Author's Note: Will delete this in a few hours- I am aware there was an issue with the title. it has been fixed. Do NOT review going "You made a mistake with the title!" It takes up to an hour for FF to update. If you click on the link to the story on my Author Page you will see it is already corrected.

Norman

"Years ago, someone once asked me how I came about having my name. 'Never heard of a name like that!' this person told me with a sneer. 'Sounds like someone dense in the head trying to mumble out a real name. Is that how you got that?'."

Norman shook his head as he went through the debt notes that he'd found in the locked strongbox; honestly, the lock had been so pathetically simple to crack that he was tempted to find out who had made it and mock them for their failure.

"I told this person that I had chosen that name for myself, based on an insult. See, when I first began to work into breaking into the world of trade I was told that I would never be anything more than a minor figure. The trade guilds were established already, run by families who could trace their lineage back hundreds of years, some even to a thousand! Who was I, a boy with no name, to think that with a few copper coins in my pocket that I could hope to match them? I was a… Normal Man." He paused, lips twitching slightly. "Yes, a childish name to create for one's self, I admit that now… but it has served me well. My name is known by many: Norman Osborn. The man who can get anything.

"Now, how did I get to this lofty position in such a short time? Well… its because I made sure that everyone understood just how foolish it was to try and cross me. If you didn't pay me back for what you bought… well, you still ended up paying, just not in the ways you'd like."

He looked to the strung up merchant that was hanging by his ankles, a puddle of blood still slowly growing under him. His face was a twisted mess of cuts and bruises and swelling, a reddish purple thanks to all the blood rushing to his face. Norman walked up to him and gave him a poke where he'd broken his ribs and not a sound came out.

"I think he's dead," he said, mouth twitching once more as he felt his more… maniac… impulses bubbling up to the surface. He looked over at the huddled form of the young woman, a babe pressed to her chest as she trembled. "Your son just inherited his father's business. Make sure he knows to pay back his debts. If so he will live a long, happy, successful life." The woman nodded and Norman flashed her a smile before reining himself in, walking out of the shop. It was only when he was several paces away that he heard her begin to scream and once more he found himself smiling.

Clenching his fingers into fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white, Norman focused and adopting once more the stern visage he was known for. Smiling was a risk… not because it showed weakness but rather it could blossom far too quickly into something more savage and depraved. And he needed to be in control today. Couldn't afford to lose himself.

"Everything is loaded, master," one of his slaves said as he reached the wagons. "What do you want done with the goods?"

"Take everything but those two crates," he pointed at two in particular that he'd personally loaded, "back to the warehouses. They will be appraised and their value determined."

"And those too?"

Norman felt another smirk coming as he got into his coach. "They are his personal belongings. Treasures of his family. Items handed down to him from his father who got them from his father." He paused. "Sell them to the filthiest, most desperate street urchins you can find for whatever bits of rubbish they can give you."

The driver gave a flick of the reins and they were off, leaving behind the shattered remains of a dead man's life. He saw a crowd watching as he left and could feel the heat of their gaze but he didn't mind… yes, it was nice to be loved but it was just as nice to be feared. Where other men of his station would have been jeered and hissed at for their actions, perhaps needed to fear clods of shit being thrown at them, none would dare do so with Norman Osborn. Little displays like the one there, showing that he could hurt you and destroy everything you had built for yourself, reminded people that while such gestures might feel good in the brief, in long run they did not earn you much. Besides, in this case he knew that within an hour they would be wondering if they should not claim the dead man's remaining belongings for themselves. While he had only had four slaves, who Norman had seen killed when he first arrived, he did have a wife who was quite beautiful…

Making their way out of the district Norman looked about Volantis. It was an… interesting city. One that had once been quite powerful but had become a faded beauty, like a whore who had once made kings pay their entire treasure rooms for a night with them who were now forced to bite the coppers of the sailors that came to their establishment. It was emptier than it should have been, at least when it came to its size, and there were many places where Norman could see cracks and damage to the buildings that no one had bothered to repair.

