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Chapter Twenty-Nine: Gatehouse Ami
The last time Jon came to Castle Darry, the entire royal household had been there too. His memories of the place were dominated by cramped halls, homesickness and the ashes of his father, scattered in the scrubland out back. It was hardly a happy time. But now he was back and the castle was larger than he remembered. Then, he supposed it would seem that way with just him, Ser Barristan and Ghost. If the wolf remembered the place at all, he showed no sign of it and busied himself with sniffing at the skirtings in hope of an interesting scent.
One thing remained the same, though. The castle retained its strange atmosphere. He couldn't define the strangeness, he just felt it. While Lady Mariya saw to the stabling of their horses and the few servants arranged their rooms, Jon walked the empty entrance hall. Out of the window, he could see a sturdy stone keep, armoury and smith. Somewhere, a maester was walking from room to room. The metallic chinking of chain-links carried all down the hall. For a moment, Jon stopped to listen and it dawned on him what was strange. The place was empty.
"Where is everyone?" he asked Ser Barristan.
"I was just asking myself the same thing," the old knight replied, keeping his voice low as if he distrusted his own echo. "I know Darry's a small house, but still…"
Just as the castle seemed bigger without the royal household, their journey had been a lot quicker without it. "Maybe they weren't expecting us yet?" he theorised. "We got here rather fast."
"Your mother sent a raven days ago."
A draught was coming in from a broken window, somewhere up the stone stairwell to the first floor. Jon peered up it, but couldn't see much beyond the rusting handrail. House Darry, loyal still to House Targaryen, hadn't exactly prospered under Robert's reign and it was starting to show. Perhaps, he thought to himself, they could no longer even afford a proper household?
"Is there no Lord?" he asked. "I didn't see one when I was last here."
"Well, Mariya married Merrett Frey, if that counts. And I don't think it does." Ser Barristan laughed, his blue eyes twinkling as they did when he found something overly amusing.
Jon was curious. "What's so funny?"
"I really shouldn't- "
"But you should! And you will."
Ser Barristan composed himself, cast a quick look around to make sure they were still on their own. "Years ago, there was a band of outlaws: the Kingswood Brotherhood. Heard of them?"
Jon nodded. "Yes."
"Myself, Ser Arthur Dayne, Gerold Hightower and others, we all rode out against them. Young Merrett and Jaime Lannister were there as squires to Lord Sumner Crakehall. Anyway, Merrett gets himself captured by Wenda the White Fawn who yanked his breeches down and branded his bare arse with her own sigil – the fawn. The scar is still there to this day, or so I suspect. Still, mustn't laugh. Because he then he caught a pox from a camp follower. Not long after that, he was hit over the head with a mace, so hard it left him delirious for a week. Anyway, this Darry marriage was a fine match. But then the rebellion happened and the Darry's lost everything."
Jon almost felt sorry for the man. "I suppose Hoster Tully would be disinclined to help, since he supported Robert too."
"Exactly."
The sound of shoe heels clicking against stone drew their attention to the doors again. Moments later, Lady Mariya had returned with a girl Jon could only assume was her daughter. She was large and pink as ham. A third he had not seen brought up the rear, a skinnier version of the other girl, they had to be sisters. Both had warm brown eyes and limp blonde hair.
"I didn't mean to keep you waiting, Ser Barristan," said Lady Mariya. "These are my daughters. The glutton's Lady Walda and the other's Lady Amerei."
"Ami," Amerei corrected her mother.
Fat Walda looked faintly abashed, while Mariya gave Ami a narrow-eyed glare. "I shan't mention what else they call you, my lady." Turning to Jon and Ser Barristan, she continued: "Come, ser; my lord."
Still unused to being courteously addressed as "my lord", it took Jon a second to realise she meant him. But he followed the others into the same hall he ate in the last time he was at Castle Darry. A hall that was cavernous and empty, but for the five of them. The few serving staff brought out food and left them alone again. Food that consisted of watery stew in an earthenware bowl. At least, Jon's was watery. Greasy and unappetising, too. But he didn't complain. Sat beside Ami, they were pushed up so close together their thighs almost touched.
"I suppose you're looking for the Stark girl," said Mariya, getting straight to business. "Well, you've had a wasted journey coming here. We know nothing."
Jon turned toward Ser Barristan, who was frowning at his stew. "Actually, we're on our way to the Eyrie. We're rather hoping Lysa Arryn might be able to help."
