was why.

“Marriage?! Bobby I still can’t believe it,” Harry tsked jokingly.

“None of us can,” Oberyn chipped in, a trifle grumpily.

“She must be one of a kind,” Harry dusted himself off as Robert set him down.

“Most certainly,” Oberyn assured him.

“Oby, it’s been ages! So nice to see you again,” Harry clapped him on the shoulder.

“And this is Thoros, I don’t think you’ve met,” Robert waved to him, making introductions. Was it Thoros’ imagination, or did Harry Strickland narrow his eyes ever so slightly?

“ROBERT!” Ned suddenly barreled in. “Where have you been?! We’ve been combing the palace for you! Guys, they’re back in the suite!” Ned called over his shoulder.

“I thought you were specifically instructed to stay put,” Stannis put in sourly as he entered.

“Jaime! You’re okay!” Robert beamed as Jaime and Beric came in. And he did appear to be fine.

“Where is the car,” Jaime grabbed Robert’s shoulders and shook. Experience had taught Thoros that was not the best way to get answers from Robert as he found sustained thought difficult even under ideal conditions.

“Woah, what happened to your arm?” Mace puffed to Oberyn as finally caught up.

“Believe it or not, I was attacked by a naked crowbar wielding maniac who leapt out of the trunk of the Dragon,” Oberyn shook his head, as if sharing one of the mundane inconveniences of ordinary life on par with traffic jams or being caught in the rain.

“Fuck,” Jaime dropped Robert.

“You all seem rather unsurprised,” Thoros said slowly. Even Beric looked unsurprised! What was the point of having a bizarre adventure full of duels and naked assailants if nobody acted impressed afterward?

“That was Armory Lorch,” Jaime pinched the bridge of his nose. “He works for my father. I saw him this morning outside of the Water Palace taking photos of something. I can’t think what he saw, but you can bet it’s getting back to Tywin if we don’t find him and fast.”

“Ah,” Oberyn scratched the back of his head. “I might have some ideas about that.”

“Oh?” Stannis growled.

“Well you know how Lyene, the septa I knocked up, was here last night dropping off Tyene?”

“Who’s Tyene?”

“Tyene!” Oberyn lifted the baby.

“That’s a girl’s name,” Mace said helpfully.

“Ugh I know, look I’ll take care of it at some point, but what I’m trying to say is that we have it on good authority that a septa was seen sneaking out of the Water Palace very early this morning.”

“And she was in Robert and Ned’s bedroom,” Beric suddenly said slowly. “That’s where the baby was.”

“Right. So someone had somehow gotten photos of her in Robert’s bedroom and leaving the next morning...”

“Then Tywin Lannister would hypothetically be very interested,” Jaime finished grimly.

Mace (Vice and Wish 6 of x)

“I told you to stay out of trouble!!!” Ned groaned.

“But we got a text! We thought we were going to save Jaime from being kidnapped!” Robert protested. “Because we’re family,” he tried to pull Jaime into a hug.

“You tried to DISAPPEAR ME!” Jaime fought him off.

“Uh I didn’t,” Robert said. “That was a misunderstanding!”

“Complete misunderstanding, these things happen constantly in my line of work,” Harry nodded emphatically.

“Maybe that’s why you lost your job!” Jaime growled at Harry. “And no Robert, you didn’t try to disappear me, you just forgot to tell your psychotic friend not to!”

“Which is better,” Robert pointed out.

“Shut up!” Jaime snapped. “The only person I’m currently angrier at is Ned!”

“Wait what?!” Ned blurted.

“I heard what Harry said! Robert told you about this stupid plan AND YOU DIDN'T DO ANYTHING!”

“Oh um,” Ned’s shoulders hunched. “In my defense...”

“WHAT?!”

“... I was really drunk?” Ned offered hopefully.

Mace stepped out of the way as Jaime dove at him, and then stepped the other way to allow Stannis to get by to separate them.

“So Allyria said that Oberyn best us five hundred dragons we couldn’t steal that sword!” Beric was saying to Thoros.

“And now Oberyn has this plan to have Arthur Dayne duel Edgar Yronwood at midnight to save the septa he’s been boinking!” Robert was telling Harry.

Mace took a deep breath, and felt a wave of tranquility washing over him. Yes, his lower back itched terribly. And yes, his mother would probably find a way to work this into her funeral. But as the chaos spun out around him, he savored the chaos, the unpredictability, the... excitement!

At some point, his life had gone... askew. It’s not that he didn’t love Alerie and Loras. Gods, sometimes Loras looked at him with his adorable brown ringlets that were growing absurdly long—the boy refused to let anybody near him with scissors—and Mace felt like there was nothing in the world that could matter when compared to this.

But there were also other times when he politely listening to his department heads, knowing if he didn’t do what they wanted that they would over his head to his mother, that he remembered that he’d taken a job he’d hated under the thumb of his mother because he had to make money to support a family that he’d accidentally created when he was twenty.

At an age when most of his peers were drinking and smoking and having bar fights and hookups and FUN, he had been worrying about why Loras wasn’t walking when other kids were walking and still didn’t have his pincer grip down.