The state of Volantis had been part of the reason why Norman had found it the easiest city to get his start in. There were plenty of buildings waiting to be purchased, spots on the wharf up for grabs, and the people desperate for foreigners who knew their ways to come and offer something new. There were five slaves to every freeman in Volantis and while many claimed that was a status symbol that showed their power Norman had learned that many were willing to sell off their slaves to him for far below their true worth; after all, a slave needed to be fed and clothed if they were to be worth anything, and that cost good coin. All of this had let Norman use Volantis to establish his trading empire and now it was the last he was visiting of the Free Cities before he made his way to Westeros.

He heard a roar go up and he twisted his body, craning his neck to see the great Arena of Volantis.

"What do you know of that place?" he asked his driver, one of the few people in his employ in Volantis who wasn't a slave. Bertrum instead was a former sellsword who Norman always used to travel about the city when he was in port, knowing much about the history of the city and even more of its current politics. He also was a good sounding board for Norman's ideas, as he knew when to speak and when to keep silent.

"The Arena?" Bertrum confirmed. "It is said it was once a temple of worship for the Valeryans. Old even before the Doom, back when they had a religion beyond themselves. The great dome shattered though and was never repaired because their Faith was in decline at that point." Norman nodded, spotting as they turned towards the Arena the jagged and broken rock that ran along the top of the Arena. Where much of it was still rather well cared for in the present day the top of the Arena stood out like an infected toe on a soldier's foot. "It was used for all manner of things after that, changing hands from one powerful family to the next. Plays were performed there 500 years ago when the Yukalos controlled it; they are still a rather artistic family even now. But back then it is said that they used to buy slaves to train as actors. Have you ever heard of the tragic play The Daughters of Ghul?"

"That's the one where all but the grandmother die at the end?" Norman asked, vaguely remembering having seen it.

"That's the one. The slaves though weren't told that there was another scene at the end of the play… they thought the wedding party was the final scene. So they would perform it all, raise their glasses for the toast… and then the wronged bandits would storm in and slaughter them all, right on stage. The old woman playing the grandmother… her screams would be real."

"Hmmm," Norman murmured, "seems like a waste of time and effort."

"As I said they were artistic and there is a reason the family no longer controls the Arena. That is now the Hudone."

"That doesn't sound like a Volantis name."

"It isn't," Bertrum said. "They are from Meereen. When they heard that the Dragon Queen had turned her attention towards the Three Sisters they left the city and came here. Many mocked them for it, I'm told, but time has proven them right."

"Indeed," Norman muttered darkly.

Daenerys Firestar's conquest of Slaver's Bay (Norman refused to call it 'Dragon's Bay' as the proclamations the Targaryen girl had sent out demanded it be known as ) had cost him a lot of business. While Norman had never gotten into the slave market he had held warehouses in Slaver's Bay and more importantly had controlling interest in trading companies stationed there. Daenerys' little uprising had seen those endeavors crushed; more annoyingly she hadn't even realized she was harming him, so focused on her need to 'free the slaves'.

'Yes… that will need to be addressed soon enough,' he thought to himself. 'But not like these fools who are throwing their money at the Sons of the Harpy.' He himself had been approached by two foolish men, asking if he wanted to give some of his money to the group that was working to overthrow Daenerys. Norman had merely asked how they planned to do that without angering the thousands of slaves, Dothraki, and turncoats that had found far more success with her than they ever had with the Masters of Meereen. When he'd been met with vague platitudes Norman had politely told them to get out of his sight and to not waste his time with such things until they actually had a plan.

No… Norman had… other ideas on how to punish the Dragon Queen for her actions. Ones that would allow him to not only get his revenge but also make some coin. Because why do one thing when you could do several, after all?