"Now there's a woman who can start a fight in an empty room," Mariya stated, almost admiringly. "Lysa might be the girl's aunt, but I wouldn't put it past her. You know she's been servicing the Master of Coin for years, now. You know the one, the brothel keeper. Baelish."
Jon choked on his stew, prompting Ami to smack his back. Then Mariya turned to him. "Sorry, did I shock you? My sources are sound, Varys knows everything going on in that castle. And I saw Lady Stark as she passed through here on her way to the capital. A pretty little thing, I wouldn't be surprised if she's being kept busy in one of Baelish's whorehouses."
"Sounds like court gossip and open slander, to me," Ser Barristan noted, solemnly.
"Oh, Ser Barristan, you're not so naïve, are you?" she replied. "We're a Riverlands House, these waters run through our veins as much as any Tully. And I remember Lord Hoster suddenly sending that boy away. Only, I heard conflicting reports about which of Hoster's daughters Baelish had been fucking. It was either Lysa, Catelyn or both. Edmure too, I would wager."
"Catelyn would never do that!" Jon interjected. He flushed with anger, soon simmering down again. Why was he even bothering to defend a woman who would have thrown him into the sea, if she could have gotten away with it. All the same, the accusations bothered him. "Reasons for my defending her are few, my lady. But I cannot believe she would lie with her father's ward."
"He speaks truly, my lady," Ser Barristan said. "We all know of Baelish's infatuation with Catelyn Tully, all that business with Brandon Stark was proof of it. But, had she been loose with her favours toward Baelish, I daresay that business with Brandon Stark would never have happened in the first place."
Even Mariya had to cede that point. "Perhaps you're right, and perhaps that only proves his involvement with Catelyn's daughter. You've seen her, Barristan. She's the image of Catelyn, only even more beautiful. Baelish may have been dipping into Lysa to remind himself of Cat, but that little girl's a far sweeter prospect now. Cat's what, thirty-six or thirty-seven now? She's had five children, and well I know what that does to a woman's body. Then along comes Sansa Stark…"
Jon's stomach turned, he set down his spoon and wished he could as easily close his ears. But he'd seen Baelish sniffing around Sansa from the moment she first arrived at court. However, Ser Barristan diverted the subject rather than get drawn deeper into his gossip.
"Where are all your men-at-arms?" he asked. "Your castle is almost undefended. If you like, I can speak with the King- "
"There's no need," Mariya cut in. "Merrett's taken them north, to the Twins. That is all."
Once fed, they were shown to their rooms where they could rest overnight before their journey resumed come dawn. It was the same room he was given the last time he stayed at Darry. Small, stone with a feather bed that felt like heaven after days on the road, sleeping under hedges like a hedge knight. But as he lay there, Jon could not sleep. He watched the dusk settle and the stars pop out through the mullion window. All the time he worried. About Sansa, and the things Mariya had said. He worried about Lyanna, left alone with Robert and fearful the truth would burst into the open at any minute. He worried about Arya, who had been chronically overlooked ever since Sansa's disappearance. No one seemed to notice how upset she was about everything that was happening.
Then, as night fell, a knock at the door drew him from his relentless fretting. Assuming it was Ser Barristan, he rolled out of bed and donned the first pair of breeches that came to hand. His nightshirt was wrinkled, but good enough to present himself to the old knight. But when he opened the door, he found Amerei there bearing a tray of bread and cheese, with hot mead steaming from a jug.
She held it out to him. "Pardon me. You didn't eat much at supper and thought you might be hungry."
He remembered the watery, gruel-like stew he had been served while everyone else's seemed fine. But it was rude to complain, so he was eminently grateful for Ami's foresight. Opening the door properly, he stood aside to let her in.
"Thank you," he said, only now realising how hungry he actually was.
She set the tray on a rickety table, where he sat and helped himself to the bread, buttering it generously. Meanwhile, Ami lingered and watched, her hand reaching for the lacing of her bodice. He didn't notice what she was doing until it was almost too late, until the top part of her breasts were almost showing. "Anything to make my lord more comfortable- "
"What are you doing?" he spluttered, dropping the bread. "Don't. Just don't. Please."
Her gown had slipped over her shoulders, the lacing opened to reveal a sheer undershirt that exposed her small, firm breasts. Embarrassed now, she flushed in the face and tried to back away as she fumbled to lace herself back up. Jon felt absurdly guilty for shaming her.