It wasn’t fair! Mace didn’t deserve a life of premature adulthood! Maybe somebody like Ned deserved this, he was exactly the type who was happiest cuddled up with a wife next to a wood burning fire with a few rugrats underfoot. But Mace wasn’t like that! He’d been the chubby boy at the popular table, pompous and a little awkward, all through high school. College was supposed to be different. Oberyn Martell, only the coolest guy in their year, somebody he’d basically been friends with only by proximity, had inexplicably decided that they were going to Sunspear together and be roommates.

Maybe there had been a touch of pity to the offer of friendship, but Mace hadn’t cared. His mother had expected him to attend Highgarden. Sunspear, to room with a Martell, of all people... it was not according to her plan but also proof that he was quite capable of fending for himself.

And those two years had been magical! They had rushed the Second Sons fraternity, they’d had girls and booze and plenty of drugs. And then he’d met Alerie. She was from their sister sorority, she was cute and bubbly and her tits bounced when she laughed. Mace had been in love. Then there was the pregnancy, and then his mother had said of course he would get married, a Tyrell couldn’t possibly have a child out of wedlock, so he’d proposed and Alerie had said yes and four years later, here they were.

This bachelor party was his mini do over. His chance to do his twenties right. Make mistakes, have adventures, live life as it was meant to be lived. And, unfortunate tattoo aside, it really seemed like things were working out. Though fuck, was it supposed to itch like that?

“Mace, we need to talk,” Oberyn suddenly appeared at his side.

“Okay, great. Do you think it’s supposed to itch this much? What if it’s infected?” Mace pulled his shirt up.

“Mace Tyrell, I am not talking about your tattoo,” Oberyn glared at him.

“Oh?” Mace hastily pulled the shirt back down. “What’s wrong?”

“I know it was you,” Oberyn said quietly.

“You know what was me?” Mace pasted his most innocent expression on his face. Oberyn arched an eyebrow, showing that it was about as effective as it was on his mother.

“I know you roofied us,” Oberyn hissed under his breath.

Mace looked around nervously to make sure nobody else had heard.

“That’s ridiculous,” he said, swallowing.

“Mace, why would you do this?” Oberyn’s brows knitted. “Don’t you remember Myr? Don’t you remember the hit men? The underground boxing ring? The PRISON?!”

“Yes, I remember!” Mace whispered back, equally heatedly. “We were crazy! We were kids! It was the first time I can remember actually having fun!”

“So you admit it!” Oberyn drew back.

“It’s not like I wanted to use rohypnol, but I couldn’t recreate your hangover cure! I spent weeks on it!” Mace exclaimed. “Look you’re the best friend I’ve ever had, you have to understand. If anything it was like a tribute to you!!”

“How is roofying all of us a tribute to me?!” Oberyn shouted.

Mace started to shout back and then realized everybody was staring at them.

“He’s joking,” Mace laughed weakly.

“Oh gods,” Ned stared.

“It was those fucking shots!” Jaime exclaimed.

“You just don’t understand...”

“Wait, you’re why we STILL don’t know why there’s a direwolf in that room?!” Beric scowled.

“Weird dude,” Robert frowned.

“NONE OF YOU UNDERSTAND!” Mace yelled. “I AM SUPPOSED TO BE A KID! Not being four fifths of the way to a midlife crisis! I hate my job, I’ve missed vital life experiences and everything has gone terribly wrong!”

There was a long pause. Mace wondered if there wasn’t just a tinge of judgement in those stares.

“Okay,” Harry Strickland said finally. “As the oldest person here by at least ten years, I think I can say that you've got the wrong end of the stick here. I spent my twenties traveling the world. Did I sleep with super models and actresses and occasionally royalty? Of course. Did I have exciting death-defying adventures? Obviously. Was my life a constant whirlpool of hedonistic self-gratification? It was. And yeah, it was really great. But then some blue haired asshole WHO SHALL REMAIN NAMELESS gets financially backed by your enemies to orchestrate an internal coup and next thing you know you’re escaping down the streets of Myr on elephant in the dead of night.”

Mace blinked. He wasn’t sure he totally understood the point of this story. Seeing his confusion, Harry sighed.

“Look, jobs, even amazingly awesome dream jobs, come and go. All the things you’ve thought you’ve missed? They’re pretty ephemeral. You’ve been building a life for yourself, a family. That’s what’s going to be around ten, twenty years from now. So I get why you feel like you’re floundering, but the grass is always greener on the other side. From where I’m sitting, at thirty-six with no family and no job and ninety-five percent of my assets frozen by some bullshit international justice agency and I’m just trying to hit up some caches so I can survive the fucking hit my replacement hit on me... well your life doesn’t sound so bad,” Harry poked him.

“That was really deep,” Robert patted Harry on the back.

“I try,” Harry beamed. “Y’know I’ve been thinking of writing my memoirs? Like a self help book. ‘So You’re On The Run from an International Criminal Justice Agency’ by Harry Strickland. Catchy right?”

Mace settled deeper into the couch, hoping that people had mostly moved on from the part where he had roofied everyone.

