Chapter 4 – The 20th day of March, 299 years after Aegon's Conquest
As evening approached, Catelyn let Edmure escort her over to Maegor's Holdfast. Robb and Theon preceded them. They crossed the outer yard, where the larger gathering had already begun. Indeed, halls and yards throughout the city would be filled with revellers tonight. Between the Reach, the Stormlands and the Crownlands, near eighty thousand troops were assembled within some miles of the Red Keep. They were soon passing the Tower of the Hand again, where the mood became more solemn.
They met a small band of Tyrells exiting the tower. Lady Olenna tottered on with a cane, accompanied by a pair of guardsmen the size of the Umbers. Behind them were younger flowers. Catelyn had only seen them from a distance, but she did not now fail to recognize Lady Margaery and her brother, Ser Garlan.
Robb and Theon drew up short when they spotted the Tyrell knight. A smirk came across Grejoy's face. He turned and whispered something in Robb's ear. Catelyn couldn't be sure, but she thought she caught the phrase Garlan the Gullible. Ser Garlan seemed to guess as much, he took a step towards them, but Catelyn approached the lady Olenna first.
"We have not had the pleasure of meeting before now, my lady" she said with every ounce of courtesy she could muster.
"Oh, I doubt there's all that much pleasure in it my dear" the wizened old woman said, still hobbling forward on her cane. She looked over the scene briefly. "Especially in a place like this. Your husband died here, did he not?"
Catelyn looked around, thrown and more than a little irritated by the change of topic. "Yes, it seems he did my lady."
"Butchered by Lannisters. You have my sympathies, my lady" Olenna said. "To be killed by such monsters."
"Aye, monsters my lady."
"Monsters that ran into a pack of bigger monsters I think" Olenna went on, looking over the bullet holes. "Reminds me of an old tale about a boy cornered by a lion, only for a dragon to swoop in and grab it by its claws."
"I have not heard this tale, my lady" Catelyn said, looking around sadly. "If only the dragon had swooped in a little earlier."
The two of them had fallen into step, walking down the serpentine steps into Maegor's. The younger generation were left with no choice but to follow in a sullen silence, though she soon heard Margaery Tyrell giggling at something. Several lines of guards were posted outside, both Goldcloaks and the black and green-clad warriors of the flying men. A quartet of vehicles were parked across the moat, bearing their blue and red and white banners. A kingsguard, Ser Godry Farring, met them at the entrance. He stood aside to let them enter, before a herald announced them.
The hall was quickly filling up. The royal family was yet to arrive, though half the high lords had already filed in. The kingsguard stood around the walls as silent sentinels. She noticed about a dozen men dressed in black as well, their equivalents among the flying men. She had heard terms like Secret Service and Federal Police without really understanding their meaning. The guest list was quite exclusive. The royal family, the king's Small Council and their partners, representatives almost solely from the great houses, small clusters of dignitaries from half a dozen of the Free Cities. The flying men had yet to arrive.
Mace Tyrell had a place on the high table beside his wife Alerie. He bent to kiss Catelyn's hand and became the latest in the long line of people to offer her their sympathies. Another servant led them to their table. Catelyn found herself seated next to a Dornish couple. She recognized Oberyn Martell of course, though he had to introduce the woman beside him.
"Ellaria Sand, my paramour" the salty Dornishman said pleasantly. "My condolences lady Stark. It must be difficult for you returning here, to a place where you lost someone precious."
"It is, my lord" she said, then suddenly realized what he was talking about. "Of course…Elia, you lost her here as well."
"Somewhere in these very walls" Oberyn said. "I have thought of seeking out the exact room, though I cannot say why? Why would a man seek out a scene of such terror?"
Catelyn had to give this a moment's thought. "I cannot say my lord. To see the last things they saw, perhaps? To picture it in your mind, and wonder what they were thinking in that moment?"
"Perhaps" Oberyn nodded sagely. "Or perhaps it is a matter of clarity. To know precisely what was done to her? So that a man knows what must be done to the perpetrators, when he finds them." He flashed her a dangerous look. For a moment she almost felt sorry for Gregor Clegane, chained up hand and foot in her father's dungeons.
