The Last Hope for Westeros

CastleColin, cmyatt01, Longclaw_1_6

Chapter 37: In the Shadows

Summary:

1) Arianne meets and marries her match.
2) Balon revives the Old Way.
3) Varys spins his web ever more.
4) Walder schemes his house's rise.
5) Daenerys receives an anonymous visitor.

Notes:

More players throw their hats into the ring. Woe to those that fall short.

Be sure to check out Longclaw's new one shot, Something About Dragonstone, and Cmyatt01's A Happy Targaryen Christmas (on AO3) :D

Arianne Martell

"Princess!"

Nubile body emerging from beneath the surface of the pool, Arianne Martell didn't see the enamored stares of a well hung smallfolk boy but rather the gruff face of Areo Hotah - her father's personal guard. This is strange. Normally her quiet frolics in the Water Gardens just north of Sunspear were just that. Quiet. "Yes, Areo?" Hotah was a strong fighter, but spurned knighthood as many Dornish of non-Andal blood were wont to do.

He was far more chivalrous than many knights Arianne knew… knew quite intimately in fact. Can't refuse a handsome, worthy man… or woman. "Your father requests your presence at his balcony."

"May I ask why?"

"He'll tell your when you meet him, Princess," was the gruff answer.

Sighing, Arianne swam to the edge of the pool and hauled herself out - water dripping from her olive skin onto the limestone tile that lined that part of the gardens. Walking unabashed to her robe resting on a bench several yards away, Arianne cared not who caught a glimpse of her naked body. I'm pretty proud of it, myself. While her late aunt Elia, according to those that knew her, was rather modest, the other women in her family were far worse in their immodesty. Finally donning her robe, the Princess of Dorne smiled at the guards. "Lead the way."

Her father, Prince Doran, was where he usually was when not secluded in his study with a stack of papers. Seated on his wheelchair, watching the smallfolk stroll through the gardens as he sipped a goblet of spiced liquor to ease the discomfort in his joints. Arianne remembered her father in his prime and hated watching him deteriorate before her very eyes. She loved him greatly. Hearing her walk towards him, Doran's eyes sparkled. "My dear daughter."

She bowed slightly before pressing a kiss on his brow. "You summoned me, father?"

"Ah yes." He took notice of her wet hair and thin robe. "Forgive me for interrupting your fun."

"It was nothing," she deadpanned. "With my cousins and Trystane travelling, it's been rather calm. Nothing like the wild times." Arianne couldn't help but grin. Their family… nothing was a secret.

Her father nodded, sighing. "I normally wouldn't disturb your happiness, but I have some rather important news to tell you." Shifting his chair around to face him, Doran gestured to the north. "You already know of the marriage alliances negotiated with the King in the North."

Arianne nodded. "Double alliance. Margaery Tyrell for Prince Robb and Princess Sansa for my brother… is it true Crown Prince Joffrey tried to rape Sansa Stark?" A scandal such as that… even the Yi Ti would hear of it.

"Yes, he did. Such a grave crime. Exile to the Wall wasn't enough in my opinion - death… or Northern independence. Robert was a fool for choosing the latter."

"I'm not shocked that the son of the man who gloated at the murder of my aunt and cousins turned out to be a vile rapist," Arianne spat. "But what does that have to do with me?"

Doran snorted. "Much as I dislike the Reach, I think Eddard Stark wants an alliance between Dorne, the Reach, his goodfamily in the Riverlands, and the North. As to why, I think it concerns the Targaryens."

Arianne blinked. "The Targaryens… why father?"

"Because Eddard Stark's bastard son is actually Rhaegar's son by Lyanna Stark." For the next few minutes, he informed his stunned daughter of the secret he had kept for so long. "And with the war we are about to embark on, I believe our alliance with House Tyrell needs to be made shatterproof."

"I still don't…" Arianne's eyes widened. "You wish to betroth me to the heir to Highgarden?" Garlan Tyrell… if I remember correctly. She fell back in her seat, a surreal feeling taking over her.

Looking at her, a small smile on his gaunt face, her father reached out to clasp Arianne's hand. "You are my only daughter, Ari. I fondly wish that you could have been able to chart your own way in the world, find love for yourself as your uncle did."

"I understand, father," Arianne replied. "Highborns and all that. I resigned myself to being required for an alliance and I am glad to be of benefit to Dorne and my house."

"There wasn't a chance that I would shackle you to a sadist or a brute… in all honesty, I was planning to seek out the new Targaryen pretender for a betrothal - both him and House Martell seeking revenge for what happened to your aunt and cousins in King's Landing. But your other cousins…"

"Obara, Nymeria, and Tyene? Is that where they went?" Arianne was surprised. Once her cousins had been scandalizing the conservative snobs with her, the next day they had disappeared on a ship bound for somewhere in Essos. "To find the new Targaryen King?"

Doran nodded. "They informed me that he's already happily married to his aunt… the Princess Daenerys. I know you are supposed to be my heir, Ari, but in giving up Dorne you are gaining the Reach. Highgarden is already being ruled by a woman that was a true love match to the lord she married. Who's to say that another won't be the true loving puppetmaster?"