“We really need to track down Armory Lorch,” Jaime butted in. “I don’t suppose with any of your vast expertise of being on the run, you have any ideas?”

“Yes actually,” Harry pulled out his phone. “I hacked into the local police intranet. Anybody running naked through the streets of Dorne is bound to raise a couple of phone calls to local authorities. With any luck, they’ve filed incident reports that will give us some idea of his location.”

“The group that’s tracking down Lorch also needs to swap rings at the pawn shop and call Arthur Dayne, so a second group can break into the Daynes’ and return that sword,” Oberyn interjected.

“I’m clearly on the Lorch team, since I’m the one who knows what he looks like,” Jaime sighed. “Beric and Thoros should be on the Dayne team, since they broke in there last night. Maybe they’ll have muscle memory or something.”

“I’ve actually been to the Dayne estate, so I can go with them,” Oberyn offered.

“Right, Robert, you and Stannis come with me. With any luck, we can bribe him to sell the photos back to you instead of sending them to father,” Jaime frowned. “Ned, go with Oberyn.”

“Wait why? I really don’t trust Robert to carry the ring you guys, and I cannot miss my flight tonight—“

“Because I hate you. Stannis, take the ring from Ned,” Jaime ground out.

“Who do I go with?” Mace asked timidly. Breaking into a house sounded exciting.

There was a pause.

“Um guys, I think I probably shouldn’t call Allyria again,” Beric cleared his throat. “There has to be a limit to the number of times in twenty-four hours that you’ll give your family’s security information out as a lark.”

“No problem, I spent about a week last month posing as an alarm technician to get the access codes to a number of the wealthy estates,” Harry assured Beric. “I’ll pull the Dayne numbers from my files and write them down for you.”

“Why would you do that?” Thoros asked suspiciously.

“Reasons,” Harry smiled in a not entirely friendly fashion.

“Right... I think Harry should go with Bobby... I mean Robert,” Oberyn said slowly.

“Where am I going?” Mace asked again, crossing his fingers for the Daynes.

Another one of those awkward pauses.

“Nowhere Mace,” Stannis said flatly. “You roofied all of us for literally no reason.”

“Wait what?! You can’t just leave me behind by myself,” Mace protested. They hadn’t even left Robert behind by himself! And they couldn’t cut him out! He could be helpful, he was definitely helpful, like all the time! Like... like... well maybe not in the last twenty-four hours specifically, but most people found him to be a helpful person!

“Of course we won’t leave you by yourself,” Oberyn said soothingly. “You have the most important job of all.”

“Great, whatever it is, I’m game, I promise I won’t let you guys down,” Mace swore earnestly.

“Here,” Oberyn handed the baby to Mace.

“What?” Mace blinked down at the little boy.

“Well I can’t take Daemon on a burglary expedition,” Oberyn explained.

“Is it burglary if you’re returning something?” Thoros asked.

“No, burglary has two elements, namely illegal entry into a building and intent to commit theft,” Beric responded. “Without an intent to commit theft you don’t have the necessary mens rea. You could even break into a building and then if you stole something by accident, you still couldn’t be convicted.”

“How would you steal something by accident?”

“Like sleep walking, or if you thought something was yours or you thought you had permission to take—“

“NOBODY CARES BERIC!” Jaime shouted. Beric looked hurt.

“You’ve been in such a grouchy mood Lannister,” Robert said reprovingly.

“Look, I have been roofied and chloroformed and shoved in a trunk and I am just trying to save YOUR skin,” Jaime growled.

“Which we’re all very appreciative of,” Ned put in.

“Stop sucking up!” Jaime snapped.

“What everyone means to say,” Stannis cut through their bickering stoically, still glaring at Mace, “is you’re going to stay here and mind the baby.”

“No. No no no no no,” Mace raised his hands, looking down at the child in his lap. “That’s all I do is mind the baby! I literally came here to escape minding the baby! Please, I will do anything BUT mind the baby!”

“Loras is four, which gives you approximately four times as much experience in this area as Ned, and infinitely times more experience as everyone else,” Oberyn pointed out. “There is simply nobody I would trust more with my son and nobody I would trust less with anything else.”

“C’mon guys, we could get one of the maids to do this,” Mace pleaded.

“Everyone in favor of Mace staying here to watch the baby raise their hands,” Stannis growled.

Eight people raised their hands. Mace glared.

“Sit on this couch where you can’t mess anything up more than you already have,” Stannis said sternly.

As the gang all trooped off to their relative assignments, Mace sighed and found the bassinet. At least he could watch television... he looked over at the smashed screen across the room. Oh. Right.

Worst. Stag. Ever.

Mace gently placed the baby down in the bassinet, and poked around in the bags below. Sure enough, there was some formula and several brightly colored plastic bottles.

“You’re probably hungry, aren’t you?” Mace cooed absentmindedly. Certainly Loras had always been hungry at this age. And fussy. Hungry and fussy. Really not much had changed in three and a half years. The formula was thankfully ready to use and Mace poured it into a bottle at hand, attached the cap and gave it a good shake.