When the hall was almost full a trio of trumpets blew. A herald announced the royal family. Catelyn and a hundred others stood in deference. Stannis came in, with his queen half a step behind him, holding the hand of the princess Shireen. They took up their seats on the dais. There was a murmur of chatter that did not quite drown out the rumble of engines from somewhere outside. A few minutes later, and with a further blast of trumpets, a small crowd of people began to file in. The herald began announcing the representatives from another world.
"Lady Amina Mohammed, special envoy from the United Nations."
The brown woman with the elaborate headdress entered at the head of a small party of people. She walked up to the high table. She did not curtsy, but gave a short bow before the king.
"Your grace, King Stannis, I humbly thank you for receiving us today."
"I am thankful for your presence, my lady" the king replied.
Amina Mohammed nodded. "I come as special envoy from the United Nations and our Secretary-General, António Guterres. I wish to explain the purpose of the United Nations, your grace, and how our partnership may benefit your realm."
"Please, do explain" Stannis said. The room listened in silent anticipation.
"I should clarify that the United Nations is not a government, it is not a realm, as such, your grace. It is merely an organisation of member states, a forum in which individual sovereign countries can air their grievances and conduct diplomacy. Currently there are one hundred and ninety-three member states, representing every place in our world of note. We would invite the Iron Throne of Westeros to send us representatives, with the aim, in time, of perhaps achieving membership in that forum."
Whispers had broken out at this speech. The king looked down to the end of the high table.
"Ser Erren, step forward."
A tall young knight, handsome if not for the Florent ears, rose and walked around the table. He bowed deeply ten feet from the UN envoy.
"I have chosen my good brother, Ser Erren Florent of Brightwater Keep, as ambassador to the flying men, in place of my late brother Renly" Stannis continued.
The woman nodded. "Thank you, your grace. We welcome this appointment. We shall work closely with Ser Erren" she smiled at the Florent knight. "We hope that tonight we can conduct the signing of a preliminary treaty, in order to take the next step in establishing formal diplomatic relations. Once signed, the General Assembly is ready to pass the first of what I am sure will be many annual aid budgets. This funding may be used by the Iron Throne, in cooperation with our governments, in order to better the situation here in Westeros."
When Lady Amina was done, Catelyn watched as the bald man with beady eyes stepped forward.
"His grace shall receive lord Peter Dutton, Prime Minister of the Commonwealth of Australia."
"Your grace. I too thank you for the invitation to attend your coronation. The last few months have been an extraordinary time, as our two worlds have discovered one another."
"Indeed, Prime Minister. It has been nothing if not extraordinary."
"Not everything has gone smoothly, your grace" Dutton conceded, and Catelyn noticed he was trying very hard not to meet the eyes of the Tyrells. "But I hope that recent unpleasantness can be put behind us. Despite our high initial hopes, the Lannister coup undid what little progress had been made. We should avoid such a setback happening again. There is much and more that my people can do for you, if we are given the chance…"
When the Australian was done, the kindly man with silver hair stepped forward.
"His grace shall receive Vice President Mike Pence, of the United States of America."
"Thank you, your grace" the man said, with a shallow bow. "I am most humbled to be here for this blessed meeting. I come on behalf of the United States of America and our leader, President Donald Trump. He extends an invitation to your grace, or to his chosen representatives, to visit him at the Whitehouse in Washington DC. I bring the greetings of the United States congress and the American people. I think your grace will find that if he deals with us fairly, you will have no better friend then the United States of America…"
When the kindly man was done, the men with squinty eyes came forward.
"His grace shall receive Li Zhanshu, member of the Small Council of the People's Republic of China."