"I didn't mean…" he continued, before stammering into silence. "I don't mean to embarrass you, my lady."
Something in Jon's head clicked into place as he recalled the supper. Ami sat so close to him their thighs touched, the looks, the watery gruel to ensure he went hungry and this convenient excuse to get into his room in the middle of the night.
"Your mother put you up to this and the shame is all hers, not yours," he said, firmly. "If it would make your life easier, please stay and eat with me. If she asks, you can tell her you seduced me, if you like."
His head was full of visions of poor Ami being beaten for not fucking information out of him. It was a well-known trick. These sweet honey traps. And he was always amazed by the number of men who walked right into them. Meanwhile, Ami recovered and she was looking at him as if seeing him for the first time. Like she'd only just noticed he was in the room. It was the look of a girl who was vanishing inside to do something she had no desire to do.
"Most men," she began, taking the chair beside his. "Most men don't even think twice."
She'd done this before, it seemed.
"Most men," he repeated. "But not this one, my lady. You're worth more than being used as free whore on the off-chance it might elicit some piece of information."
She turned red in the face, dropping her gaze away from him. "That's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me."
Really? He wondered, baffled. He couldn't even think what information Lady Mariya thought her daughter could get out of him. There was only one obvious one.
"You can assure your mother that no one has even mentioned the name of Darry in relation to my sister's disappearance. Ser Barristan and I, genuinely, only came here to rest overnight on our way to the Vale."
She bit her lip the same way Arya often did. "It's not that. She wanted information on the Queen and you're her nephew. She didn't say what information, just any information. Also, mother thinks the King stole something from Castle Darry when the court passed through a few months ago."
Jon frowned. "What?"
"An urn," she replied, keeping her voice low. "She said it was there when the court left on their way to the North, but it was gone after they left on the return leg of the progress."
Rhaegar's ashes, he remembered. But there was little he could say about that and feigned ignorance. However, Ami didn't dwell on the urn and seemed utterly disinterested in it.
"And she lied to you," she continued. "Our men aren't at the Twins. I don't know where they've gone, but I know they aren't at the Twins."
That was curious, he thought to himself. But it was hopeless if she didn't know where her mother's bannermen had gone. "Ami, if you find out anything at all, is there a way you can get the information to me? If not me, my aunt Lyanna- "
"No!" Ami cut in, forcefully. "Not the Queen. If you come back this way, after the Vale, I can tell you then if I find out anything new."
"Fine," he assured her. "That's fine. But is there anything else? Anything at all?"
"All that stuff she said about Lysa and Baelish, she only said it to upset you," Ami continued. "She gets all this malicious gossip from Varys and I don't know how true it is. Or she gets it from Lord Walder, and the Freys have always hated the Tullys. All the same, there's something going on. Something else. I wish I knew what it was, but I don't."
Jon noted how often Varys' name was cropping up. He had been in the background before. Ever present, but somehow unnoticed. All the while, he tried to make sense of what Ami was telling him, filling in the blanks and then forming it into some kind of conspiracy that involves the kidnapping of a twelve-year-old girl.
"Do you mean there's a lot of confusion being sowed to distract everyone at court from what's really going on?" he asked.
Ami shrugged. "I can't say. They don't really tell me anything. But if I find out, I will tell you. And I hope you get your sister back. She seemed sweet." She got up to leave having not eaten a thing, but paused in the doorway. "Oh, the urn she thinks King Robert stole."
Jon looked up. "Yes?"
"I remembered something. It was important because she wanted to give it back to the son of the person whose ashes were inside it. They would have given us a fortune for it. That's why she's so angry it was taken."
Jon's heart skipped a beat. If it was Rhaegar's ashes, then this information was strange to say the least. Unless, it wasn't Rhaegar's urn she was talking about. How many urns did they even have down there? "Can you find out whose ashes they were? Then I'll see if the King knows anything."
Ami nodded and got up to leave. Before she went, however, he had one last question: "Ami, what else do they call you?"
She laughed and blushed, remembering how her mother scolded her earlier that day. "Gatehouse Ami. I lift my portcullis for every knight that comes my way. The asses."
Poised and statuesque, Cersei Lannister was a model of elegant grief. Even now, standing so close to her, Lyanna felt clumsy and frumpy. She thought it was the way Cersei stood straight backed, swathed in blacks. Black silk skirts, samite lined bodices and sheer black muslin draped over her golden hair. The single neat braid was just touching her hips. Only her eyes betrayed real emotion. Anger, just now, as she slowly walked the length of the presence chamber. The Lannister knees bent, but only just.