“Welcome to Mace Tyrell’s famous restaurant, the Highgarden Rose,” Mace bowed to the little baby. “Here at the Rose, we offer only the finest in food and service. Now what vintage can I offer you sir?”

“Gigity,” the baby said smiling sweetly.

“A very good decision sir, that’s our finest year,” Mace assured him, lifting him up and giving him the bottle, one hand beneath to steady it.

Listening to the contended slurping sounds of an exceptionally placid child, Mace felt almost at ease.

And then there was a knock at the door.

“A Miss Ashara Dayne to see you,” came the voice of one of the Martell staff.

“Oh um, send her in?” Mace called back uncertainly. Was Daemon a secret? He wished Oberyn had given him more direction on this matter. He settled for arranging him back in the bassinet and pushing it into a closet.

“Hi everybody,” Ashara sang as she stepped into the room, and Mace had the usual disorienting moment when it felt like all the oxygen had been sucked out of his lungs.

Ashara Dayne, younger sister to Arthur Dayne, one year above Mace at Prep, was shockingly beautiful. It shouldn’t even be allowed, how jaw-droppingly stunning she was. Olive skin, silky black hair, enormous purple-blue eyes. Mace felt his palms start to get sweaty, and if experience was any indicator, his eyes had probably gone all bulgy as well.

“Hullo Mace, where is everybody?” Ashara gave him a slight smile, and though it was but a gesture of politeness, Mace felt as if the entire world had fallen away and there was nobody there but the two of them.

“Oberyn, Ned, Beric and Thoros went over to your family’s house and Robert, Stannis, Jaime and our friend Harry, I don’t know if you’ve met him, went to a pawn shop to get Arthur’s ring back. Oberyn needs Arthur to fight Edgar Yronwood in a duel because a naked man broke Oberyn’s arm with a crowbar,” Mace was dimly aware that there was a voice babbling. Was that his voice? Shut up you idiot! But then Ashara’s smile widened, and even that feeble glimmer of independent thought flickered out.

“Then once they get Arthur’s ring, Jaime and Robert have to find the naked man, because he took these incriminating photos and he’s going to give them to Tywin Lannister and it’ll blow up the wedding!” Mace finished, nearly gasping for breath.

“Where’s the baby, Mace?” Ashara tilted her head quizzically.

“The... baby?” Mace repeated slowly, fighting to come up with a response in the face of her bewitching aura.

“The baby,” Ashara smiled again.

“He’s in the closet,” the words were out of Mace’s mouth almost before the question had finished.

“You’re a sweetheart to look after him,” Ashara crooned, walking over and opening the door to poke her head in.

“I like to be helpful,” Mace puffed out his chest. “I have one of my own you know. Four years old. Do you want to see a picture?”

“Of course,” Ashara laughed, turning back toward him. Her own black hair and the baby’s were nearly identical. The baby was pale though. Northern complexion.

“This is Loras,” Mace showed her his lock screen. “I know his hair is long and he’s wearing a tutu, but he’s a boy.”

“No wonder Ned entrusted Jon to you,” Ashara smiled.

Mace blinked.

“Oberyn entrusted Daemon to me. I mean Tyene. But he’s going to get it legally changed,” Mace said.

Ashara frowned, and just the faintest sign of displeasure marring her lovely features was enough to send Mace into a spiral of apologies and explanations.

“I know it’s confusing, I like the name Tyene myself, but Oberyn doesn’t want him to be teased. I think that’s silly, I think affirmation from a parent is the most important gift you can give, you know Alerie is always saying that Loras needs to be less girly, but my mother for example was always very hard on me and it’s led to a very fraught—“

“Mace,” Ashara lifted a finger. Mace immediately quieted. “That’s not Oberyn’s baby. His name is Jon.”

“Oh,” Mace said stupidly. “Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure,” Ashara raised an eyebrow. “I did name him.”

“Oh,” Mace blushed, the revelation suddenly dawning on him. “Ohhhhhh.”

“I explained everything to Ned of course, but the fact is that things aren’t safe for a newborn baby on the run, and I knew Ned would know what to do. He’s Jon’s family!”

“Erm yes,” Mace agreed automatically. “Ned is a wonderful father.”

“And he’ll be a wonderful father to Jon too, I know he will,” Ashara beamed. “I’m glad he’s doing okay, I just wanted to check in.”

And with a wave of her hand, the willowy silhouette of Ashara Dayne disappeared.

Mace let out a gasping shuddering breath.

Ned Stark and Ashara Dayne?!?!?!

But Ned was married! To Catelyn! He was going to a Stark-Tully family brunch tomorrow!

Mace’s phone began to ring and he clutched at it, certain it would be Oberyn, calling him to talk him through this mess.

“Mace, pookie, I’m missing you,” chirped the voice of his wife.

“Alerie,” he squeaked.

“Are you okay? You didn’t eat too many of those Dornish spicy foods did you, you know they dont agree with your constitution.”

“No,” Mace gulped in some air. “It’s not that, I...”