Arianne smirked, leaning back with a glint in her chocolate brown eyes. "So… when will I be heading to Highgarden?" While the Reach was the traditional enemy of Dorne, she had heard nothing but glowing praise for the beauty of Highgarden - nothing on the Water Gardens, but better than most of Westeros.

"In a sennight, after the wedding." Arianne's smirk faded into a look of confusion. "Oh, that reminds me, Ser Garlan is on his way."

The Princess of Dorne ended up chuckling. The Heir to Higharden coming not at the head of an army, but humbling himself for matrimony? What with dragons in the world and comets streaking through the heavens… Perhaps reality was truly falling apart.

"Are you nervous?"

Brows furrowed, Arianne tilted her head back to catch a glimpse of Obella, her cousin currently attending her hair. "Why would I be?"

"You know, your wedding, silly." A laugh left the Sand Snake, tying a brightly colored macaw feather in Arianne's wavy locks. "I'm surprised you're not more excited… or nervous." Moving to shift a few strands to get the style just right, Obella yipped in satisfaction. "Perfect." It was said that the second daughter of Ellaria Sand was the rare Sand Snake to take the matters of being a lady seriously. Those people have never seen her shoot a bow.

"I just don't see why? This is to solidify an alliance, just as Trystane is marrying Sansa Stark." Not that her being an acclaimed beauty is an added boon. She did seriously pray that Garlan Tyrell would be a kind husband. While Uncle Oberyn prepared her to deal with anything, preparedness and wanting were two different things.

Hugging her, Obella understood. "Don't despair. If Sarella could find love then you could."

Arianne's eyes bugged out of her sockets. "Sarella? But, how?" She was a beauty, but as a maester's acolyte pretending to be a boy it just seemed unlikely.

"A fellow acolyte from the Reach… Lord Tarly's son. Saved her from the Faith Militant." The Oldtown riot was well known in Dorne. Houses Manwoody, Blackmont, and Dayne had already called their banners. House Hightower had put on notice that none of the High Sparrow's goons would touch a Dornish soul. "She has fallen hard. Calls him her hero."

Pursing her lips, Arianne reflected on that - if there was anyone among her family that would fall in love, the bookish Sarella wasn't the one she'd pick. Her other cousins… now the ones of age had already found love…multiple times in fact.

At that point, the conversation was cut short as her father appeared in the doorway, flanked by his guards. "I've come for the beautiful bride."

Arianne blushed from the praise, suddenly a bit shy. Nevertheless, she stood. "I'm ready, father." She looped her arm in his and they stepped through the airy halls of Sunspear - designed perfectly to carry cooling sea breezes during the scorching days. Servants and guards bowed as they passed, appreciative gazes in their eyes regardless of their sex. Why shouldn't they? Even when at her most modest, Arianne had to admit she looked gorgeous. Her burnt orange wedding dress of her House's colors was cut more conservatively than normal, but still hugging every curve and emphasizing her buxom breasts. Obella had styled her long, thick black hair to perfection, curls falling in ringlets to the middle of her back. While many in Dorne preferred the lushest of face paint, she opted for a bit of simplicity this time to show off her natural beauty, instead saving the ostentasity for her jewelry. Rubies, sapphires, amethysts, and amber glittering in the low torchlight. Quite shorter than even most women around her, there was no chance Arianne would be lost in the crowd.

"Don't be nervous, my dear," Doran offered, voice soft but exposing a slight wince. His breathing was starting to labor. It had been a long time since he walked for so long outside of his wheelchair.

"I'm not," Arianne replied. "I'm more worried about you."

He waved it off. "I'll be fine. Nymeria's blood runs in my veins, I'm stronger than I look." The grin he wore managed to calm her, the future Lady of Highgarden shifting her eyes forward as they passed an arch flanked by guards.

The wedding was held outdoors in the private gardens of Sunspear. Not as vibrant as the Water Gardens, but the palm trees, creeping vines, and wildflowers still brought it a sense of natural beauty. Whatever lords that dwelled in the Princely court were there. Lord Wyl, Lord Yronwood, Lord Holt, Lord Uller, Lord Tolland… all houses had sent a representative except for Dayne, Manwoody, and Blackmont, mobilizing against the Faith Militant. In the sea of robes and loose garments were several scattered doublets and knightly gambesons of the Reach. The red apple of the Fossoways, the gold tree of House Rowan, the Horn of House Merryweather… and lastly the rose of House Tyrell, a collection of bannermen gathered at the front of the assemblage…

Her breath hitched at the sight of her groom. In a green doublet and brown riding trousers, Garlan Tyrell towered over her. Shoulders broad and muscles - if not bulky - toned and strong to hold the thick plate armor of a Reach knight, by the way he carried himself and the sword clipped to his belt proved him a powerful warrior. Neatly trimmed beard and mustache framing his face, eyes boring in on her as they met hers. A slow smile spread across his face at taking her in… less lecherous rather than appreciative. As if in awe that she was to be his. Feelings known intimately to Arianne. Handsome men were her weakness, especially those powerful with a hint of adventure - not arrogance - and intelligence. Garlan the Gallant seemed to be one of these at first impression and her first impressions were never wrong. I will make this man mine. Arianne never rested till she obtained what she wanted, and at this moment she wanted Garlan Tyrell.

