Chapter 4:
Isabel had learned from her father very quickly that whatever the king desired, he almost always got what he wanted – at whatever the cost. This had been the norm in King's Landing; with every politican, soldier or even anyone with the slightest greed for power, they were willing to do anything to please the King. Unfortunately for the House of Stark, the King had brought his entire court and Southern lifestyle to Winterfell and now hosting the most elaborate and raucous feast that the North had ever seen.
King Robert wasted no time in placing himself in the middle of the Great Hall and surrounding himself with the northern women, placing a particular striking redhead on his lap while another brunette was filling up his cup. The Queen had looked on with disdain and disgust while she looked at her husband who made no effort to hide his hatred for his wife. Lady Catelyn Stark who was seated next to the Queen and unfamiliar with court life could look on with some discomfort, unsure of what to think or say to comfort Cersei Lannister.
Isabel had spent most of her evening with the Stark and Baratheon children, dining, drinking and answering whatever question Sansa and her companion, Jeyne Poole had. Throughout their gossips, she had also begun to notice the side glances that Sansa had been giving Joffrey Baratheon who was seated at the end of the table. It was an all too familiar gaze that Isabel herself was once guilty of when she was a young and naïve girl who would fall head over heels with the knights at the tourneys she was so fond of in her early years. It was a look of pure blind infatuation and adoration; foolish, addictive and extremely dangerous.
Robb Stark had seated himself across from her, yet had not said a single word to her the entire night. He had busied himself with conversing with Theon Grey, the Stark's ward rarely giving her a glance, smile or acknowledgement. It was as if he thought she was some sort of ghost, and it surprisingly made her feel sad.
"What's Prince Joffrey like?" Sansa asked, interrupting her thoughts.
The question caught her off guard causing her to drop her fork on her plate. She looked up, at Sansa looking up at her with glistening eyes, waiting to her about the prince of her dreams. Isabel smiled, cautiously wording her thoughts carefully in her head, unsure of what to say to please the young girl. She gave a quick glance towards the prince, who was comfortably slouched in his seat, with the infamous Lannister smirk on his face.
Your prince is the epitome of his mother; manipulative, arrogant, ungrateful and oh, unfit to be king.
"He is…certainly popular amongst the young ladies at court, "she began slowly, which earned her a small squeak from Sansa. "He's proud, like his mother….and for his age...he does well with his sword. He trains hard everyday, as he hopes to be like his uncle Jamie one day."
The two girls squealed in delight and proceeded to giggle between their gossiping. "You shouldn't encourage them like that," a voice broke out.
It was the first time he had spoken to her tonight. "The Lannisters are vile creatures. You of all people at this table should know that," he muttered.
"Let your sister live in her dreams of castles and princes….she's still young. She'll grow out of it in time."
"What about you?"
"What about me?" she asked suspiciously.
"When did your dreams of castles and princes stop?" he asked in a louder voice causing Arya and Theon, who were sitting next to them to stop and observe them.
Isabel remained silent and only stared at him. She watched him as he clenched his jar and hardened his eyes at her, giving her such a cold stare that it gave her slight chills.
She knew he wanted answers - answers she wasn't ready to give.
"The day my mother died," she muttered bitterly, hoping to end the conversation. Having felt her appetite suddenly lost, she excused herself from the table.
Robb watched her leave his presence, his eyes following her as she glided her way through the other tables and down the hall before being stopped by a taller man in pale blue silver coated armour, with the unmistakable carvings of inscriptions of the ancient runes of House Royce of Runestone, whom he could only assume was her sworn knight, Ser Tommas Royce, a sworn bannermen to her late father. Her back was faced to him, but saw it noticeably stiffen as Ser Tommas handed over a letter for her. In an instant, her whole demeanor had changed, as her body slightly swayed from left to right, threatening to fall to the ground, unconsciously causing him to react by standing up from his seat ready to run to her without a second thought.