“And you know your mother has been getting exceptionally nasty about you sticking to that paleo diet. Honestly Mace, I think we’re going to wake up one morning with a personal chef to monitor your caloric intake. And that’s fine for me, but you know how angry Loras gets when he doesn’t get his sweets. Isn’t that right, my little sugar bear!”

“I think Ned had a baby with Ashara Dayne,” Mace blurted. Immediately, the pain in the left side of his chest lessened, as if the secret had been a physical creature clawing to escape his body. But at what cost??

“Come again?” Alerie said slowly.

“Look, you can’t tell anyone, promise you won’t tell a soul,” Mace said, fear beginning to seep in.

“Of course,” Mace could practically hear Alerie’s excitement through the phone. There was nothing she liked more than hearing good gossip. Well, other than sharing it.

“This isn’t for certain okay? It’s not like she came out and said this is my love child with Ned,” Mace tried to walk it back.

“They dated in high school, didn’t they? Ashara was in my sorority at Sunspear, you remember sweetie,” Alerie purred. Was that the sound of text being sent?

“Look forget it, I’m sure I misunderstood,” Mace frantically backpeddled.

“What exactly did she say?” Alerie asked.

“Um something like how Ned would be a wonderful father for Jon and how they were family?”

There! Just there! He heard the distinct sound of another text being sent.

“You’re right, that could be anything,” Alerie giggled.

“No I’m serious, I definitely misunderstood!” Mace protested. “Please you can’t tell anyone about this, things are really delicate between Ned and Cat right—“

There was a whoosh of another text.

“I can’t hear you darling, you’re breaking up!” Alerie called. “Lots of love from me and Loras, you stay out of trouble!”

The phone went dead.

Mace groaned and looked over at the baby.

“Gooolah,” Tyene/Daemon/Jon agreed amiably.

What had Stannis said? Stay on the couch where you can’t mess things up more than you already have?

Jaime (Vice and Wish 7 of x)

Jaime leaned against the window of a thoroughly disreputable pawn shop in the shadow city of Sunspear, nursing a throbbing headache and the newfound knowledge that all of his cards were frozen. On another trip, he could almost imagine enjoying this scene—the cloudless blue sky, the sandstone architecture, the colorful silks that the women all seemed to wear. He thought about buying Brienne a dress in the Dornish style, though he knew she’d never wear it in public. Still, the thought of Brienne striding toward him, legs wrapped in diaphanous blue silk... maybe it would be worth it, even if she only wore it in private.

Yes someday he would come back with Brienne and they would do Sunspear properly and there would be no rohypnol and no chloroform and no locking people or being locked by people into car trunks.

All the same, Jaime was grimly determined to see this through.

He didn’t feel guilty exactly, but he did have the vague sense that in the grand scheme of things, he had perhaps done Robert a disservice. Certainly he owed it to his sister to prevent their father from ruining everything. At the very least, he refused to let his father achieve what he had so miserably failed at.

So he would grin and bear it. Or at least bear it.

“Taken care of,” Stannis announced, emerging into the sunlight and displaying a simple but elegant diamond with a golden band for inspection.

“Arthur says he’s five minutes away,” Robert looked up from his phone.

Strickland took out an earbud from where he had been listening to something on his laptop.

“There have been four complaints from Plankytown about a naked man since noon.”

“Is that far?” Jaime asked the lanky menace begrudgingly.

“About forty minutes east of here along the Greenblood. My guess is he got to the river and swam out to one of the barges and got a lift without anyone noticing,” Strickland said matter of factly.

“Oh is that Arthur?” Robert looked up as a car pulled in across the street.

“Where is it?” The man ran across the street, nearly getting run over by a taxi and a rickshaw.

“Stannis has it,” Robert assured him.

“Well?” Arthur held his hand out. Stannis sighed.

“Robert, wasn’t there something you wanted to ask Arthur?” Stannis prodded through gritted teeth.

“Right,” Robert cleared his throat. “Arthur, I’ve always considered you a man of honor and integrity.”

“Thanks, Baratheon,” Arthur rolled his eyes, pointedly not returning the compliment.

“So here’s the thing. I beat you. Fair and square,” Robert pressed on.

Jaime admitted to feeling curious as to how this was going to turn out.

“If you consider fair me being drunk off my ass,” Arthur growled.

“I do. So if I’m giving you back this ring that I won fair and square, I kind of think you owe me a favor,” Robert continued, seemingly unruffled by the hostility.

“And let me guess, you have something specific in mind,” Arthur grimaced.

“Yup! And it’s one you’ll be happy to do!”

“Enlighten me.”

“I need you to pretend to be me to fight a duel to defend your future brother-in-law’s honor!”

Arthur fixed Robert with the kind of baffled and incredulous look that Jaime saw too often on people who didn’t know Robert well.

“He’s quite serious,” Jaime interjected helpfully.

“Who am I dueling?” Arthur pressed his fingers to his temples.

“Edgar Yronwood. Middle-aged angry chap. Yells a lot.”

“I know who he is,” Arthur sighed. “Why does he want to duel Oberyn?”