After her father placed a kiss on her cheek and left her at the altar - relieved sigh escaping his lips as he sunk into his wheelchair - the septon took position. Electricity tingling up Arianne's arm so close to Garlan. I haven't even spoke one word to him. The usual wedding balderdash rooted in the Faith passed over her like water over a duck's back, but she was brought back into reality at the first truly active words. "You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection."

Turning to her with a smile, Garlan motioned for Arianne to turn her back to him, which she did. Gently did the orange sun and spear leave her shoulders - Arianne not missing how his fingers brushed upon the bare olive skin exposed by the dress. I hope those fingers are as appreciative in the bedchamber tonight, my knight. She couldn't help the small smirk at her lecherous thoughts as the green and gold rose cloak was laid upon her shoulders. Wordlessly, they assumed their positions again.

The old septon cleared his throat. "My lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever." Knowing what came next, Arianne reached out her hand so that Garlan could take it. His grip was firm, palms calloused with strenuous activity - he was no tourney knight, she observed with a grin. Gingerly, the septon tied the knot around their wrists. "In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity."

And now the infamous words. Her lips moved just as Garlan's did, not missing the pleasing lilt in his voice. "Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger..."

"I am his…"

"I am hers…"

"And he is mine…"

"And she is mine…"

"This day until the end of my days."

Cupping her cheek, Garlan rubbed his thumb across her tanned cheek. A gesture that made Arianne's heart clench. "With this kiss, I pledge my love." She really didn't want the next kiss to end.

The wedding feast passed by in a blur. Hours of boisterous behavior, countless food and drink passed as the uninhibited Dornish and the Reach knights went through cycles of brawling and then singing jaunty tavern songs. Many a Reachman ducked out with a sultry Dornish lass of both high and common birth. Arianne wouldn't doubt many houses would find their heirs and spare heirs return with a Dornish bride by the end of this. At the time of the bedding ceremony, she laughed uproariously at how the women pawed at her husband while trying not to enjoy how the strong male hands felt on her body - she was a married woman after all.

With the door slamming shut, the half-stripped couple - nothing too extensive revealed - were finally alone. Arianne suddenly nervous and Garlan rubbing his beard, stalling for time. "Well," she broke the silence. "Here we are, husband."

He grinned softly. "Aye, here we are." Garlan took a seat on the plush bed, patting the spot next to him for her to join. Heart pounding, Arianne took him up on the offer. "I'm sure this was sprung up on you quickly… just for clarification, my grandmother shipped me here just a day after telling me."

While not romantic at all out of context, to Arianne it did manage to clear the tension somewhat. She ended up giggling. "Your grandmother sounds like quite the woman." Everyone in Westeros knew about the Queen of Thorns.

"Oh, you have no idea." Both of them laughed together. "This was her idea… and your uncle's." Garlan rubbed the back of his neck. "Had it been my father's choice… he doesn't like the Dornish. Age old rivalries and all that."

Dorne and the Reach… rivalry wasn't a strong enough word to cover the breadth of their history. "Now is a time of strange and amazing things, Ser Garlan…"

"Garlan… just call me Garlan."

"Garlan." Arianne liked his name on her tongue. "And you may call me Arianne… or something more familiar if you wish?"

That disarmed his returned worries. "I think I'll call you Ari." Ari… She liked that even better, placing her hand on his knee to show her appreciation. "Strange and amazing times, that is true. My sister marrying Prince Robb Stark, your brother marrying Princess Sansa Stark… dragons returned to the world… I'm sure a burying of the hatchet between Highgarden and Sunspear isn't as miraculous as the others." Radiant smile forming on his handsome face, he cupped her cheek. "You are beautiful, Ari."

Warmth pooled in her core. "You aren't hard on the eyes yourself, Garlan." Arianne's hand inched up to his mid-thigh.

"My mother and father… they had a loving marriage." Hesitantly, he leaned closer to her. "I'd like for us to grow into one as well."

Hovering closer until their lips were barely inches apart, Arianne's eyes sparkled. "I'd like that very much." Throwing caution to the wind, she threw herself on him, beginning their wedding night in earnest.

Balon Greyjoy

The Lord Reaper of Pyke squinted over the letter he'd received by a raven that looked like it had flew through a storm on the way to the Iron Islands. The seal was marked with the sigil of House Lannister, which he'd given only a cursory glance at before ripping it off. It was such a coincidence that he'd received a letter from one of the very houses that he'd been preparing for war against ever since the North gained independence, weakening the power of the Iron Throne. If it's gold or a betrothal being offered to Yara, they can eat my sword! The ironborn would revive the Old Way, one way or another. No amount of treasure would change that unless paid in the iron price - either way the ironborn would reave and raid as their glorious ancestors had once done unopposed.