Lyanna rose to greet her, dispensing with the platitudes of condolence that the other woman must have heard a hundred times and more by now. Plumping for something a little more practical, she pulled up a chair by the fire and poured two glasses of fine Arbour Gold. Cersei accepted the glass and almost smiled at it. No matter the circumstances, Cersei had never met a glass of wine she hadn't loved at first sight.
"Please sit," said the Queen, gesturing to the fireside chair. "What can I help you with?"
"Before leaving the capital, your nephew savagely beat one of my men at arms," Cersei explained. "Don't try to deny it, your grace. I've seen the man's injuries and there were scores of witnesses. I came to seek assurances that the boy will be punished for this outrageous attack."
"I would thank you for not negatively second guessing my reactions, Lady Cersei," Lyanna answered. "I am not denying the attack. However, I note how you fail to mention the provocation that led to the fight. What action have you taken against the man who threatened to rape me?"
Cersei's expression was blank. "Idle threats- "
"Where a Queen's safety is concerned, there is no such thing as an idle threat," Lyanna sharply cut in. "Had such things been said of you, or your daughter, would you not also be demanding action?"
"Yes, of course, but you were not demanding action until I arrived- "
"Because I thought we were both grown up enough to not go getting involved in silly street fights," Lyanna cut in again. "It seems I was wrong."
Cersei's grip on the stem of her wine glass tightened, her lips compressed. While she remained in this mutinous silence, Lyanna continued to press her advantage.
"And what would you have me do? Lock Jon in a stable outside so your men can shoot him through the heart with a crossbow, as some say you did to Sansa's wolf. That happened after you insisted action be taken against the wolf. Strange coincidence, is it not? Someone wrongs you, then an attempt is made on their lives."
"You know we had nothing to do with that," said Cersei. Her eyes flashed like wildfire, but her voice was cool as ice.
"My brother, the Hand of the King, is furious with me for not taking action against you over that matter," Lyanna continued. "He is furious with me for not pressing you harder on the issue of Sansa. How do you think he will react if I take severe measures – any measures – against Jon just because he hit one of your drunken retainers?"
"And what of Joffrey? Who my family think was killed by your men. Even your nephew's name is mentioned." Cersei's eyes narrowed, leaning back in her chair as she silently challenged the Queen. "He was out of the castle when Joff was murdered. No one knows where he was. Then there's the Mountain. He died, you know. No one cared because he died at the same time as Joffrey, the same time your niece was taken. But House Lannister noticed. We noticed when one of our own dies a suspicious death at the hands of our enemies."
"I'm sure you do," Lyanna replied, sipping her wine. "And I'm sure it's no coincidence that your father now has his army amassed around the borders of the Riverlands and heading south."
Lyanna paused, allowing herself a moment to calm down and gather her own thoughts. Armies were amassing everywhere. Tywin had his. Her brother had responded in like kind. The Northern army had been spotted heading down the Kingsroad, inching further south and now were about to be redirected to the Riverlands. Soon, the two armies would meet and clash. Raiding from both sides had already been reported.
While the two of them were together they were talking, while they were talking there was a chance to reach some sort of agreement. It was a longshot, but Lyanna went for it.
"I know where Jon was the night Joff was killed," she said. "He was crawling through the spaces in the walls through which Sansa was taken. It can't have been him. And it can't have been Joffrey who organised Sansa's abduction, because he never knew about those crawl spaces. No one did."
Just for a brief moment, Cersei looked like a drowning woman who'd caught a glimpse of the shore. "So, you know. You know we cannot have had anything to do with this?"
"And I think you know we had nothing to do with Joffrey's murder," she retorted. "But that's what someone else wants us to think. Don't you see that?"
Cersei downed her wine. "It wasn't me who wanted the wolves thrown out of the castle."
Lyanna looked at her, brow creasing into a frown. "I heard you- "
"Yes, I said it," Cersei cut in. "And I know what's being said. That I wanted the wolf dead to leave Sansa vulnerable so we could steal her away in the middle of the night. But if that was what I wanted, I would have kept on trying to kill the damn wolf. The truth was, I didn't care enough. Joffrey got bitten and I was angry because my child was hurt. You're not a mother. You don't know what it's like to see your children vulnerable, or hurt, or in danger."