“Remember how you were telling us that Oberyn got us all kicked out of that strip club for breaking into Yronwood’s private room? Well it turned out, he got a whole bunch of pictures of Yronwood having sex with a prostitute and then texted them to his fiancé, this smoking hot pirate girl, and she gave Yronwood the heave ho.”

“Oberyn did WHAT?!”

“I know right?! All those pictures of that creep having sex, and not a single one of me getting a lap dance!”

“But why did you get involved?! And why...”

“Listen, once you spend more time with Robert, you’ll learn that the ‘why’ is beside the point. It’s always strange or nonsensical and distracts from the when and the where,” Jaime cut in smoothly.

“Midnight. Orphan’s Cove. Please wear a baclava,” Stannis added, opening his hand once more to show Arthur the ring.

Arthur wavered, but it was clearly taking all of his will power to not snatch it straight away.

“Fine,” he huffed. “But only because he’s about to be family.”

Jaime could really relate.

“Knew we could count on you Dayne,” Robert grinned.

“Good show old chap,” Harry said absently, before turning back to his laptop.

“Who is that?” Arthur frowned, turning to Jaime, who he had identified as the voice of reason in this group.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jaime assured him. “Besides the point. Just midnight at the Orphan’s Cove.”

“With a baclava,” Stannis added.

Jaime rolled his eyes.

“With a baclava,” he conceded.

“Do you need one?” Stannis asked solicitously. “I have one in my suitcase.”

Oberyn’s champion procured, they piled into Beric’s car to drive to Plankytown. (Oberyn had refused to let the Dragon out of his sight, which had led to a compromise whereby Beric had given the keys to Stannis on the understanding that they would be given to nobody else. Jaime wondered if Beric was aware of Stannis’ sordid history of having sex on the hoods of people’s cars.)

“Fortunately, I have a number of connections with the Orphans of the Greenblood. They basically run Plankytown, they’ll know where this man is hiding,” Harry said cheerfully to Robert in the back.

“Sweet,” Robert said cheerfully.

“The Orphans of the Greenblood?!” Jaime said through gritted teeth. “Aren’t they that crazy fringe separatist group that wants to secede from Dorne?”

“Don’t get them started on that or we’ll never have time to track Lorch down,” Harry acknowledged the question cheerfully. “Bloody fanatics on the subject.”

“They are terrorists!” Jaime hissed at Stannis. Stannis was focused on adjusting and readjusting his rear view mirror.

“I’ve been doing business with them for years,” Harry continued blithely. “Military grade weapons for the most part, branching into explosives in the last few years. Always pay on time.”

“Stannis!” Jaime hissed again.

Stannis carefully signaled a lane shift, checked and re-checked his blind spot, and then pulled out.

“And never any problem meeting in international waters, it’s marvelous how far out those houseboats can go.”

“Stannis!”

“Jaime,” Stannis looked at him wearily. “Do you have any better ideas?”

Jaime had to concede that he did not.

“This is such an adventure Lannister! You and me and Stannis, hunting down a spy! If only Ned were here, I’d have all my brothers!”

“You’re forgetting about Renly,” Stannis noted acidly.

“Am I?” Robert yawned.

Harry Strickland’s contact Garin was a dark skinned man with closely shorn curly black hair and a jade stud in one of his ears. He seemed easy-going and affable of manner, although he had an initial exchange at the outset with Harry about the fireworks at Sevenmas that left Jaime uneasy.

“I’ve made the inquiries about this man as you requested. It’s a tight-knit community, and well it’s been a subject of some amusement and concern amongst the orphans. Yandry from the Shy Maid reported a number of his clothes missing from his washing line, and a northerner in Rhoynish garb rented a room for the night in one of the pole boats. Here’s the address,” Garin handed them a scrap of paper.

“Armory Lorch isn’t a northerner, he’s from Lannisport,” Jaime frowned.

“You’re all northerners to us,” Garin smiled, and the glint of a golden tooth winked at them.

“D’you think I should get a gold tooth?” Robert asked the group at large as they walked their way along the wooden docks and boardwalks of Plankytown. He wiggled his tongue through the gap in his own grin.

“No,” Stannis said, right as Strickland said “Definitely.”

“Tie-breaker, Lannister!”

Jaime, who had been marveling at the colorful and wonderfully intricate houseboats that filled the harbor—truly a town afloat—blinked.

“Gold retains value in all markets, and you can’t put a price on having your wealth mobile and on your person at all times,” Strickland rolled up a sleeve to reveal a rather garish gold watch.

“You would look ridiculous,” Stannis crossed his arms.

“Oh look we’re here,” Jaime said, to avoid having to answer.

The pole boat in question was broad and garishly decorated, advertising rooms that could be let by the night or by the hour and free internet.

As the four shuffled on board, Harry smiled at the proprietor and cracked his back, which revealed the gun brace under his jacket. The proprietor bowed nervously, gave them the key to the northerner’s room and promptly exited the boat.

Armory Lorch was a pasty unpleasant man, who Jaime disliked intensely. He was stupid and cruel and had replaced Gregor Clegane’s father on Tywin Lannister’s security team.