Hovering over the parchment in hand, he read the words inked over it.

Lord Balon Greyjoy,

I understand that relations between House Greyjoy and the Crown have been less than desirous ever since your failed rebellion nearly a decade ago. While I can't offer the Iron Islands independence in good faith, given the ironborns' infamous reputation as pirates and raiders, I can propose a compromise that will hopefully rectify past grievances against Robert Baratheon. I offer you your best opportunity to return to the Old Way.

As you may or may not know, the Starks have conspired with the Targaryen dragonspawn for reasons that currently are murky. This can't be allowed to exist with impunity. Knowing that the Iron Islands largely stayed neutral during the rebellion, there may be little incentive for you to intervene. However, if you renew fealty to House Baratheon and deploy the ironborn to raid and sow devastation across the North, the Iron Islands will be permitted to continue the Old Way in the North in perpetuity, even after the North is enfolded back in the Seven Kingdoms. As a token of good faith, the Crown will also grant you Seagard and the Stony Shore.

Tywin Lannister, Hand of the King

Balon Greyjoy clenched the parchment in his hand. The nerve of Tywin Lannister to ask that he swear fealty again to Robert after what the Swollen Stag had cost him almost ten years ago! The Iron Fleet had been decimated and he'd lost all of his sons! It had taken years to rebuild the ironborns' naval strength and build Yara up to the caliber of her eldest brothers.

His first impulse was to chuck the message into the hearth and be done with it. However, the more he thought about it, the more he saw an advantage in debasing his people, albeit temporarily. The Iron Islands would never be free from the Iron Throne if they openly rebelled again as they had done when they had burned the Lannister fleet at anchor. No, repeating that wouldn't do. For success to be assured, he'd need a foothold on the mainland so as to credibly threaten the Crown into giving up rule over the ironborn. Taking Seagard would open the gate to conquering the entire Riverlands, via the Trident, just as House Hoare had done before Aegon's Conquest. King's Landing would then only be a throw away from the axes of sea-hardened berserkers. As for the Stony Shore… consider that vengeance against Eddard Stark for taking away Theon.

Balon allowed himself a thin smile as he made his decision. Yes, the iron price would be paid handsomely and behold, the ironborn would see glory not witnessed since the Grey King. First, though, he had to 'prove' to the Old Lion that his offer was accepted. The ironborn would make ready for war on the North.

Summoning a servant, he ordered the boy to call in his daughter.

The door to his solar was pushed open, and Yara Greyjoy walked into the room. She shut the door behind her as she did and folded her hands over her waist. "Father, what is it this time? Last we spoke, we were to ready our ships for a raid on Lannisport. Now, I hear that there has been a change of plans?" The lithe, lean warrior lass wrinkled her nose in puzzlement.

"Yara," started Balon, holding up the parchment in hand. "I have received an offer from Tywin Lannister. Seems that Ned Stark has consorted in some way with the exiled Daenerys Targaryen. Should the ironborn go to war with the North, the Crown will grant us Seagard and the Stony Shore." His lip curled up in pleasure. "As well as the right to continue the Old Way in the North in perpetuity without impunity."

Yara crossed her arms and frowned mightily. "Father, that sounds awfully close to paying the gold price, if only in name. You made it very clear that the iron price is all the ironborn will pay, now and always."

Balon let out a laugh, much to her confusion. "Precisely why I am taking this deal from the senile Lion of Casterly Rock, Yara. Doing what Tywin wishes of us will give us a foothold on the mainland, and a stronger position from which to prevent the Crown from barring us from the Old Way ever again." His daughter arched an eyebrow, but didn't seem to understand what he was saying. He turned toward a window, outside of which he could see swords and sailors milling about on the docks where multitudes of longships were moored.

"Our first rebellion failed because we struck out immediately for independence with our enemy's forces intact and no leverage to dissuade them from retaliating. Burning the Lannister Fleet wasn't enough. The Redwyne Fleet must be destroyed as well - if the rumors are true of the Tyrells allying with Ned Stark, it is a task we will gladly take - then we will have full mastery over the Sunset Sea. Robert will think twice before he sends the Royal Fleet and risks losing his last reserve of sea power."

Turning back to face his daughter, Balon's wrinkled face was one of determined resolve. "Holding Seagard will open the way to reconquest of the Riverlands, putting further pressure on the Fat Stag. Land and sea will the ironborn take control of their destiny."

Yara tilted her head to the side and smiled boldly. "Brilliant, Father. House Greyjoy will surpass House Hoare should your plan bear fruit." Then her face faltered. "The North… how will Theon react? If he truly has become one of the Starks - "

Cutting her off, Balon snorted in irritation. "Then he will pay the iron price to protect the wolves. What he decides is none of my concern. Not anymore." He crumpled up the letter in his hand until it was a squashed ball and tossed it into the hearth."

