Kill the Boy 21
- King's Landing -
There is the sound of feet hitting stone outside the Small Council chamber, and when Tyrion turns his attention away from the other men attending to see what the commotion is about, he is surprised to see his niece rushing into the room followed by her bodyguard.
"Myrcella, Bronn, would you care to explain the cause for your interruption?" he asks. He turns his eyes to Varys, knowing the Eunuch had been training her to be his eventual successor. The bald man shrugs subtly, letting him know the entrance wasn't arranged.
Bronn is the first to answer, mostly because he isn't leaning over breathing heavily like the former princess, "The little lady learned something from baldy's little birds that she felt needed to be shared immediately."
"Something important enough to barge through the doors to the Small Council chambers without a bye your leave?" Stannis asks, frostily. He did not like sellswords, or the golden betrayals.
Myrcella takes a final gulp of air before coming up and glaring at the man she once thought was her uncle, "It does when it involves war, my Lord."
"War?" Tyrion sits up, eyes widening, "What war?"
"War in the Riverlands," Myrcella replies, then steps up to the table and sets a folded piece of parchment onto the table, "This is the report I received."
The hand picks up the letter and begins to read, and while he is doing so Varys suggests, "Since there is only one letter, perhaps you would be willing to fill us in, my dear?"
Myrcella nods, "It seems that a party of bandits arrived at the Twins a fortnight ago and paid a large sum of gold to the Frey at the gates not to search him. According to to Olyver Frey, who survived the ordeal, the men let gold flow like water and the elder Freys were more than eager to take it and indulge the men so long as their leader went and met Lord Walder."
"I take it he was a distraction?" Renly asks.
"Very much so," She nods, "The men took to the balcony with crossbows and when their leader killed Lord Frey, they began to kill everyone they could."
Stannis leans back in his chair and rubs his eyes, "Only the Freys would be brought down by their own greed in such a dishonorable fashion."
"I don't know about that," Tyrion notes, looking up from the report, "I can think of a few houses that have died just as poorly. Though not quite so quickly."
"I think, gentlemen, we are getting off track," Varys notes.
"That we are," Renly leans forward, "You said war in the Riverlands, how is this leading to war in the riverlands? Sure, the Freys are dying, but they're fucking Freys, who cares?"
"The Queen, for one," Comes a reply from the doorway, and when the Small Council turns they are gifted with the sight of their new Frey queen, "So my father is dead, is he?"
"I'm sorry to say that he is, your grace," Pycelle mutters, speaking for the first time since Myrcella had entered the chamber.
The Frey, Tyta, strode into the chamber and sat in the King's empty chair without preamble, then repeats Renly's question, "How has that old cunt's death led to war in the Riverlands?"
Myrcella blinks at the insult slung at the man by his own daughter, but explains, "The survivors of your House have spread through the Riverlands, settling in the keeps of their non-Frey relatives. Each claims to have the right to take lordship of the Twins."
"And the Riverlords are each eager to lay claim on my family's keep in some way," the Queen sighs, "And knowing the more mad members of the family, they've promised the moon and back to claim their support."
Myrcella nods quietly, still not sure how to react to the new queen. They hadn't been in the same chamber for more than a moment before this. Myrcella thought it would be better if she avoided her former father and his family so she and Tommen could escape his ire. It seemed that fate conspired against that idea, though, because Queen Tyta was waving for her to sit next to her, "Come, if you're to replace Lord Varys when he leaves our service, I want you knowing how the Kingdom is run. Seven Hells, I need to learn as well! All I've done since marriage is fuck your fa- Robert- and that whore Tyrion bought for us."
"I aim to please, your grace," Tyrion rolls his eyes, then looks to Pycelle, "Maester, who has the right to the Twins, of the Freys?"
Pycella takes a few seconds to remember the answer, and after drumming his fingers against the table a few times he tells the Hand, "Lord Stevron, if I have the right of it. I'll need to consult the latest copy of lineages, but so long as he wasn't slain in the fighting, the Twins are his."
"Let's hope my brother is well, then," Tyta sighs, "His eldest is a moron, like most of the rest of my family. Lord Tyrion, we need to deal with this quickly."
Tyrion nods, leans back in his chair, and folds his fingers together, "The issue isn't so much who has the rights to the Twins, the matter is more who will convince their host fasted to lay claim to them. If the wrong Lords get it into their heads that they can be the masters of the Twins, there will be no avoiding war."
"How do we stop it from reaching that point, then?" Renly asks.