They found him at the desk of the small room on a beat up laptop of some sort. His face twisted with barely repressed fury when he saw Jaime.

“Lorch, we have to stop running into each other like this,” Jaime said lightly. The man’s beady eyes darted to a crowbar that was lying on the bed.

“What do you want?” He snapped. “I work for your father not for you.”

“And what does my father have you doing?” Jaime asked, baring his teeth in a smile.

“Surveillance,” Lorch crossed his arms, and pushed the laptop toward them. “You thought you were awfully cute throwing my camera in the river. Well the photos uploaded the moment I took them.”

Jaime looked down. Sure enough, there was a slim girl exiting the Water Gardens, head down, face concealed by her habit. There she was turning the corner. And there she was frowning directly at the camera.

Jaime swallowed, temporarily speechless.

It was Lyanna Stark.

He hadn’t seen her since before finals of junior year of high school. That had been what—six years? But it was still unmistakably her, the dark brown hair, the pale skin, the flashing gray eyes.

Lyanna Stark, Robert’s first girlfriend, photographed holding a baby in his bedroom, sneaking out of his bedroom disguised as a nun.

“Jackpot,” Lorch gave them a wormy smile.

“Jaime, I didn’t... I wouldn’t have...” Robert stammered.

“I know,” Jaime said. And surprisingly, despite his low opinion of Robert, he did know. He doubted many things about Robert’s fitness as a husband and a parent, but one thing he did not doubt was that Robert genuinely loved Cersei.

“It was Ned’s bedroom too,” Stannis pointed out. “She could have wanted to bring him the baby.”

“I doubt Mr. Lannister will see it that way,” Lorch sneered.

“Which is why you will not be sending those photos to father,” Jaime said firmly.

“I believe I’ve made it clear that you don’t tell me what to do.”

“If it’s a question of money,” Stannis said stiffly. “I think you’ll find we can double whatever Tywin Lannister is offering.”

“It’d be a lot of money to make it worth it when Tywin Lannister found I’d screwed him over,” Lorch scoffed. “Thanks but I’ll pass.”

“You seem very scared of Tywin Lannister,” Robert growled, nostrils flaring. “Perhaps you should be more concerned about threats closer at hand.”

“Do you want to fight?” Lorch snapped back, grabbing the crowbar.

It’s anybody’s guess what would have happened next, except Harry Strickland stepped forward.

“Left knee,” he said.

“Wha—“ Lorch began and then there was a gunshot and it was so loud that every rational thought escaped Jaime’s brain.

The next thing he was aware of was Stannis pinching his arm. He was on the ground and there was someone howling in the background and then abrupt silence.

“Ow,” Jaime glared.

“I’m okay,” Stannis said.

“Okay?” Jaime repeated slightly sarcastically.

“So you can let go now,” Stannis said stiffly. Jaime realized with some embarrassment that he had thrown himself on top of the middle Baratheon.

“Right,” he scrambled off, face feeling flushed and overwarm. He was trembling, he realized. The gunshot...

“It’s fine,” Stannis said uncertainly.

“Yeah, sorry, it just reminded me...” Jaime’s voice thickened, and he realized with some alarm that he might be on the verge of crying. Six years of fucking therapy, and all it took was a gunshot to set him off?

“Yeah me too,” Stannis took a deep breath. “Do you want a candy bar? I have some in my day pack.”

“Uh yeah some chocolate would be good,” the laugh came out a little shaky.

There was no crazy mayor, just a crazy hitman, and he was on their side, Jaime told himself as he bit into a Snickers. Get a grip on yourself.

Strickland had proceeded to gag Lorch and then bind up his leg with a bed sheet. Now he was sitting on the bed, directly across from Lorch at the desk.

“I always like to call my shots, you see,” Harry was saying. “More sporting.”

Lorch said something through the gag that was definitely not complimentary.

“I’m sympathetic to what you’ve been through, really. You’re just trying to do your job and the next thing you know your naked in a car trunk. We’ve all been there. I think any reasonable man would agree that you deserve to be compensated for your suffering. And for the photos that were tragically lost when they were thrown in the river,” Harry continued pleasantly.

“I noticed you said that it would take a lot of money to make it worth screwing over Tywin Lannister. Not no amount of money. So I guess the question is, what is your number?” Harry asked slowly, tapping the gun against the palm of his other hand.

Lorch glared and shouted something through the towel that Jaime was pretty sure was a suggest to perform a physically impossible anatomical act.

“I see,” Harry scratched his head with the gun. “Well in that case, right testes.”

Lorch’s number was fifty thousand dragons, wired to his account in the next twenty-four hours, or Tywin Lannister would be perusing the photos over Tuesday’s morning coffee.

“But all our cards are frozen,” Oberyn frowned when they ran into him, Beric, Thoros and Ned back at the entrance of the Water Gardens. THEIR leg of the adventure appeared to have gone seamlessly as they were minus one antique sword.

“Not to worry chaps, I have a plan,” Harry said brightly. Jaime flinched. He was discovering that Harry Strickland’s plans were like Robert’s plans on acid.

