Chapter 14.
In his Throne Room (Which had no Throne) at Castle Black, Stannis sat at his desk and brooded.
As the time for attacking Winterfell grew closer, Melisandre's hints grew more pointed. To ensure victory from the Lord of Light, royal blood would have to be spilled.
Shireen would have to be sacrificed.
Grinding his teeth at the thought, her father found himself impaled between two impossibilities. Murder his daughter, his own flesh and blood that he loved dearly. Or, refuse his destiny and his duty.
He pounded the table in frustration. There had to be another way.
Perhaps...
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Later that evening, Stannis visited Maester Aemon in his chamber. Weak, but with his wits about him, the old man listened to a tale of a King who might have to pay a horrifying price.
"However, there may be a third choice", Stannis finished.
Aemon suspected the answer and it made for ugly logic. "You will have me die instead?"
"Aye." Stannis shifted on his chair uncomfortably. Somehow the Maester's calmness made it all worse. Blind though he was, Stannis could not look Aemon in the eye.
"The Red Priestess needs a royal sacrifice. You're a Targaryen with blood more ancient and noble than any other in the Seven Kingdoms."
"The blood is not the only thing that's ancient." Maester Aemon closed his useless eyes and tried to remember a time when everything didn't ache. "Killing an old man who is nearly dead is better than a young girl."
He opened his eyes again as a thought occurred and asked, "If you knew who I was, when King Robert slaughtered all of the Targaryens, why was I spared?"
"During the Rebellion, you were already past eighty and had renounced your birthright for decades," Stannis said. "Dragging an old man for thousands of miles back to King's Landing just to cut his head off was pointless. Even through his rage, Robert saw that."
"Ah." Aemon closed his eyes again. "Why tell me all this? Why not simply sacrifice me with no warning?"
"Because you deserve better than some dumb oxen being led out to slaughter." If before he was hesitant, now Stannis spoke with ironclad conviction and gave Maester Aemon the highest compliment possible. "You've always done your duty and done it well."
"Becoming a King doesn't mean that I can start taking what's not mine, like a thief in the night. I'm prepared to offer you an honest exchange. What will you give for your life's blood?"
Maester Aemon thought, came to a conclusion and smiled.
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Among the scholars that came to Braavos to get their books copied and to buy others, there were a fair amount of doctors and healers. And, when they saw the gold that the Drowned God's Wine was making, Tyrion and the Iron Bank let it be known that they would pay good money for other cures.
A small island was chosen, buildings were created that were carefully isolated from each other and deathly ill people could get treatment in exchange for being test subjects.
Some of the cures worked, some had to be modified after trial and error and one or two were invented on the spot. Once one of them proved itself in practice, the medicine would be put into wholesale production, the merchant fleet of Braavos would ship it all over the world and the person who brought the cure would get a share of the profit.
The Pyromancer's Sigil, stamped prominently on the Drowned God's Wine, was already noted as a symbol of healing in Essos. By the time Tyrion left for the Seven Kingdoms, a half-dozen potions had been considered worthy of sale and also had two crossed torches spouting green flames embossed upon them.
(A generation before, Tyrion mused, because of the Mad King, green flames meant an agonizing death. Now, years later in Essos, they represented life.
The Gods may be cunts, but they do have a sense of humor.)
Despite his sneers at Tyrion for his merchant ventures, Tywin never hesitated to borrow a good idea. He had Cersei's pet, Qyburn, search for a cure to the Greyscale. If the Iron Throne possessed that, every nation in the world would shower them with wealth and they could pay off their debts in record time.
Alas, the best that Qyburn had done so far was a tea made from mushrooms that cured fever and helped against joint aches. It was offered to the Iron Bank and sold well, but it was not the tearaway success that the Drowned God's Wine was.
The mushrooms grew best in the dampness of the Stormlands and a portion had been set aside to help pay for the new Royal Navy.