Another bow, even shallower. "Thank you, King Stannis. I extend the greetings of Xi Jinping, President of our Republic. China wishes for peace with the people of Westeros. We offer you our services and our patronage. We are most willing to help you in your economic development. In return, we request only free and fair access through the Ring, in order to better explore and understand your world, and understand the enigma by which it has been linked to ours…"
At the rear of the procession was another man, with grey hair, who looked to be older than any king Westeros had ever had. His dress might have been the most ostentatious of anyone present. He wore a blood red surcoat, not a popular colour in the hall, but with a thick blue slash from shoulder to hip. His chest was pinned with decorations and crisscrossed with cloth of gold. Behind him a flagbearer held aloft a banner. She recognized it as the complex-looking cross that made up the canton of the Australian flag.
"His grace shall receive Prince Charles Windsor, first son and heir of her grace, Queen Elizabeth, the second of her name, Queen of England, Australia and other realms innumerable."
Prince Charles bowed before the king. "Your grace, I come on behalf of my mother and the rest of the royal family. She sends her apologies. She is elderly and not as able to travel as she once was and sends me in her stead…"
When the flying men had all sat, Grand Maester Gormon rose, holding aloft a sheaf of papers. "His grace has agreed to put his seal and signature on this, the uh…" Gormon looked down at the full title. "Preliminary Treaty of Friendship, Peace and Trade between the Iron Throne of Westeros and the United Nations plus the Group of Three." He spent some time reading out its articles, but even the summary took five minutes. With the hall growing restless, Gormon walked over to his grace. A squire brought quill and ink, and his grace signed. There were five copies in total. They were passed in turn to the UN envoy, the Australian Prime Minister, the American Vice President and the Chinese Small Council member.
When all was signed and done, the king stood and declared that the feast should begin. There were to be seven courses. The court fools, Moon Boy and Patchface, who had followed the queen and princess from Dragonstone, ran about, entertaining the guests. There was no dancing, the new king was not as merry as the old one had been. But there were singers at least and wine and ale flowed freely. Hamish the Harper began with a new song, The Fallen Stag, about a brave king cut down by a rogue kingsguard, only to be avenged by his younger brother. As she nibbled on roasted quail, Catelyn observed Stannis listen to the song in silence, before giving it brief applause. Hamish followed with A Rose of Gold, which drew a much more enthusiastic response from the Tyrells.
Other singers followed, while the hall rang with talk. Catelyn watched as the king engaged in conversation with the figures either side of him – one being the woman from the United Nations, and the other the aged Prince Charles. A few seats down, Mace Tyrell was flanked either side by the Australian Prime Minister and the American Vice President. The Chinese envoy occupied a seat next to the queen, where not as much talk seemed to be being exchanged.
From outside soon came a steady trickle of lords, magisters and other envoys. In their twos and three they entered and were allowed to present gifts to the new king, and some to others in the hall. Oberyn Martell offered his grace a scorpion brooch. Lord Mathis Rowan a golden tourney pavilion. Edmure went up and offered a handsome silver goblet, engraved with a leaping trout on one side and a rearing stag on the other. Jalabhar Xho presented the king with a bow of golden wood, then offered another to Lady Amina. Catelyn and Robb went up, offering a pair of the finest wolfskin cloaks they had brought all the way from Winterfell. One went to his grace, the other to the Australian Prime Minister. The elderly Lord Celtigar drew gasps of surprise when he offered Prince Charles a Valyrian steel dagger. Tis not more than twoscore like it in all the Seven Kingdoms the new Master of Coin proclaimed proudly. The prince accepted the gift gratefully, holding the blade up for his companions to admire. Catelyn felt the scars on her hand itch.
The doors opened again and Catelyn noted a small party of riverlords, led by Lord Tytos Blackwood and two of his sons. Between them they were holding an ornate wooden box that looked large enough to contain a small child. Many in the hall turned to look as they cautiously approached Mr. Dutton. Lord Tytos bowed and offered a gift to the Prime Minister on behalf of the lords of the Trident.
Brynden, the eldest Blackwood son, opened the box and reached in. With a grunt he lifted out the contents and placed it on the table before Dutton. There were gasps of surprise, and the room soon broke out into murmurs.
"This is the skull of the giant Dar Dun Gun Weg War" Lord Blackwood proclaimed. "Slain by my ancestor, Torrence Blackwood. Men say he stood twenty feet tall, and terrorized the Riverlands in the time of the First Men. His bones have ordained our hall ever since."