"Yara, brief your uncle Victarion. Tell him to ready the Iron Fleet to sail at a moment's notice for the Reach. As for yourself, you take on the North, capture everything you can. The kraken rises from the depths once more."

"At once, Father." Yara bowed and left the solar. Balon looked back at the hearth, at the flames dancing within it. Above it was a great battle-axe, its blade worn and chipped from countless raids.

He could already see it buried in the skull of some northern peasant.

Varys

Rounded stomach jostling underneath his Pentoshi style robes, Varys could hear the clash of steel before he even left the corridor leading from Maegor's Holdfast to the training yard. Many a time he had seen Prince Rhaegar training with Ser Arthur or Ser Barristan till he dropped from exhaustion - but in his nearly two decades serving the Stag, not once did King Robert train here. As Ser Edric and Ser Boros stood aside to let him pass through, there was a first time for everything.

"Keep your footwork steady, my King," Lord Commander Meryn Trant cautioned gently, dodging a wild swing from the blunted training warhammer. "Never lower your guard until your opponent is close to the breaking point." A second swipe was parried by the sparring sword.

Sweat literally dripping from his ruddy face and soaking his gambeson and breeches, Robert looked like he was about to keel over right that moment. If only we were so lucky. "I… fought the…" the King grounded out, huffing and wheezing. "Tougher men… than you… before… you were… in… swaddling clothes…" Doubling over, the contents of his stomach voided upon the tile. Simply pathetic…

Ser Meryn was by his side quickly. "My King…" The brute would normally have kicked the trainee in the gut and laughed about it, but the King was a different story. Varys has never seen him so compassionate. All likely lies and ambition.

"Get your hands off me!" Robert batted his sparring partner away, gritting his teeth. "I feel better. Again!"

With whatever he had eaten to break his fast - probably easier to describe what he hadn't eaten - the King looked better and he showed it. Silently standing by one of the large stone columns, Varys watched as the once mighty Terror of the Trident embarrassed himself as he clashed with his Kingsguards. Easily enraged, swings sloppy and simplistic, it didn't take a military mind to see that the warrior king was reduced to something truly humiliating due to just… not trying anymore. Perhaps, Varys mused, Robert had always been like that. Bullheaded and without skill, relying on strength and ferocity to secure victory upon the field of battle. And that strength had significantly fell away in the years of whoring, drinking, and stuffing his face.

And yet… "Fuck…" Ser Meryn hacked with his sword, hoping for the blunt end to smack Robert in the shoulder like he had many times, but only found the blade batted away with the butt of Robert's warhammer. The King spun it around with the brute force of a bruiser and slammed the dulled head into Ser Meryn's breastplate. Knocking the Lord Commander down.

Still puffing, a weak grin came to Robert's face. "Ha! This old fuck still has it in 'im!"

Wincing from the obvious bruise underneath his golden armor, Meryn Trant removed his helm and bowed. "Very good show, your Grace. You are improving."

"Improving? Fuck that, I learned all this stuff fuckin decades ago - tis comin' back to me is all." Pleased with himself, Varys saw him seeking to end on a high note. "We're done for now, though you better be here before bedtime. I want another go, this time against two of ya'."

There was no room to argue. "Of course, your Grace." The Lord Commander, face going sour as soon as the King's back was turned, stormed off. When his job didn't involve terrorizing helpless smallfolk or conducting executions, everything seemed to irritate him. Oh, Ser Barristan. When you left, the quality of your guild just collapsed.

His Grace alone finally, Varys took the time to truly enter the courtyard. Picking up a pre-tasted bottle of wine from a servant girl - one rather young and… pretty - Robert turned as he was downing it. Spotting Varys. "Ah, there's my bald friend."

Varys bowed. "My King. I went to your solar and did not find you. Ser Arys said you were training… you've never trained this early, your Grace."

Laughing, Robert clapped the eunuch on the back. "Had to get out of there before my goodfather Lord Stuffy showed up. Didn't even get to drink my morning wine." Glancing back at the training yard, Varys could already see rats scurrying in to dine on the King's vomit.

His eyes sharply looked the King over up close. Exhausted and out of shape… Robert Baratheon's training regimen was actually paying dividends. Aside from the still copious amounts of food and drink he was downing every damn day, his Grace's habits were becoming more disciplined. His battle skills were slowly improving and he even was losing weight. All it takes is burning hatred to focus his energies. And yet, guzzling from the flagon of Dornish red, the King was still the King. In need of the Dragon Prince to depose him.

"So, what the fuck is going on in the world?"

Varys cleared his throat. "The Martells and Tyrells have passed into the Riverlands on their journey to Winterfell. Additionally, my birds have sung rumors of Garlan Tyrell journeying to Sunspear."

"Why the fuck would he do that?"

"I suppose that the Tyrells and Martells would like to further cement their alliance with the Starks by betrothing him to Princess Arianne."