After the Banquet, Tywin sent Cersei down to Storm's End. This was partially to oversee the final stages of the shipbuilding and mostly to get her out of the way and keep her from shattering the fragile peace.
Cersei didn't care. Once the ships were done and crewed by her people, they would pose as pirates. With inside information provided by her, they could choose fat merchant traders that belonged to the Dornish or from Highgarden.
She would punish her enemies and grow rich, simultaneously. A brilliant plan.
As for her brother, Cersei saw that her folly lay in hiring amateurs to kill him. When she heard the tale of the Faceless Man imitating Jaime, she decided upon a new course of action. Once she had enough gold, she would find an excuse to go to Braavos. There, she would hire the Faceless Men to cut short the lives of Tyrion, Sansa and Arya.
Perhaps later, Margaery as well. After the slut pushed out an heir or two, Highgarden would still be forced to support the Iron Throne, even if the bitch died.
As the carriage bumped it's way down the King's Highway, Cersei barely noticed. Instead, she hummed a pleasant tune to herself as she pictured the violent demise of others.
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When Jaime and Bronn got back to King's Landing, they were given a hearty welcome from Tyrion and his crew.
The sellsword got a bit of a shock when he discovered that, in his absence, he'd picked up a rival for the affections of Lollys Stokeworth.
As Bronn had noted, Lollys's older sister, Falyse, was the heir to Castle Stokeworth. But, she was childless and barren. Additionally, "accidents" happen all of the time and Lollys would be next to inherit.
What was unusual was that the accident occurred while Bronn was fighting in the Iron Islands. Falyse slipped on the stairs and cracked her skull on a stone step.
It was whispered that her husband, Ser Balman Byrch, got tired of being married to a woman who could not bear his children and shoved her. It was also pointed out that Falyse, who looked rather like a fish, drank like one too and probably didn't need to be shoved.
Maybe she genuinely slipped. Stranger things have happened.
Ser Balman had spent too many years being comfortable at Castle Stokeworth and wasn't about to give it up. He started lending care and support to Lollys during her time of need and, by the time Bronn was back, it had turned into full blown courting.
Lollys was promised to Bronn, but in a moment of random bitchiness, Cersei nullified the contract. United for once, this offended Tyrion, Tywin and Jaime on general principle. A Lannister that did not pay a debt was no true Lannister.
Bronn, however, didn't really give a damn about the broken promise. He'd simply kill Ser Balman and marry Lollys as planned.
For his part, Ser Balman had the utmost confidence. He'd heard about Bronn's duel at the Eyrie with Ser Vardis and was determined not to make the same mistake.
Instead of plate mail, Balman showed up at the appointed time wearing the best that he could purchase in chain mail. Light and strong, the chain's suppleness ensured that the sellsword would not be able to dance around him. And, armored from neck to knees, it would certainly turn a blade better than Bronn's worn leathers.
While he drew his sword, Ser Balman eyed his opponent and smirked. He'd spent every last penny of his for the fight, but it would be worth it to regain Castle Stokeworth.
Bronn drew his own sword and appraised the other knight as he stalked closer. Then he hawked, spat and caught Ser Balman right in the eye.
The nobleman flinched, dropped his guard and took about a foot of steel in his throat.
"Well, that's that." As Ser Balman gurgled and died on the floor, Bronn turned to Tyrion and wiped his blade clean. "Let's get something to eat. I've been hearing good things about this cook of yours."
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Lollys was delighted by whole thing. Unlike some women, she didn't like bloodshed, but two men fighting over her hand thrilled her to the core.
The wedding was small and quiet. However, Tyrion ensured that all of the arrangements were of the finest quality.
It also served as a sort of farewell party for Ranulf. When pardons had been handed out, they'd carefully asked about the price on the Ironborn's head. It turned out that the nobleman who originally demanded it had died in the War of the Five Kings. Nobody alive really gave a damn about it anymore and only a token amount had to be paid.