He was pulled from his thoughts as they arrived at the Arena, Norman tossing a few coins to one of the attendants who sent slaves to see to his coach while Bertrum moved to join him in entering the great stone structure. Norman pulled out a small piece of metal that had been etched with his emblem, the leering face of the Essosi Goblin, and was at once shown by a quick moving slave to one of the private viewing boxes that was available to those with money to spend but who did not wish to purchase a box that belonged only to them. There was another man already sitting there with two female pleasure slaves standing by him; one was rubbing his shoulders and the other was feeding him grapes one at a time. Norman merely settled down, grateful at the very least that the pleasure slaves hadn't been serving the man, as he had encountered that more than once.

"Ah, new arrivals!" the man said. He was a lean figure with slicked back red hair and skin that seemed to have been pulled too tightly along his face, meaning that every look became far more twisted and sinister than he probably meant it to be. Probably. "That always makes the games more fun, to have someone to talk too!" He gestured at himself. "I am Cadenski, lover of all manner of games. And you… are Norman Osborn."

"Yes," Norman said even as another slave working for the arena came with two chilled wine drinks; his emblem had triggered the managers of the Arena to quickly get his normal orders and requests prepared. While he had never been here before all the powerful businessmen in Volantis knew what the other members of their station liked; Norman himself had slaves who knew the favorite drink and food of every rich man in the city and would be quick to provide it.

Cadenski wasn't at all put off by Norman's brusque answer. "I've heard about you… the Goblin of Essos." He leaned forward. "is it true you once sold the Gold Company swords that had rusted centers after they accidently destroyed one of your caravans?"

"Do you think I am foolish enough to admit that?" Norman asked. An idiot would have either bragged or denied it… a smart man was coy. Plausible deniability was one of the most important things in the world, he'd found. So many people didn't consider it but it allowed one so much wiggle room.

In truth he had sold them a perfectly fine swords. High quality coming out of the Westerlands. It was only one out of ten that had been specially made with the brittle center and those had been sold by a merchant in his employ posing as one of his rivals. It had cost the Gold Company 32 men… men who had just by coincidence been the ones to attack his caravan and destroyed three wagons. Of course the Gold Company had been utterly paranoid after that and destroyed the rest of those swords… and the company they'd bought them from, and come to him as their exclusive seller.

As they should have.

"And," Cadenski asked in a low whisper, leaning towards Norman with a leering smile, "is it true that when Stannis Baratheon stole away your best smuggler you gave his daughter a doll handled by a man with grayscale?"

"That would be a terrible thing to do," Norman said simply. 'And deserved for taking Davos from me.' That man… one of the greatest liars and thieves he'd ever met. He didn't like not having him at his beck and call as it meant he was scheming against him (and Norman would never believe the man had become honest and true). And Stannis had even maimed him! His Davos! Well… Norman had returned the favor…

"Quite right, quite right, we shouldn't talk about it anymore," Cadenski said, pulling away from him. "So, what brings Norman Osborn to the Arena?"

"The same thing as you, I suppose."

"You'd lose that bet if you were making it!" Cadenski replied with a laugh that reminded Norman of the Cat-Wolves that loved to stalk the southern Grass Sea. "I'm here for ideas." Norman made no move to ask him what he was talking about but as he has suspected Cadenski continued to talk without prompting. "I find that battle and blood inspire me far more than pretty things. Probably because my work is blood and violence." He opened his mouth and allowed one of his pleasure slaves to pop a grape into his mouth. He bit down on it hard, the watery red juice gushing down his chin. "Though it has to be entertaining, of course!" He leaned back once more, hands splayed out. "Watching a rat run through a maze? Yes, I suppose that is entertaining. Watching as a mouse tries to find their way out of a trap designed to slowly mutilate them, never able to give in to their dread because they know doing so will only bring about such pain that they will cling any hope of survival?" He chuckled as one of the slaves began to move her hands down his chest. "Why… that is just entertainment."