Theon put his hand on his arm, motioning him to sit down. "What's gotten into you?" he slurred out.
Robb said nothing as he took his seat, as he watched the two figures walk out hastily from his sight, now being drowned by the surrounding guests. "You know, I must say…you're doing an awfully good job at wooing her back. Keep it up, and maybe, just maybe she'll say 'hello' back one day," Theon drunkenly mused.
"Oh, what do you know?" Robb asked.
"Well, my friend," he began and wrapped his arm around Robb's neck. "I know, in my experience with the ladies, that you have to at least try to look interested…smiling won't hurt either. Oh! And maybe a 'hello, lovely to meet you' might help as well, and don't forg-"
"I get the point!" Robb interrupted. "Look, I'm not trying to do anything. We've both moved on, we've both grown up and in a few days we'll probably never see each other again."
A high shriek broke out beside him, as he turned to see Sansa's face covered in food and quickly developing a deep shade of red on her cheeks from the embarrassment, while his youngest sister, Arya now laughing hysterically was holding a spoon in her direction. He could only guess that Arya was up to her old mischief again, having the ability to always upset the older girl. A stern look from his mother wiped his smile on his face and sent him straight to his little sister and grabbing her from underneath her arms and lifting her off her seat.
"Bedtime for you now," he said.
"Not fair!" she whined, as she tried to wiggle her way out of her older brother's arms.
"Between you and me, it was a good shot," he whispered. "Don't tell mother I said that though."
"Where did you get this?" she demanded.
"A serving boy gave it to me, my Lady. He ran off before I could inquire any further," he said.
Ser Tommas watched his Lady pace back and forth in the stables where they had gone to talk in privacy. The piece of paper now scrunched in her hands was delivered to him during the chaos of drunken knights and lords in the dining hall. It was not addressed to anyone, so he had read it, not knowing the dangerous words which were written within it. He had watched her when he first delivered it to her, how the blood had completely drained from her face as she read the letter and how she almost fainted in the dining hall if he hadn't had caught her in time to steady her.
It was his job to watch her, serve her and protect her. Her father had entrusted the safety of his daughter to him when she first arrived in King's Landing, and he had faithfully and loyally done his duty ever since.
"Find the boy and his master," she said with fierce determination.
Her hands clenched the letter between palms, using every ounce of strength in her body to crush the words that had sent her into rage. The words were echoing in her mind, playing over and over again unable to rid herself from it.
Jon Arryn's death was no accident. You only have yourself to blame. May you burn in the seven hells for this murderous act you committed. All of Westeros will learn of your true nature.
She leaned against the stone cold walls of the stable and closed her eyes to compose herself. The letter was not long; instead its simplicity had strengthened its dark message. Every word felt like someone had stabbed Isabel in the chest over and over again, bringing unimaginable pain to her heart. What would you do in this situation father? Tell me what to do.
"My Lady…I must ask," Ser Tommas began slowly, "Are…any of these words true?"
"Of course not!" she snapped. "I loved my father with all my heart. I would have never plotted against him. Never. Whoever sends this message seeks to rob me of any allies or support. They seek to tarnish my reputation! They seek to have me dead…and I shall intend to find out whom."
The silent demand was understood by Ser Tommas. He bowed his head in understanding and left immediately to find the young messenger.
Isabel closed her eyes once more, and slowed down her breathe trying to calm herself. Never act rash. Anger, revenge and hatred will cloud your judgement, his voiced echoed. Stay calm, and make your choices wisely.
"Why would anybody accuse me of such a vile act?" she whispered to herself.
The motives were unclear to her, sending her into a million questions. Was it the Lannisters? They never hid their lust for power and were always known to blackmail their enemies into submission. Maybe the Freys? Their loyalties had always been called into question since the Rebellion, and even her father was always weary of their intentions. Or was it another greater enemy that she has yet to meet? But, the most important question that now haunted her: Was her really father murdered?