"I'll miss the food and I'll miss the company," Ranulf said. "But, I have gold in my pocket and new scars to tell tales about. It's time to go back home."
Tyrion shook hands with him, his small one engulfed by the other man's massive paw. "If you need more money, there is usually more killing to done and you'll always have a place at my table."
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While Tyrion readied his men to go to the Westerlands, Arya recieved an invite to meet with Tywin.
He watched her as she was ushered into his office. "Arya Stark."
In an odd moment of familiarity for both of them, she poured him some wine. "You probably had a good laugh at my oversight," Tywin continued.
"No, my Lord." Her time with Tyrion had taught her the importance of subtle gestures and Arya poured herself some wine as well to unscore her newly revealed status. "Too busy being scared and angry."
Tywin acknowledged that with a nod. An excellent reason with the added benefit of being true. "You're probably wondering why I asked you here."
"You know that I plan to kill you and Cersei and you want me to give up my plans?", Arya guessed, staring him in the eye unflinchingly.
Tywin regarded the girl with a quiet blend of exasperation and amusement. To threaten him directly to his own face! He had known armored killers who would not have the guts.
"No, I know that there is too much poison between us and especially between you and my daughter to ever forgive."
"I like you and I respect you. In your position, I would swear revenge as well." With a reflective look in his eyes, Tywin said, "However, as Hand of the King and as Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, I have had to have people that I liked and respected killed. I'm certainly not going to meekly submit to your blade."
Arya nodded. For her part, she would never forgive or forget, but she did understand. "Why tell me this?"
"I will mourn you. Even if I am forced to kill you myself, I will mourn your death."
For the rest of the meeting, which lasted for a half-hour, they never spoke on that subject again. Instead, they discussed various styles of swordwork and had a surprisingly pleasant time.
Arya didn't waver from her plans. One day, she would put a knife into both him and Cersei.
And, deep down, a small part of her would genuinely mourn Tywin.
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In the gardens, Sansa and Margaery were having a similar meeting, albeit with much less tension.
The new Queen was settling in quite nicely into her position. "Cersei keeps trying to goad me into making some sort of attempt at removing her. Then, she can run to her father with the claim that I'm trying to destroy the Lannisters."
Margaery gave her friend a lopsided, somewhat ironic smile. "Of course, it's been some time since I've had to cross swords with her. I'm sorry for the trouble it's causing you, but having you and Lord Tyrion around does tend to keep her anger off of me."
"You don't have to apologize", Sansa said. "Even if you were gone, Cersei would hate me. I could spend the rest of my life kissing her arse and she would still try to destroy me."
Raising her eyebrows in mock shock, Margaery said, "'Kissing her arse?" Such language. I fear that your husband has been a bad influence upon you."
They laughed together and, when the amusement subsided, Margaery continued by asking how things were going between her and Tyrion.
"Peacefully." Sansa thought it all over for a moment and said, "I'll be going with him to Casterly Rock."
"And?" Margaery's quizzical look gave the single word a wealth of meaning.
"On our wedding day, Tyrion swore that he would never hurt me. When we met again, he told that I can have the marriage annulled if I want somebody else. And, I believe him, both promises." Sansa shook her head at it all. "It's strange. I'll stay with him for now because he's the one person that I can trust to let me walk away."
Like Tywin and Arya, once the two ladies got the heavy issues out of the way, they spent the rest of the time talking about inconsequential things and had a nice day.
Before Sansa left, Margaery sent up a quiet prayer to whichever one of the Gods that were listening. "Look out after her and let her be happy. I hope it works out between her and Tyrion."
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After about a week on the road to the Westerlands, Tyrion revealed to the others exactly what his current task was.
The news that the Lannisters were poverty stricken got the expected results, ranging from shock (Brienne and Sansa), bemusement (Dellyne) and hysterical laughter (Arya).