"I will entertain myself by flaying your cock if you pull it out," Norman warned, having sensed just what Cadenski was about to do. The red-haired man grimaced at that and quickly motioned for the pleasure slave to move back up to his shoulders, the other one scurrying on silent feet to get him a goblet of wine.

"I never considered that for one of my games. I'll have to think about it." He glanced at Norman, the threat always forgotten. "Now tell me… just what are you doing here?"

But Norman remained silent. Not stubbornly so… there was no jutting out his jaw or screwing up his face in annoyance. He merely sat there, as if the annoying little man had never said a word to him.

"Come now," Cadenski said, leaning in close once more, "it isn't nice not to tell your new friend what you are doing here. You never know how I might take it. After all… I'm a deranged killer and-"

Norman, without ever looking away from the Arena where the slaves prepared it for the next battle, reached over and snapped Cadenski's neck.

The slave rubbing his shoulders let out a cry only to fall silent when Norman shoved the leering man's corpse out of his chair.

"Sit," he said, feeling a smile grow on his lips. One he didn't bother to restrain. "Seems to me you suddenly are lacking employment… and I could always find room for clever girls."

It took the two only a few moments before they shifted over to him, bringing him a new goblet of wine while he allowed the other to pull out his cock and set to work.

Bertrum, long used to his master's ways, didn't say a word about the death and instead stated, "The next battle."

"Hmmm," Norman said as he ran his fingers through the hair of the dusk-skinned slave girl, stroking her like she was a kitten. "What do you know of the opponent?"

"They are claiming they found a dragon for Kraven to fight."

"A dragon… yes… Kraven would love to fight one of those." He frowned. "And when it isn't a true dragon the Hunter's rage…"

Norman smiled all the wider at the thought of the carnage that was to come.

~MC~MC~MC~

Kraven

The darkness of the waiting area was a relief against the hot sun for most people. They couldn't stand the rays beating down on them, burning their flesh and sapping their strength. But Kraven didn't care; the sun was an old friend, one that had existed since childhood.

The booming of drums filled the air and Kraven rose up, knowing well the signal for the fight. And the Hunter was ready, with spear in hand, knife strapped up, and a thirst for battle.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of Volantis!" the Arena cryer bellowed out. "I present to you a battle for the ages. Two apex predators brought to this arena to battle for your delight. May I present… KRAVEN THE HUNTER!"

Kraven stepped out, listening as the cheers rang out… only to go silent.

Confusion. Shock. Disbelief.

They all thought the same thing.

'How could this woman be the great Hunter?'

Kraven didn't let the doubts bother her. Instead she took a moment to roll her shoulders, working the kinks out before she spun her spear in a few quick flurries, letting it whirl about her body. Her muscles danced as she warmed them up, feeling them loosen as all the tension she had been feeling only moments ago melted away. Only at this moment, with knowledge that battle was about to come, did her guilt and her dark brooding disappear, leaving her unburdened.

She had chosen to wear her customary battle garb. Boots made from Mimbu, the great black crocodile that had eaten ten fishing villages, leaving them empty save for the ghosts that haunted them. Pants created from leather that had once been The Great Striped Stallion that had lured maidens to their death. A vest dyed red over the wrappings that hid her breasts, the remains of the Crimson Death that had stalked the coastline of Qarth before the Thirteen had paid for her to slaughter it; its teeth dangled from the cord around her neck. And of course the great yellow-white mane of the Lion of the Plains that adorned her shoulders, which had managed to evade even the great Khal Drogo.

Finishing the last of her movements she stilled, falling into a ready position as she watched the dark door on the opposite side of the Arena, hearing the growls within.

'Be real,' she thought to herself. 'Be real. Give me a dragon. One of scales or one of flesh I don't care! Just give me a dragon! Give me a fucking-'

The doors flung open and a scaly beast burst forth.

"Behold… the Dragon of Astapor!" The cryer shouted. "Left behind by Daenerys Firestar-"

Kraven tuned the man out, disgusted.