Robert cursed under his breath. "So the whole fuckin three Kingdoms are allied against us, with the Tully cunts to top it off." Robert wasn't a genius, but all highborns not addled one the mind had a sense about these things. "When we march, I'm naming loyal lords to replace those shits."

The Master of Whisperers already had suspicions that Tywin was already lining up contenders in mind - among other things that the wily Hand of the King was planning behind everyone's backs. He tried to decipher it for the true King and Queen's benefit, but operational security was tight.

He could make assumptions though. "I believe House Hightower would make a good choice to supplant House Tyrell given their wealth and strength." Robert raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "Now that the Oldtown riots have concluded, the new High Septon and Grand Captain of the Faith Militant are traveling to the capitol to anoint you Defender of the Faith."

Hearing that, the King was preening. "Defender of the Faith, huh?" He seemed quite excited at the title. "I'll have the Rivermen topping Hoster Tully limb from limb with that moniker." It was no secret that aside from the southern Reach, the Riverlands was the most devout portion of the Faith's breadth.

"Quite." Varys didn't disagree. "Ser Baelor Hightower is accompanying them. I could arrange a meeting."

"Have Renly do it. Bout time that buggerer did something worthwhile… fuck…" Right before his foot was a dead rat. "This is my palace, not a pigsty. Servants!"

Bending down, Varys picked the little rodent up by its tail. Peering at it. A tiny bit of pink froth coated its whiskers while its fur was drenched in vomit. Well, bad luck for you, Pycelle old friend. "This rat died of poison, your Grace." He pointed to the frothed mouth. "Poison meant for you."

Robert's eyes bugged out of his head. "Seven hells!" The King had enough wits to put it together. "Something they fed me… that I vomited out…" His eyes flickered from the rat to the pile of vomit, in which several other rats laid - all dead.

"Tears of Lys, as undetectable as it is deadly." His little bird brought him the tidbits of what Cersei and Pycelle were planning, but he wanted to catch the old maester in a manner so obvious as to guarantee their guilt. You played right into my hands. He would ensure a loyal Grand Maester was appointed - loyal to Jon and Daenerys Targaryen that is. "It affects small animals quicker and more powerfully, so I can tell. Good thing you vomited whatever they were serving it to you in."

Sitting upon the ground, legs suddenly wobbling, Robert felt light-headed but otherwise just shocked. "Find this person, Varys. Find them and kill them."

"I am at your service, your Grace."

Walder Frey

"The pie is cold."

"But it was just made - "

SMACK!

"I said the pie is cold, ya wench. How many times do I have to repeat mi'self? Git back to the kitchen and fetch me a hot one, ya hear me?!"

The young serving girl bowed quickly, one hand over her cheek where Walder Frey had struck it backhanded. Scooping up the uneaten meat pie from the table, she hurried back to the kitchen to order a fresh one for the Lord of the Twins. Muttering curses under his breath, Walder thought about everything that had gone wrong ever since the North seceded from the Seven Kingdoms. Not the fact that civil war was a possibility, but the possibility of his lost coin. Generally speaking, armies didn't care to pay his tolls to cross the Green Fork, they just demanded crossing or else they'd tear down his castle, mortar and stone.

Grumbling to himself further, his mind drifted to his betrothal request to the King in the North. His generous offer had been met with a polite refusal, but he could sense the scorn between the lines. Apparently, a dowry of the bride's weight in silver wasn't enough, and neither was his consideration for the Bastard of Winterfell. Why Ned Stark refused to marry off the boy, he hadn't the foggiest clue. What he proposed was Jon Snow's best and perhaps only chance at marriage given the stigma surrounding bastards. Old Walder Frey should know - half of his children were such!

Snickering, he gleefully remembered a very interesting letter he'd received from the Hand of the King himself. The details were unimportant, but the bottom line was that Tywin Lannister would have the Crown name him the new Lord Paramount of the Riverlands if he successfully overthrew the Tullys. The Late Lord Frey, Hoster Tully had mocked him for arriving after the Battle of the Trident was won, eh? Well, that rotten trout would learn the hard way that those who are slow often spot opportunity where those that are fast rush ahead without a glance.

"Father!" Black Walder called, rushing over with a letter waving in his hand. "A raven came from House Haigh!"

His father rolled his eyes. "This had better be important if you're disturbing my dinner."

Confusion wrought his son's face. "Dinner? I don't see…"

"I said you're disturbing my dinner, ya brainless boy! What is it in that letter? Hand it to me if ya don't have a thought." Black Walder wordlessly handed the rolled-up parchment to his father, who broke the seal and unrolled it. "Git, boy. Leave me be," Walder said, without a glance up. His son beat a hasty retreat from the Great Hall. This had better be something good.

Lord Walder Frey,

Catelyn and Edmure Tully were spotted crossing out of the Neck into your lands. At the pace they're riding, they should arrive at the Twins in a few days. They have an armed retinue of Tully bannermen.