(The only person who honestly didn't care was Podrick. He served Lord Tyrion and Lord Tyrion was still rich. So, no real change.)
"Why didn't you tell us this before?", Arya asked as she wiped the tears from her eyes.
"For one thing, to save your life", Tyrion said. "My father likes you. Certainly better than he likes me. But, if you had laughed at him, he would have reached across the table and throttled you."
Arya had to admit that it was a good point.
They had all gotten to know Myrcella, albeit briefly, and they could appreciate how he could bow to his father's request for her sake.
"What are you going to do next?", was the immediate question from Sansa.
"Find some large manor houses in Lannisport for us to use. My father has made it clear that I won't inherit. So, fuck him, I won't be staying in Casterly Rock."
"As for my family's little problem," Tyrion looked thoughtful as he spoke, "I have an idea or two."
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The building that Tyrion decided upon was lavishly appointed, but not as huge as everyone anticipated.
But, as he pointed out at breakfast shortly after they all arrived, a more modest house will be easier for Sansa to look out after.
Sansa paused with a spoonfull of porridge halfway to her mouth. "What?"
"I won't insist on you performing all of your wifely duties, but running the household is your task."
Thankfully, Brienne was in charge of the Household's guards and Jelena had decades of experience at the more peacefull side of things. They gently helped to nudge their young boss in the right directions as she learned the ropes.
After all of the things that marriage had meant to Sansa (Romance, terror, hope, despair, escape), everyday tasks like taking care of the budget and making sure that people did their jobs felt odd.
Oddest of all was how it made her marriage to Tyrion seem more genuine. Sansa remembered her mother doing these things at Winterfell and, somehow, it made her feel both comforted and unsettled.
Tyrion didn't notice. His time was consumed by the course of action that he had chosen. As usual, it was both logical and audacious.
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Standing in front of a map of the Westerlands, Tyrion turned and addressed the rest.
"We have three choices in front of us. First, invent something new that belongs solely to the Westerlands and will make money." Tyrion considered that and sighed. "It's more difficult to come up with new ideas than most people think. Seven Hells, the only reason I thought up the Drowned God's Wine was because of my shoulder wound."
Tyrion reflected on that and suddenly snorted. "I'm filthy rich because my dear sister tried to have me killed. I'll be sure to tell her that one day."
Everybody grinned as they pictured Cersei's reaction to that piece of information.
"Second, figure out some way of extracting more ore out of the mines that have been depleted. That won't work."
"Why not?", Sansa asked.
Her sister answered that. "Because Tywin has access to the best mining experts," Arya said. "And, they probably have already tried their best."
"Precisely." Tyrion tapped the map behind him for emphasis. "Third choice, we look for gold where nobody has ever looked before."
Brienne squinted at the map. "Where could that be? The Westerlands have been mined for thousands of years. Every piece of land has been looked over."
Tyrion smirked, his default expression for when he did something clever. "We don't look on land."
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There were four small lakes of varying size that could be drained, two swamps that would get similar treatment and, the biggest project of all, Fool's Bay.
Close to Lannisport, Fool's Bay was wide and very shallow. It got it's name from the two dozen or so reefs that populated it. Although the bay was sheltered from storms by surrounding cliffs, only a fool would try to land there among the treacherous reefs.
Those same cliffs had produced plenty of gold and silver as had the surrounding areas of Tyrion's other choices. Once drained, they could be dredged for ore.
There were some grumbles, since many thought the whole venture was ridiculous. But, Tyrion paid good gold for places that were otherwise not being used, so complaints were kept to a minimum.
It helped that Jelena created a new dish.
Along the coast of the Westerlands, there were small crabs (About the size of a few inches across) called "Sea Mice". They were colored the same shade of brownish-gray as the common mouse and, like their land-dwelling namesakes, they were pests that got into everything.
Unlike mice, predators like cats and birds would not touch them, since they had a flavor that was somewhere between dirty and rancid. When peasants would eat Sea Mice, it was a sign of truly desperate times.