This was no dragon at all.

'Cursun Connurs,' she thought to herself. 'A disgraced maester who sought to understand the darker magics of the world in hopes of reclaiming his lost arm. He thought the strange healing properties the Stone Men would, if tempered with the broken remains of dragon eggs, would allow him to regrow the limb.' She slowly began to approach the man. 'He got his desire.'

The creature that scurried about the Arena floor might have had the vague shape of a man but no one would ever believe it to be human. From the arms and legs that bent at too odd of angles to the long thick tail that snapped back and forth to the face with the protruding mouth with too many curved blade-like teeth, the creature before her was a twisted animal. It wore filthy dirty garments that had been torn and shredded from just as much its own actions as those it had killed. Connurs sniffed at the air before letting out a hiss that made those in the first few rows of the Arena shrink back in fright.

Kraven, in disgust, tossed her spear at the creature.

Connurs snarled as he leapt away, the spear landing well away from him; not that she had been expecting to hit him anyway. No, she had just wanted his attention and now she had it. With a scoff she undid the belt holding her large hunting knife and dropped that to down to the ground before falling into a crouched position.

"Come on then," she said softly, knowing that Connurs could hear her even over the slowly returning roar of the crowd, "let's get this over with."

Connurs took a step forward but she didn't react. He took another. She remained still.

He suddenly leapt, easily covering the distance between them, and then leapt again, getting behind her.

Kraven lashed out and drove her elbow into the creature's face.

The lizard man was so startled by the sudden strike he didn't even have time to try and bite at her limb. Clearly that reptilian brain had thought that he could surprise her, get her to lunge forward while it leapt over her and attacked. It might have worked… had Kraven not been used to predators trying the very same thing against her countless times. Hell, she had done the same thing herself. It hadn't been ready for her to see through its attack and thus ended up with her elbow smashing through its left eye socket, the satisfying crunch of bone following the blow.

At once Kraven spun around, going low to avoid the swinging claws of the beast, feeling the wind whip through her short cropped hair. Her boot snapped out and connected with the creature's ankle, breaking it and sending it toppling to the ground. At once she was on him, wrapping a powerful forearm around the beast's neck, holding him in place as she got her hands on his head.

"Know peace," she said before twisting hard, a SNAP filling the air and Connurs went still.

She rose up, the Arena silent for several moments before the crowd burst into cheers.

Waiting only a moment she took out a throwing knife and hurled it right into the eye of arena promoter.

"Don't promise me a dragon you can't deliver," she hissed.

The crowd roared in delight.

Kraven paid them no heed, merely walking over and retrieving her weapons.

She moved through the tunnel and down a set of stairs to the lower chambers where the other gladiators and warriors prepared for their battles to come. There were men from the Summer Isles with skin so dark it looked like they'd been born from ink pots; one had decided to make himself more startling by tattooing his skin with pale white ink that curled around his form like vines. There were large bearded men with massive guts and lithe little things that darted and bounced even as they waited. One man with arms that were too long for his frame grabbed a bowl filled with red weeds and looked ready set it ablaze only for a short stocky man to shoot him a glare; most likely it was some kind of drug that would put him into a feral state. He had the twitchiness of one that needed such things.

Moving to the small cubby that was her own she sat down and began to sharpen her knife, mostly because she needed something to do.

"Not going for a bath?" one gladiator asked, flashing her a smile so she could see that several of his teeth had been replaced with silver ones. He was nude save for a towel wrapped around his waist.

"I didn't work up a sweat," she said. "That fight was fucking pathetic."

"I could give you a workout," the man said, letting the towel he was wearing fall to the ground.

"Not much," she replied, not bothering to look up from her knife.

A few men hooted at that but to his credit the gladiator didn't get mad, choosing instead to laugh with them. "Come now… you came down here with all of us so you must be looking for something!"