Ser Harys Haigh

A wicked grin stretched across the dried up face of Walder Frey. Hoster Tully's son and heir was in his grasp. Even better, his sister, the Queen in the North, was with him. Capturing the two of them as hostages - he'd have to plan some sort of excuse for the short term - would, once things got going, force Hoster to bend the knee to him and potentially force Ned Stark to agree to his betrothal request.

Yes, this is going very nicely. A steaming scent of roast meat and potatoes wafted up to his nose as the serving girl returned with a properly cooked pie for his delight. He smacked her on the rear and told her to get him a glass of wine. House Frey's long overdue ascension was cause for celebration.

Daenerys Targaryen

"Your Dothraki is exceptional, your Grace." Pouring the concoction of herbs and bath oils into the steaming tub, Missandei's presence caused a sense of contentment to spread through Daenerys. Aside from Jon, it had been her closest friend she had missed the most. "And you only had a little less than a year in command of the Khalasar to learn it?"

One hand perched on the rim of the large iron tub - the other gently caressing her massively pregnant stomach - Daenerys smirked. "A Queen doesn't reveal all her secrets," she teased. "And besides, you know nineteen languages."

The frizzy-haired former slave girl looked at her incredulously. "I read that Valyrians possessed what they call dragon dreams… their version of the greensight seen in those of the blood of the Westerosi First Men. That's my conclusion as to why you know so much about me."

"Perhaps it is," Daenerys replied cryptically, but still smiling. Missandei had yet to be told about their future - she and Jon were waiting for the right time to expand their inner circle to include her, but all the chaos following the capture of Astapor and the march to Yunkai was delaying many critical actions. "You are an interesting person to know about, Missandei."

"Mysterious, you are your Grace… but alas, you are wrong." Daenerys' eyebrow rose quizzically. "Twenty languages."

She snorted. "Twenty? And what would the twentieth be?" A quick rattling off of what she remembered her speaking found the translator smirking.

"Master Kraznys dealt with the inhabitants of Mossovy, north of the Yi Ti. Some of the Unsullied were purchased from there as boys in the expansion, and I translated."

"You grow more interesting by the day." The Queen laughed. "Any other languages you wish to learn?"

"Well, I'd love to learn how to speak High Valyrian with the divine tongue as you do, and his Grace speaks of the people north of the Wall of Westeros with fondness." As a slave with special skills, Missandei had access to knowledge and learning denied to the vast majority of those with her in bondage. She took advantage of this. "My studies indicate that they speak something called the Old Tongue, and that the mythical race of giants speak something even simpler. I would very much like to learn those."

An image of the petite and graceful Missandei of Naath speaking to the massive giants that Jon had told her so much about made Daenerys giggle at the sheer absurdity of it all. Gods, I missed her companionship. And now she had Missandei, Shireen, and her own half-sister to give her female company. "I'm sure his Grace can arrange that." It was settled for her. Missandei will be joining us going to Winterfell. Out of nowhere a light growling was heard, Dany's attention flickering to the translator. "Missandei, when was the last time you ate?"

"Do not worry about me, your Grace…"

"No," the Queen replied softly but firmly. "You are not a slave anymore, and are someone I care deeply about as my friend and advisor. When did you eat last?"

A tiny smile curled on Missandei's face. After a lifetime of people only caring to use her as a sex slave when they noticed her at all, here she was - a top advisor to a King and Queen of the blood of Old Valyria. To Daenerys' joy, the strong, confident woman she knew from her past life was starting to emerge. "This morning, your Grace. There was so much to do…"

"You are relieved of duty, Missandei. Go get something to eat." Dany grinned. "Queen's orders."

Frizzy hair bouncing as she bowed, Missandei stepped away from the tub. "Thank you, your Grace."

Left alone by her translator and trusted advisor, Daenerys shivered slightly. The water was what anyone else would consider warm, but for those of dragon blood it was far from comfortable. Hence Dany and Jon's penchant for searing bathwater, which she found out recently that Alysanne shared as well. Viserys… he always called her mad for liking it so hot. He was not a true dragon. The memories of him as a kind and loving brother were reflected in the love she poured out for Viserion. She didn't reflect on the monster Viserys had become - never gave it a second thought.

Eyes shifting to where Rhaegal rested, curled up beside his older, furry brother Ghost - approaching the point where he would dwarf the direwolf that used to carry him on his back - Dany whistled softly, catching his attention. Rhaegal raised his head, cocking it as his amber eyes blinked at his mother. "Come here, sweetling. I could use your help" Chirping, he hobbled over on his wings and feet. Boiling water over a fire would take too long, so Daenerys had a better idea. "Bāne."

Head rearing back, Rhaegal shot a soft gout of flame to hit the bottom of the metal tub. Dragonfire acting with the power of a dozen campfires to heat the water to a proper boil. "Thank… you… sweetling. Go play with your siblings." Rhaegal chirped again and flew out of the tent. "Ahhhhh…" Dany sunk into the soothing water, letting it work the kinks out of her swelling, pregnant body. "I love you, little dragon," she murmured, rubbing her belly underneath the surface of the water. "But can you come out soon?"