"Hang the lot of them," Stannis suggests, "If they rise to claim the Twins, they are inciting war, attempting to overthrow the rightful Lord of the Twins. They will be assisting in Kinslaying."
"Aye, but that hasn't happened yet, so we can't hang them," Renly rolls his eyes, "Honestly brother, you have to wait for a crime to be committed before you act, that's how laws are written!"
Stannis growls, hating the fact that he can't act with the finality that these events deserved. His brother looks to Tyrion and scoffs. The dwarf smirks and shakes his head quietly, then turns to the Queen ,"I think the best course of action would be to send a raven to Lord Hoster or his son, if they tackle this issue quickly enough it should be dealt with."
"Good," The Queen nods, then asks, "Has your Lord father replied to our ravens demanding the return of your sister?"
"He has not," Tyrion shakes his head, "Which I find worrying."
"Yes, Lord Tywin is always quick to send a reply," Pycelle agrees, "It's been more than a fortnight, he is never so late to respond."
"There aren't any armies massing in the Westerlands, are there?" Renly asks, cautiously of Varys, "The last time Lord Tywin took this long to respond, sacking this city was his response."
The Master of Whispers shakes his head, "The Westerlands are quiet, exceptionally so, in fact."
"Exceptionally so?" The queen raises an eyebrow.
"Usually there is some whisper from my little birds on the tensions within the keeps of the realm," Varys explains, "I have yet to see anything too pressing, and my little birds in Casterly Rock have given no cause for alarm."
"I do hope they're still your little birds, Varys," Tyrion notes, frowning, then looks to Pycelle, "I am going to write another letter, be ready to send it to my lord father when I am finished."
Pycelle nods, but Varys adopts a curious expression on his face.
The rest of the meeting isn't so interesting, but all the while the spider worries about his web.
- Casterly Rock -
Varys was right to worry, but his little birds were very compromised.
After hearing of the death of her son, Cersei had gone mad. She'd gone so mad that those that survived her culling were of the opinion that she'd just been waiting for an excuse. She was madder than any Targaryen, in their opinion; at least the Targaryens were exclusive about their incest.
Cersei - in her efforts to regain the love she and Jaime had, to regain the son that was lost - found near every Lannister she could to bed. After the deed, the traumatized Lannister would slink away and hope he didn't lose his head to one of the mad woman's new guards. The Mountain's men had left a lasting impression, and Casterly Rock was filled with their number.
Eager murderers and rapists were given free rein of a keep designed to be impregnable. This meant that nobody came in, and nobody went out without Cersei's say so. No ravens left without her approval either. So when the little birds of the Rock tried to make their reports, they were quickly captured and the lucky ones were killed outright, before terrible things were done to their bodie.
By the time all of Varys' little birds were claimed, there were only six, and each was happy to do whatever the former queen demanded in exchange for not being given to the tender mercies of monsters. Locked in a single chamber, they would construct reports about the stability of Casterly Rock.
While the lies were being spread, Cersei was sending out her own letters, these to the various lords of the Westerlands. She sent invitations in the Maester's hand and her father's words, asking for sons and daughters to marry into the Lannister family so that the Westerlands could become truly connected.
She also made sure that she mentioned that "Lord Tywin" was looking for a grandchild that could take the title of lord of Casterly Rock when he died. It was well known in the West that Tywin would never contemplate giving Tyrion Casterly Rock.
She may have been as mad as the worst Targaryens, but Cersei had played the game for more than half her life. It was a slow process, and so long as she controlled the flow of information to and from the Rock, she would have control over the situation.
If everything failed and she was found out, she could flee with her men and some whore into the mines below the Keep, into the port to the ship she had waiting, and set sail away. It wouldn't take more than an hour to be away from the whore would be there to entertain the men, rather than her. She wasn't eager to get anything but a Lannister baby inside her. Joffrey would want that.
She'd only taken the Mountain because she needed his loyalty, and she was sure that when the time came she'd be arranging his death as easily as she arranged Lancel's. Gregor was a good tool so long as he was pointed as something to fuck or fight, and both let to the termination of the target of his affections. Cersei Lannister would not be another of his victims.
- The Neck -
The latest of Gregor Clegane's victims falls to the ground in two halves. The Mountain and his men had made good time after they left the Twins. They'd even been going well through the Neck for a while, and then they'd been spotted.
It wasn't as though they were trying to be stealthy, but they had orders not to be seen and they hadn't killed anyone in a week. The end result was Gregor cleaving a young boy that looked around ten in half while his own men had a bit of fun with the boy's mother.
They knew not to kill the bitch, that would be his pleasure when he took a turn. He wiped the blood from his sword as he turned to regard his men, and looks about to say something when it happens.