No, he couldn't have been, she thought. Who would want the Hand of the King dead?
"Almost everyone in King's Landing," she answered to herself.
She looked at the crumpled parchment in her palm. No one must ever know about this, she thought to herself. She went to the fire lamp which was hanging on the stone wall and put the parchment in its flames, watching as it became engulfed in the fire, and erasing all traces that the letter had ever appeared.
He waited at the usual spot within the trees of Shadowback Lane, where he was well hidden from the main road. The sun was setting, and the City Watch was about to finish their patrol. Magister Illyrio had not anticipated sailing back to Westeros so soon, but there were new developments in the Free Cities that needed to be addressed.
A ruffle in the shadows caught his attention, and he looked behind to inspect its source. He carefully walked deeper within the woods when a small child, no more than six summers old emerged from behind a tree beckoning for him to follow. Varys' little birds.
He never fully understood why so many of Varys' spies were children, but he had his guesses. They were small and quick; perfect for climbing walls, crawling through tight spaces and difficult at getting caught. And most importantly, they were free from any sort of ambition and greed that grown men were so often tempted with.
The small child led him to cave, hidden well away from any civilized setting within the City. Not many people knew about the secret passages that led into the castle, and those who did were now dead. There was only one person in King's Landing who knew of all the hidden secrets of the Red Keep, and that man was the Master of Whispers. Arriving at his intended destination, the small child disappeared from his sight before he could thank him. With only a small fire lamp to guide his way, he made his way into the dark cave to meet with an old friend.
"And what news from the Free Cities?" a voice broke out.
Varys emerged from the shadows, hidden between the cracks of the rock. They clasped each other's forearms like old friends and began walking together, conversing about their next steps.
"She will marry the Khal, and very soon I suspect. Viserys is most eager for her to be wedded off as soon as possible. The quicker she becomes Khaleesi, the sooner he gets his army."
"Then everything is going as planned then," Varys said, satisfied at the news.
"For the time being," Illyrio agreed. "But the Dothraki are very proud people. It will take some time and convincing to get them to agree to invade Westeros…and they'll also need a bit of luck. They'll never get on a ship…and I haven't yet figured out a solution yet. Without the Dothraki army, I'm afraid they'll never have the chance to invade."
"Well, you and I both know that we don't intend to have Viserys on the throne," he said discreetly.
"I know."
"Is there anything else?"
"Most still loyal to the Targaryens are exiled to the Free Cities, and those who still dwell in Westeros are scattered across the lands and have gone into hiding. You and I both know that for this invasion to happen, they will need many friends from both sides of the sea."
"Ah!" Varys piped in, "I'm glad to see we've both thought of this. And I have a solution…it will take some time, but the plans have already been set in motion and I have full confidence that they'll come to agreement."
"Now you've peaked my interest, old friend," he inquired.
"They'll need a great house to support them…one that has sworn houses, bannermen, money…a great house that is still respected throughout Westeros. House Martell will fight for our cause, but they're too afraid of the Lannisters to do anything at the moment. And now…Jon Arryn's death has now created a new opportunity."
"You speak of his daughter, the Lady Isabel Arryn?"
"She seeks to claim her father's lands and titles, yet she had no means to do so. She's no one left to turn to within the Seven Kingdoms and so she'll be forced to consider to reach across the Narrow Sea for help. Isabel Arryn has much to gain in this alliance as do we."
"She'll never have it…and neither will they. It was her father that started the rebellion, along with Eddard Stark and Robert Baratheon."
Varys put up his hand and smiled at his old friend. "And yet they'll need each other's support to seek what they desire most. My dear friend, in all my years at King's Landing and serving the realm, I've learned this: Men will do anything to achieve their deepest ambitions, including befriend their enemies. They'll do anything to win the game of thrones. Murder, lies, betrayal…men become monsters when driven by power and greed. Give me some time my friend. My moves have already been made, and now we wait for our pawns to eliminate each other."