"I don't know." Two arms snaked around her bare neck. Strong ones, belonging to someone she absolutely adored. "Our baby inside your tight little body, growing strong with the blood of the dragon and the wolf?" Jon's mouth latched to her neck. "So sexy."

"Mmmmm…" Now Dany felt a different kind of heat coursing through her. "I'm trying to get clean, husband of mine."

Jon smirked against her neck. "Looking like that, how do you expect me to resist?" Hands moved down to her breasts, causing a moan to leave her lips. He knew how to play her like a fiddle and she loved it. "Perhaps it is time that your King takes a bath with his Queen."

Turning to look at her handsome King, Daenerys' eyes sparkled with love and lust. "Strip and get in. Your Queen demands it."

But just before he could even unlace his leather cuirass, there was a shout at the front of the tent. "Jon, you decent?"

Daenerys groaned, wanting to sick Ghost on her goodbrother for interrupting what was already planning to be a steamy night - but Jon stilled her with a gentle caress of her shoulder and neck. "I am, but Dany isn't. You're free to come in if you want…"

"Jon…" Dany murmured.

"No… no… that's alright." Robb's stammering made them both laugh. "That Unsullied commander you were requesting was found. He's waiting for you in the command tent."

Wide violet eyes met Jon. "Grey Worm?" Gods, in all the confusion that surrounded the sack of Astapor, there was no time to find him - Daenerys finally had Missandei, so he was the last piece of her past council left. Not to mention she longed to see her long lost friend and loyal companion. "Go. I'll be there once I'm done bathing." The King seemed torn, desire for her written on his face. Daenerys grinned, biting her lip and looking him over. "Don't worry, my King. I'll still be here and ready to play when it's all done."

Leaning down, Jon kissed her sweetly. "I love you."

"I love you too, so much."

Smiling, Jon whistled. "Come Ghost." Stretched out on the tent floor, the snow white direwolf yawned, tongue licking his nose as he went back to sleep. Groaning as Dany giggled, Jon approached him. "Come on boy, don't be lazy." That did the trick, direwolf rising sluggishly and trotting out of the room. "I think he prefers being with you," he quipped, resheathing his swords as he left.

"Just like his kepa ," Dany called sweetly after him, sighing again as she leaned back in the tub. With that man in her life, she felt like the luckiest woman in the world. Letting the hot water soak into her skin, calm Rhaegon inside her womb… wash away the aches and pains. Eyes closed as she envisioned her life with Jon once this war was done. Living in the Red Keep with their children - knowing the truth of the curse… or blessing Mirri Maz Durr left her, Daenerys thought about what she wanted with Jon. A keep full of children. Little Princes and Princesses with the blood of the wolf and the dragon. Perhaps like Jaehaerys and Alysanne, oh she couldn't wait for such a life.

She heard footfalls in the tent. "Jon?" she called out happily. "Forgot something?" No answer. "Jon? Missandei…? Daenerys started to grow confused, her guard up. "Alysanne?" Starting to rise, suddenly she was shoved down. Gloved hand clamped over her mouth before she could cry out for help.

"A girl shouldn't scream." The voice was male, and had a distinctive, flat lilt to it. Smooth and calm - a professional. "It would complicate things."

Heart pounding, Daenerys instinctively reached for her belly. Though it wouldn't help, not with the cool feel of smooth metal brushing the superheated skin of her neck.

"The boy once a prince said nothing of a child." While the words might have indicated a sense of hesitation, the man's tone was still flat. Emotionless, as if the death of Daenerys and her babe was as simple as mounting a saddle on a horse. "No matter. A man was given one name to give to the Many-Faced God." Many-Faced God? Faceless Men! Dany didn't just forget what Arya had said of her skills in their past life. "A man will deliver."

My babe! Daenerys Targaryen, Mother of Dragons and Princess who was Promised, did not come back through the fabric of time to be killed by a faceless assassin. As the knife prepared its journey across her throat, Daenerys scooped a helping of the scalding water in her hands and hurled it over her shoulder into the attacker.

Faceless Men were notoriously calm and emotionless, but even this one couldn't withstand the pain of boiling water. "Arrgh!" He screamed, pitching back and allowing Dany to try and scramble out…

Only for a rough shove to send her to the ground. Dany crying out as a sharp pain stabbed out through her womb. "A man will not deny the Many-Faced God his offering."

Someone rushed through the tent flap. "Your Grace!" The last thing she heard was a sword leaving its scabbard just as something wet rushed down her thighs…

Jon, save me...

Notes:

CastleColin: Jon's going to see fire after this. Robert's an embarrassment to the Baratheon name, isn't he?

Longclaw: Lots of great stuff in this chapter :D Arianne Martell is a fan favorite, and here she is being the first of the three planned alliance couples to be wed. She and Garlan will play a big role coming up and I'm excited to write them. Robert... yep, he's actually doing something other than drinking and whoring. He's going to war so he kinda has to, but we'll see if that works against who he'll face. Damn, Dany's in trouble! Please comment :D

Enjoy and please Comment!