Arrows fly from all directions, and his men are suddenly very dead. Arrows pepper him as well, but the Mountain that rides doesn't do so without his armor. It'd be a cold day in hell if he were to be claimed by some cowardly fuck in a swamp. He should have realized the Crannogmen would be watching, but nobody really believed the stories about the swamp assassins of the North.
Rather than do the stupid thing and stand and fight, Gregor takes off. He knows he's only a few miles from the end of the swamp, and it'll be easier to fight these cunts in the open where they can't hide. Arrows shatter against his armor over and over again, and he's sure if he hadn't needed to get his armor reinforced several times over the years, there would be more than a few arrows sticking out of him.
As it was, when he finally sloshed his way out of the swamp, he was still the proud owner of an arrow in his ass. With an enraged growl, when he was out of arrow range, he pulls his from his behind and glares at the swamp behind him.
This trip was supposed to be filled with fun and murder, now it was also filled with arrows.
- Winterfell -
The trip had been relatively easy. With Ned acting as her escort, none of the Northern Lords were eager to act aggressively towards the Targaryen girl. So for the most part she was left with her people to enjoy their company.
There were only two points of contention on the usually calm journey. The first was obviously the dragons. Drogon, Viserion, and Rhaegal were the talk of the North, and Ned was sure that word would soon be reaching Robert about their existence.
As it was, the fire breathers were eager to fly around in the unfamiliar territory, but at the same time there were more than a few uneasy northmen faced with Dragons for the first time in centuries. First instinct was to shoot at them, but when faced with Ned Stark's steady glare, most would rather let themselves be eaten.
The second, and most significant, piece of trouble that the entourage ran into, was Jorah Mormont. The North never forgets, it was said, and Jorah had dishonored himself and his entire House when he'd sold men into Slavery. The Old Gods didn't keep many rules, but their general policy of live-and-let-live went against everything that slavery represented. As a result, his presence resulted in far more drawn blades than the dragons did.
Thankfully, when they finally reached Winterfell, word had spread far enough that his family was ready for the sight of both the dragons ad Jorah. They were lined up, just as they'd done for the King so many months ago, and even Arya was looking clean.
Ned suspected his wife had dragged her there and made sure she stayed with the promise of seeing dragons. As he and Daenerys rode into the keep, Robb steps forward, holds out Ice, and says, "Lord Stark, Winterfell is yours."
Ned gives a slight smirk as he looks at his son, takes the ancient blade, and nods, "Thank you, Lord Stark."
Robb grins and the two embrace. Ned then goes through the rest of his children before making his way to Cat. He sees apprehension in her eyes, and knows that the struggle she's been having with herself for months is still ongoing. She doesn't let that stop her from embracing her husband, though, "Welcome home, Ned."
"It's good to be back," He tells her, honestly. Then he leans back and lets go of her, "Cat, I present to you Lady Daenerys Targaryen and Lord Willas Tyrell."
Daenerys slides easily from her horse as Willas takes his time, his leg giving him some trouble. The Targaryen steps forward and bows her head, "My lady, I thank you for allowing me into your home."
"You are… most welcome, Lady Daenerys," Catelyn tells her, straightening, "You are family."
Dany smiles at that, and Ned knows his wife has just won the girl over. Before he can say more, or let Willas introduce himself, Arya decides to skip to the important subjects, "Where are the dragons?"
The Starks all make various expressions of exasperation at her bluntness, but Dany smiles, "They're sleeping in their basket right now, you can say hello once they've woken. They're irritable if they don't get their full naps, especially in this cold."
"I would hardly call it cold, my lady," Robb notes.
"Perhaps not for you, my lord," She agrees, turning her eyes to him, "But you were not raised in the heat of Essos, where the sun scorches the ground. You are accustomed to the heat and layers of cloth you must wear."
"What did you wear before you traveled to Westeros?" Sansa asks.
Dany chuckles, "I could explain, but I will save it until after Lord Willas has introduced himself."
The Stark children all start, and look to their parents for direction. Ned wears his usual expression of cool collection, while their mother smiles in amusement. Willas takes this time to steps forward, his cane clacking against the ground and attracting their attention back to him.
He smiles, "I must agree with Lady Daenerys, the cold here is something I am far from used to. While not nearly as thin as the Essosi garb, I am used to wearing shirts of far thinner material."
Seeing that they'd already destroyed the sense of propriety usually reserved for greeting guests, Ned waves for a server to bring over bread and salt so that he could welcome the girl and boy into his home properly.