Words like that often cut Lyanna to the bone. But she had to be stoic now, clear headed. All the same, Jon flew into her thoughts. She wondered where he was now, what he was doing, whether he was safe. Ser Barristan was with him, but as Varys kept reminding her: Ser Barristan was old now, his best years long behind him.
"You said you didn't want the wolves banished. So, who did? Why did you demand it?"
Cersei sighed. A resigned gesture. "Varys. He was there too, if you remember? He saw the whole thing and came up to us, after you had gone."
The afternoon returned to her, then. She remembered Lady sinking her teeth into Joffrey, she remembered Varys falling away. Jon turned up moments later, furious about the Mountain being invited to court for the tourney and she had followed him as he stormed back inside, trying to reason with him. All this circumstantial evidence fell into place, but none of it proved anything. Lyanna pinched the bridge of her nose, kneading the knot of tension that was building up there.
"Someone is playing our houses off against each other," she said. "And we're falling right for it."
"Who?"
Right now, Lyanna thought it could be anyone. Varys. Baelish. Some other petty lord with a chip on their shoulder and too much time on their hands. She was sick of agonising over who was doing this and it was time to change tack.
"More importantly, I think, is why. If we can work out why they're doing this, at least we'll be prepared for them, whoever they are."
"Fair enough," said Cersei. "And if someone's killed my son knowing full well House Stark would be blamed, that's as much a slight on us as it is you. Neither House will benefit from being manipulated into a war neither of us wants."
"We better not go to war, then," said Lyanna. "So, I suggest a truce. If you speak with Lord Tywin I can speak with Lord Stark and the King. If we must raise our banners, then do so. But we cannot waste time calling our banners against each other."
For a long moment, Cersei was silent. Her long fingers scratched at her chin, her bright green eyes soft and unfocused. Deep in thought, she was in no hurry to agree.
"But we need to draw them out," she said. "Whoever's doing this. They want us to be at war."
"I don't think we should be giving them what they want."
"No, of course not," replied Cersei. She sat up straight in her chair, looking intently at Lyanna. "But we can play along, at least. Let the armies come, let them meet, but there won't be any bloodshed. Because whoever is doing this, they want our armies engaged with each other. And if they want that, it's because they're deliberately distracting us from their own military manoeuvres, wouldn't you say?"
"Of course," she agreed. "Why else? And if our armies join, without clashing, it means we can turn them around at short notice and march them all at once to wherever trouble breaks out. If it breaks out."
"Precisely," said Cersei. "But if we're to double-cross the people who're double-crossing us, we need to be outwardly at war with each other. They cannot know we're secretly working together."
Lyanna set down her glass and extended her right hand. Cersei took it and shook to seal their agreement. Even if it didn't work, it was the start of the Starks and the Lannisters talking to each other again, instead of issuing threats. Space to breathe. That's what it was.
As promised, they left at dawn. Also, as promised, Ami had done a little digging about the urn. Before Jon and Ser Barristan left through the barbican of Castle Darry, Ami had come running up to him to hug him goodbye. As she did so, she slipped a piece of paper in the pocket of his jerkin. He didn't take it out again until there were at least two miles between them and the castle.
They stopped at a stream to let their horses drink, downtime he used to unfold the note and read Ami's scrawled handwriting. 'Rhaegar Targaryen,' it said. Underneath, she had added: 'His son is dead, my mother is mad.'
"Ser Barristan," he said, approaching the other man. "Would my father have told the Darrys about me?"
"I doubt it," he said. "They were closer to your grandfather than your father. What makes you ask?"
Jon told him about Rhaegar's ashes, how he and Lyanna had scattered them. And about what Ami had told him, that Lady Darry had noticed the urn was gone and was now accusing King Robert of desecrating Rhaegar's mortal remains. The urn had been down there so long, so forgotten under all the debris, he was amazed Lady Darry even noticed they were missing.
"She was keeping Rhaegar's ashes to present to his son," said Jon. "Which means she didn't hear the news about Aegon, or she knows about me."
Ser Barristan took the note from him and read it himself. His expression was unreadable, closed. "I don't know," he said, at length. "But I dislike this. I dislike this a lot."
Jon could only agree.
Jon Cannington's voice was low and urgent as the meeting progressed: "The Starks and Lannisters are merging at the Riverlands. Varys informs us that, should they meet, they'll be far too busy killing each other to notice us. All for the better. If they wipe each other out, it can only be good for us. Meanwhile, with news of Daenerys' pregnancy, Robert is threatening to have her killed again. If he does that, it will break the Stark Baratheon alliance. Which means the Starks may not raise their swords against us, even if we let the girl go."