As a result, they scuttled around with impunity. After hearing the kitchen helpers swear at them for the thousandth time, Jelena applied her special genius to the matter.
Keep them in a large bucket of water for a day or two. Once the water is no longer cloudy, you know that their systems are flushed out. That takes care of the dirty taste.
The rancid flavor was eliminated by drowning them in beer. The cheap stuff could be used and, once dropped in, it took five or ten minutes for them to stop twitching.
(Save the beer for later. It gets used to help make soup stock.)
Fry the crabs until the shell gets crispy and eat the whole damn thing in one bite.
Jelena debuted the dish without warning and set a bowl of two dozen fried Sea Mice in front of Tyrion at dinner.
The Little Lion looked at the vermin that had been placed in front of him, looked up at his beaming cook and looked back at the bowl. With a mental shrug, he bit into one cautiously.
The flavor, rich and buttery, exploded in his mouth and Tyrion ate the rest in record time. After surfacing from his meal, he raised his glass, toasted Jelena and asked for seconds.
The next day, Tyrion redesigned a crab trap to catch the little buggers and they were soon being cooked in the thousands. His workers often ended the day by feasting on what they would have detested less than a month before.
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Meanwhile, up in the North, events were drawing to a climax.
The sacrifice of Maester Aemon was kept small and private. He had agreed to it, but he was popular among the Night's Watch and the less who knew about it, the better.
The old man was carried to the stake willingly and burnt without a word of protest.
(It helped that Aemon had dosed himself with enough milk of the poppy beforehand to where he could not feel a thing. Even with his wits wandering half of the time, the Maester was no fool.)
A sudden shift of warm weather melted the snow and, just as Stannis's forces were about to move on Winterfell, the weather shifted again to below freezing, clear and cold.
The King's Road was open and had frozen enough to where the carts and the horses would not be slogging through the mud.
Times like this truly worried the Onion Knight. It was easier to hate Melisandre if she was a charlatan. But, when she showed her magic or events became perfect after a sacrifice, Davos had to ask himself if she actually represented the One True God.
The feeling grew when they came within sight of Winterfell.
When the castle had burned, it had weakened the foundation of the castle's wall. The recent sequence of freezing, thawing and refreezing had weakened it further. Even from miles away, they could see huge cracks in one of the wall's sections. A few hits with a battering ram, a dozen at the most, and the whole area of the wall would come down.
Melisandre glanced at Stannis and Davos smugly. She didn't say anything about the Red God. She didn't have to. Her satisfied look said it all.
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Roose and Ramsay both agreed that it would be better to attack. They had the advantage in numbers and, longer they waited, the more that their enemies would be able to dig in.
On the morning of the third day, the Bolton forces assembled and charged.
Within a thousand feet, the first horse stumbled and fell. As they closed in, more horses went down, entangling other riders.
No arrow had been loosed, but knights were dropping like flies. Ramsey cursed the Red God. Roose just cursed. Both roared at their men to keep pushing on.
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No magic or God was to blame for this. The real culprit was a young girl.
Shireen had an odd position within her father's household. Important enough to give orders, inconsequential enough to be overlooked.
So, when she ordered that crates of rocks were to be carried along with them from Dragonstone, it was done without question and no more thought was paid to it.
Before the march on Winterfell, Shireen plucked up her courage and showed Stannis what she had done.
Take a piece of Dragonglass and smash it. A few dozen razor-sharp shards are created and eight or ten of them can be stuck into a small lump of soft pine wood.
The result was a caltrop, A small spiked ball that can be scattered in an open field against cavalry charges. However, unlike the usual metal ones, these obsidian and wood caltrops cost very little and required no skill to make. Ten men, working steadily, could produce hundreds in a single day.
"Very clever," Stannis said to his beaming daughter. "Very clever indeed."
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It should have stopped the charge. Against anyone else, it would have.