Kraven glanced at them before removing her vest. "They offered me a private chamber… usually I take one so I can have some peace and quiet. But I knew the bastards running this place thought that acceptance of that would lead to me fucking them." She began to remove her wrappings, the men growing confused by her harsh tone coupled with her actions. "You think nudity means anything to me?" she asked as she removed the last of her wrappings, revealing her small breasts… and the many scars that lined her stomach and chest. "I used to play in the Water Gardens with my brothers and their friends, as naked as the day as we were all born. The sun was the only clothing we needed." She took out some fresh linens and began to wrap herself once more. "Your cocks mean nothing to me."

"…we could get another girl in here," one man suggested, though his tone was hesitate.

"Never do cunts," Kraven replied. "I care only about the Hunt." She finished wrapping herself before suddenly slamming her foot out to her left, hitting a weapon's rack and causing a sword to roll through the air, her hand snapping out like a viper to grab it. "Do you wish to be Hunted?"

The gladiators suddenly decided that they had other things to do than talk with her.

Let out a small huff Kraven returned the sword to the rack before putting her vest back on, adjusting it so it sat as she preferred before going to her knife once more, inspecting it carefully. Even though she hadn't used it in the fight she always liked to make sure her weapons were properly cared for; a lesson her brother had taught her that she'd sadly taken far too long to learn.

"That was impressive."

Kraven raised her eyes, keeping her head down, and looked at the new arrival. He had deep brown hair with streaks of red in it… or perhaps it was red with streaks of brown. It was hard to tell. His face was rather plain looking but the arrogance that shined through his eyes made his a face that just begged to be punched over and over again. He wore not the robes of a lord but rather pants, a jerkin, and a gilded dagger with a hilt made from black bone.

"I hope no one told you that was dragonbone," she stated. "Its clearly dyed."

"I know," the man said. "People see me wearing this and they assume all the wrong things. The weak think I am someone to avoid, because fools see a sword or an axe that is well made and assume the hand holding it must match it. And the strong think I am an easy target because I am so easily fooled and concerned with wealth over skill."

With lightning fast reflexes the man pulled the dagger out and flung it, Kraven catching it with ease.

"I am neither."

"If you are trying to impress me you are wasting your time," Kraven told him, throwing the dagger back. The man caught it himself, twirling it once before placing it back in its sheath. "I have no time for such things."

"Yes, because you are so busy," the man said with a smirk. "I am Norman Osborn."

That caused Kraven to frown. She had heard the name Osborn before… who honestly hadn't? Every port in Essos seemed to have a merchant that was in his pay and if they did not then the thieves and cutthroats surely were. Kraven was positive she had killed plenty of foolish men in his employ; those that had thought her someone they could easily take.

She understood at once what the man was after.

"If you are fishing to find out my worth you should move along. I am no slave… I fight in the arena of my own choosing."

"I have no need for slaves," Norman said. "I have plenty of them. And if I did need them I would buy up any of these men." He gestured at the gladiators who mingled about, pretending not to be paying attention to their conversation. "No… I know your worth and I am interested in securing your services."

"I am not a bodyguard," Kraven told him.

"I have plenty of those too."

"I don't deliver things either, so whatever cargo you need transported find someone else. And I don't fetch items for anyone."

"Don't need that either." He smiled, a tight, controlled thing that set her teeth on edge. The skin around the corners of his mouth… it appeared to be yanking on his lips, desperate for him to smile all the wider.

"And the last man whose bed I warmed is dead," she replied. "He did not die peacefully."

"I'm not seeking that either. The man who has hired me wanted something else."

Kraven paused, glancing at him curiously. "You… are working for someone else?"

"We all work for someone," Norman reasoned. "Even the mightiest of kings can not say they are free."

"I am free," she stated. Kraven got up, moving past Norman who made no attempt to stop her.

"I very much doubt that! You have a master!"

She continued on.