Listening outside the door, the breath caught in Sansa's throat. But the second voice, Rolly Duckfield of the Golden Company, was more cautious.
"No. We keep the girl to keep the Queen's men in line- "
"But if the alliance breaks, Lyanna won't be queen- "
"It's too late, Jon. We keep the girl as surety. All the same, we can sacrifice Daenerys if it means the Starks will abandon the Baratheons."
"Good," said Aegon. "She's a threat to me. And her brother. They will try to challenge me, once I am king."
"Daenerys was meant to be dead already," Jon Connington pointed out. "That fat eunuch makes all these plans, forgetting the pieces of the game he plays have minds of their own. Even Viserys hasn't annoyed Drogo enough to get himself killed yet."
"Give it time," Duckfield cautioned again. "Ilyrio informs me that Viserys pushes his luck more and more, each passing day. It's only a matter of time before Drogo snaps and removes him from the board for us."
Sansa had only the vaguest of ideas of who Viserys was, less so of Khal Drogo. But she knew she would pray for them tonight, for the gods old and new to grant them both endless patience and good fortune. Meanwhile, their ships had docked in Dorne and Varys had sent his little birds to bring them all the latest news from court and beyond.
"Lady Darry has sent us Targaryen banners; she's kept them hidden all these years," said Jon Connington, sounded pleased. "She would have sent Prince Rhaegar's ashes, but they've gone amiss. It seems they vanished after King Robert's Court imposed itself on her during the Northern progress, some time back."
This declaration was met with a murmur of intense disapproval. However, Aegon was unfazed. "I need men. What use are ashes?"
"Now, your grace, that's your lord father- "
"Don't be hard on the boy, Jon. He's right and he need not worry. The Darrys will come out for us, leading an attack from the north while we advance from the south. As soon as the Stormlands are in our possession, we'll have Robert on his knees."
Robert would never get on his knees for these people, Sansa screamed in her head. Never, never, never. Lyanna would never desert him. Her father would never do it. All the same, tears of frustration welled in her eyes as Duckfield continued:
"Well, in the mean, Varys must continue to remind Lyanna of the promise she made. Anything happens to Daenerys or Viserys, she is to leave Robert and return North with her brother."
Someone laughed. "Apparently, according to Varys, even Ned Stark is doing a good job of reminding his sister of the vow she made."
No! Sansa almost cried out.
"Lyanna is prevaricating, though. I fear she loves being Queen more than she ever worried for the exiles. Anyway, let us reach Storm's End before that fool, Renly, has a chance to call the banners. We must catch them at unawares. Jon, do you think the rest of House Connington will follow you?"
"It's worth a try, but they think me dead," he replied, glumly. "Either way, I am still their rightful lord. They are dutybound to follow me."
"And what of Barristan Selmy?" Aegon asked. "Varys said he would bring Barristan the Bold over to my side. Yet, there's no sign of him. And the Stark girl insists he is close with her brother."
"It's true," the unidentified man said. "Barristan is inordinately fond of that boy. Small wonder, he's a military genius, by all accounts. Instead, Varys convinced Lord Stark to convince the Queen to send them both on a wild goose chase up the Eyrie, so neither will be around when we land in the Stormlands. This Lysa woman's done a damn good job of accidentally implicating herself in all of this. Bloody remarkable, when you consider she's the girl's aunt."
He was met with laughter, during which Sansa tiptoed back to her own cabin. She would not abandon herself to tears, though. She did what she always did when she needed cheering up and remembered the look on Aegon's face when he realised Ilyrio Mopatis had gifted Daenerys Targaryen three dragon eggs and left not even one for him.
But it was no good. Everything felt hopeless. A feeling expounded when she looked through the porthole and saw beautiful Dorne and remembered how sweet Trystane had been to her. Had they been in on this all along? Most said no, but she hurt all the same to think it could be possible. Such a fool, she thought, such a stupid fool I was.
Thanks again for reading; reviews would be lovely if you have a minute.
Apologies for the lengthening time between updates. I felt I needed a little more breathing space with these chapters, especially now it's reaching the climactic bits. I am aiming for another update next Sunday, but don't be too put off if it's another fortnight again.
Anyway, next time: Renly gets an unpleasant surprise in the Storm Lands and Robert learns of the new threat to his realm in the worst possible way.