But, before the battle, Ramsay had told the men that, if they broke, he was going to visit punishments upon them that would make them wish that they'd been flayed.
With that in mind, the charge pushed onward and, although very ragged, pushed though the defenses and into the enemy camp.
The result was chaos and slaughter.
Amid the madness, Stannis and Roose found each other and began trading swordblows.
Both men were strong and skilled. Both were already tired from the killing that they had done that day.
Who would have won? Only the Gods know. They'd barely begun when Ramsay spotted the pair fighting. With a knife-twisting grin, he put a crossbow bolt into the side of the aspiring King.
Roose was furious at the assist, but he didn't let that stop him from taking advantage of the situation. As Stannis went down to one knee, one sweep of the sword took his head off of his shoulders.
Smiling tightly in satisfaction, Roose was suddenly interrupted by an unexpected voice.
"No!"
Roose looked over to one of the tents where a woman had been hiding.
Open-mouthed, Selyse walked out, disregarding the fighting and killing that was still going on around her, and stared at her husband's head lying on the ground.
"He was the Chosen One." Numbly, she raised her gaze to Roose. "It was all a lie."
About to order her to kneel and submit (She would make a superb hostage), Roose was completely unprepared for what happened next.
With a raw shriek, Selyse drew a dagger and ran at Roose. Almost bemused, Lord Bolton waited until she got close and calmly stabbed her through the belly.
And, still screaming and strong through grief and madness, she ran up the blade and began stabbing Roose.
Cut a dozen times before he even knew what was happening, Roose stumbled backwards and fell with Selyse on top. In moments, his face resembled mincemeat and Roose Bolton of House Bolton died underneath the knife of a madwoman.
Ramsay watched the whole thing, mouth dropped in shock. He took a step towards his father and the Baratheon woman turned and met his gaze.
Dying, her life's blood pooling on the ground, Selyse bared her red-stained teeth and hissed at Ramsay. Despite looking like she couldn't last another breath, she began dragging herself towards the younger man.
Completely terrified for once, Ramsay turned tail and fled.
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The battle was over and the Baratheon forces had won.
But, even as Davos led Shireen into Winterfell, he wondered what the point of all of it was. They had lost two-thirds of their men in the battle. Stannis was dead, Selyse was dead and Melisandre was missing.
Technically, Shireen was next in line for the Iron Throne. But, the young girl quietly told the Onion Knight that she had other plans.
"We can't continue. We don't have enough men or supplies to mount another campaign." Shireen began writing on a parchment. "We will sue for peace. Father always said that Tywin was very pragmatic. I'll send him a raven with our surrender and, hopefully, he'll accept."
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Writer's Note:
One of the most common criticism that I hear is that this is a "Fan Wank" or "Fix-It Fic".
And, it's true, I do like and feel more protective of certain characters than others.
But, in my defense, one of the things that always drives me batshit about certain books and tv shows (Not just Game of Thrones) is the way certain characters act so damn thoughtlessly.
It's excusable if the character is young and naive (Sansa, among others) or impulsive and half-crocked on wine most of the time (Cersei). But, I hate it when somebody acts smart and then turns around and acts stupid.
Even in the best of times, the Seven Kingdoms is a place of intrigue and blood. You'd think that people would ask themselves, "Can I trust what this person is saying?" Or, "I better have a back-up plan." Or, "I have two choices and both suck. I need to find a third option."
That's why I got Stannis to make the deal with Aemon. A lot of the God-awful stuff would never have happened if somebody who supposed to be intelligent simply took a moment to think about things.
That's also why I had Lady Olenna kill Littlefinger. He's a great character, but I felt that her not sealing off such a huge loose end was unrealistic for a woman wise in the Game of Thrones.
As the great Maester Benjamin Franklin once said, "Three can keep a secret, if two of them are dead."
Also, sorry about the wait. The next chapter should be quicker.