“I just need to hit my cache tonight. If a couple of you help me with carrying it out, maybe while the rest of you are at this duel, I’ll spot you the money.”

Jaime waited for the catch. Where did the murder or terrorists or chloroform come in?

“You can get your ring back AND pay off Lorch in one go,” Harry said jovially to Robert.

“Geez dude, I don’t know how to thank you,” Robert breathed. “Like you’re rescuing me from getting blackmailed on my bachelor party by my future father-in-law’s security goon!”

“We’ve all been there,” Harry beamed.

“That means entrusting somebody else with the ring though Ned,” Robert joked, patting Ned on the back.

Ned had been completely silent throughout this proceeding, his face gray.

“... because you know, you have to get your flight back tonight. For your brunch with Cat and the family tomorrow,” Robert continued uncertainly, when Ned looked at him uncomprehendingly.

“I’m not going to make the flight,” Ned said flatly after a beat.

“You have to make the flight, Cat’s counting on you,” Beric interjected, frowning.

“Don’t you guys get it? The girl that Yronwood kidnapped coming out of the Water Gardens,” Ned snapped. “It wasn’t Oberyn’s septa. It was Lyanna. Yronwood has Lyanna, and I’m not leaving Dorne without her.”

“Oh fuck,” Robert said slowly.

“You NEED to be at King’s Landing tomorrow,” Jaime ground out grudgingly. Since arguably he’d had a hand in making that mess. “We can get Lyanna back.”

“I appreciate it, but I just can’t. She’s my sister, I need to know she’s safe,” Ned said firmly.

“I don’t understand what she was even doing here!” Stannis huffed.

“Um I know who might be able to clear up a few things,” Mace squeaked from the couch. Was it just Jaime or did Mace look rather unwell?

On Ashara Dayne’s arrival, everybody in the room straightened up. Even Jaime, though he’d always preferred blonds. You couldn’t help it, she just had the kind of presence that made you take notice.

“How do you not remember agreeing to take YOUR NEPHEW?!” Ashara snapped at Ned. Ned glared at Mace. Mace slumped deeper into the couch.

“You have to understand a bachelor party can get a little out of hand. Some substances were consumed that emphatically should not have been,” Oberyn jumped in, also glaring at Mace.

The story was simple. Ashara had bumped into Lyanna in Essos, pregnant, penniless, and on the run from Jon’s father, a married man with whom she’d embarked on a supremely ill-advised affair. When Lyanna had tried to end things, he’d gotten nasty, and she’d had to get out of there in a hurry.

Ashara had smuggled her into Dorne, had been with her every step of the way, up to and including Jon’s birth. It had been Ashara who had named him Jon—something nice and ordinary—Jon Snow, which was about as common a name as you could find.

When they’d heard that Ned was coming to Sunspear, they knew this was their chance to at least get Lyanna’s son back to her family. Her ex had people monitoring Sunspear, he suspected that’s where she had fled, but he would be hardly expecting an ordinary tourist who’d had tickets for months to be smuggling out his child.

“And you expected me to leave Lyanna here alone?!” Ned spluttered.

“She wouldn’t be alone, she has me,” Ashara snapped back, hands on her hips.

Oh. Ohhhhhh.

“Hot,” Robert breathed behind him, and Jaime smacked him in the back of the head.

It wouldn’t be forever, just for a couple years until the heat died down. And Ned had agreed, he’d promised, Ashara’s gorgeous violet eyes began to shimmer with tears.

“Of course, I would do anything for Lyanna. And Jon,” Ned said firmly. “But I NEED to see my sister. More so now than ever.”

“Okay, here’s the plan,” Robert said after a beat. “You’ll go to the duel at midnight. It’ll be done by what, one? The brunch is at eleven? Then we’ll get in the car and haul ass for Riverrun.”

“It’s a fifteen hour drive, Robert,” Ned sighed. “I really appreciate that you’re trying to help, but it can’t be done.”

“Not the way you drive,” Robert smirked. “And that’s why we’ll be taking the Dragon.”

“Come again?” Oberyn cocked his head.

“You don’t understand how fast these things go, Ned. Distance is like meaningless with one of these bad boys. And look Martell, you were the one who pissed off Yronwood. It’s YOUR fault that Lyanna got kidnapped in the first place. So you will let us take the Dragon.”

“I guess it’s worth a shot,” Ned bit his lip. “Oberyn obviously has to be at the duel, Robert obviously can’t be.”

“He can come with me to access my cache,” Harry put in. “A couple more strong backs wouldn’t be amiss.”

“So let’s say Robert, Stannis, Jaime and Thoros go with Harry, and Beric you come with me, Arthur and Oberyn,” Ned plotted out slowly. “As soon as you have the cache, meet us at Orphan’s Cove and we’ll take the Dragon from there. One of you guys leaving tomorrow morning will need to get the ring back from the pawn shop tomorrow.”

“What do I do?” Mace asked timidly.

“Stay in the car and mind the baby,” Jaime snapped. Because honestly. It was a Robert plan fused with a Harry plan fused with an Oberyn plan. It wasn’t a question so much of what would go wrong as when. And how badly.

1 note · View note