"Two of them, in fact!" he continued. "Not your husband, who you didn't kill! You let Baratheon do that!"

Kraven stopped dead.

"Oh… was I supposed to not know that?" Norman asked as Kraven slowly turned back towards him. "They changed the name of a Ford after that battle…the one where you were tucked away in King's Landing."

Kraven trembled. "Everyone out."

The gladiators, all veterans of dozens of battles, rapidly left, some completely naked, others only half dressed.

"How did you-" she began, stalking towards Norman only for him to smirk, not at all frightened.

"It was quite easy, once one knew what to look for. Your handmaidens were never accounted for… everyone believed them to have died to the Mountain in his rampage. He's dead, you know."

"I know," she said bitterly and how it BURNED her that the bastard had died not by her hand. For what he had done… she had been waiting for the right time, when she was strong enough to slay him. And then the Iron Man had robbed her of her vengeance.

"He's one of the reasons you did all this, isn't he?" Norman asked smoothly. "I don't know all you did in Essos to end up like…" He gestured at her body. The muscles. The height. The strength and speed that she had given up so much to claim. "Well, it certainly worked. With your hair cut and towering over most men I dare say even your husband, if he were alive, wouldn't recognize you Princess-"

Kraven grabbed Norman by the throat and lifted him up into the air.

"Oh, did I touch a nerve?" he said with a smile… that grew before he suddenly lashed out with his hand, striking her in the face. She dropped him and he fell into a crouch, a manic grin on his face as he suddenly darted towards her, moving across the room on his hands and feet, skittering like an insect before he leapt at her and strike again. She raised her arms to defend herself, taking the blows, but was surprised that Osborn could hit so HARD.

And then he leapt back and shuddered, tucking on his jerkin before his smile fell.

"Sorry… sometimes I lose control of myself," he said, as if he were apologizing for tipping over a goblet of wine. "Now then, let's get down to business: I was hired by a Westerosi Lord to gather together a group of people to perform certain… tasks… should I be called upon. Two weeks ago a vessel arrived from King's Landing informing me that I had been activated." He paused. "You are my first recruit."

"I haven't agreed to anything yet," Kraven said, wondering if she shouldn't rush the bastard right there. He had startled her with his first attack but now that she knew he was more than a pampered lordling she'd be ready for him. He might prove an interesting hunt.

"Oh, but you will. Especially when you hear who needs to suffer." He paused. "Stark. Baratheon. Lannister. Tully. Arryn."

Kraven narrowed her eyes.

"And… as for payment… information on how to get to Daenerys Targaryen… your goodsister."

Kraven squeezed her hand into a fist.

"I imagine you two have much to discuss…"

"What do you want?" Kraven bit out.

"There will be plenty of time to discuss that as we make our way to Westeros. By now our employer is dead so we must hurry to enact our revenge."

"And just who is your employer?"

Norman smirked. "Petyr Baelish."

"…who?"

"Someone who knows how to get vengeance beyond the grave. Meet me at the docks in two hours. We sail on The Queen's Delight."

He moved to the doorway only to pause.

"Tell me… why Kraven? Why that name?"

She didn't answer him and after a moment Norman left.

'Because I was a craven, who left her children to die.'

~MC~MC~MC~

OMAKE

Everyone watched as Jon and Joffrey walked through the courtyard together.

"Ha!" Olenna laughed from the solar they were all in. "Maybe Jon'll be a good influence on him!"

Cersei glowered. "Or maybe he'll corrupt Jof."

"It won't last!" Oberyn declared, standing closest to the window. "Lannisters and Starks are natural enemies! Like Reachmen and Dornish. Or Stormlanders and Dornish. Or Westlanders and Dornish. Or Dornish and other Dornish. Damn Dornish, they ruined Dorne!"

Cersei nodded. "You Dornish are a contentious people."

At once Oberyn was leaning over the table, causing Cersei to lean back in fright. "You just made an enemy for life!"