The skull was clearly not human, though nor was it immediately identifiable as any other sort of beast. It was at least a foot wide, with a massive brow and eye sockets that seemed absurdly small. Catelyn had never seen a giant's bones before, though she knew a few lords hoarded them in their halls and dungeons.
The Prime Minister's face showed genuine surprise. He touched the skull gingerly. Lord Blackwood turned and gestured at his second son. "Young Lucas took an arrow wound during the battle. The maester said it was likely to fester and take his life, but thanks to your healers he lives and is healthy. House Blackwood now owes you a life debt, and we will not forget this.
Mr. Dutton stood. He reached out a hand to the riverlord. After a moment's hesitation Tytos took it. "My lord, on behalf of the people of Australia, I thank you for this magnificence gift. It is certainly unique. There are no giants in my world, living or extinct."
"Your welcome, Prime Minister." Lord Tytos seemed uncertain about something. "I originally intended this gift for Mr. Morrison. He is no longer the Prime Minister?"
"No, I'm afraid. He decided to resign his office and gone to the backbench."
"The backbench?" the lord said, intrigued. "This is a place of exile?"
"You could say that" Mr. Dutton replied.
"May he ever return?" the lord asked, a touch alarmed. "Must he renounce all titles there? Take no wife? Father no children? Serve until the end of his days…?"
Once the confusion was cleared up, other tributes came. A trio of magisters from Tyrosh, led by a brother of the Archon, tried to outdo Lord Celtigar with a Valyrian sword and an ornate set of armour topped with a fearsome winged helm. They offered it to the American Vice President, speaking a greeting in High Valyrian. Grand Maester Gormon rushed over to translate. The room quietened to observe the exchange.
"Where are these men from?"
"The city of Tyrosh, Mr. Vice President."
"Do you know, Grand Maester, if Tyrosh practices the institution of slavery?"
"Yes, they do, Mr. Vice President."
Mr. Pence looked back at the men, with thin lips. "Tell them I am deeply honoured by the gift, but unfortunately, I cannot accept any gifts from slavers."
The Grand Maester did so. Catelyn watched the eyes of the Tyroshi closely. Behind blue beards, their faces had gone quite white. With a few more exchanged words, they bowed deeply, retrieved their gifts, and swept from the hall.
"So it is true" Oberyn Martell observed, with a pondering look. "The flying men do not consort with slavers."
Already waiting in line, a pair of magisters from Myr made a further attempt, carrying in an elaborate eyeglass, four feet long and ornamented with gold and jewels. The Chinese envoy refused them just as brusquely, if politely. After that the slaver cities seemed to take the hint. They whispered among themselves at the far end of the hall, watching as a small party of Braavosi presented each of the Earth delegates with a brilliant purple cloak, ornamented with yet more jewels. Lady Amina tried hers on at once, all smiles.
In return, the flying men soon gave gifts of their own, showering the favoured with chocolate and coffee, books and charts, richly illustrated globes and other small sculptures, clear plastic containers, colourful garments and 'sunglasses', medicine, wine and other alcohols. Perhaps of greatest significance, the American Vice President stood up at one point and announced that the US Air Force had been ordered to repair the Fury, the king's royal plane, and would provide it with a new crew for his grace's use, for which Stannis duly offered his thanks. By the end of the night a king's ransom of goods must have changed hands. Even Moon Boy received a gift, a complicated apparatus of steel compartments and flexible tubes. The Australian ambassador, Fifield, instructed him on its use, how to take a suck of air from the tube, after which his voice turned all squeaky and high in pitch, as if he had suddenly been transformed into a mouse. It returned to normal after a few moments, by which point the entire hall was in hysterics. Catelyn swore she even saw the king laugh.
It was close to midnight when there was a commotion from the rear of the hall. Eyes turned towards the sound of a dish breaking. Two men were on their feet, shouting furiously. From their garb, she recognized one as a Braavosi, the other looked to be from Volantis. The Braavosi ducked as he dodged another plate. Several kingsguard hurried over to the table to separate the two men. Both were screaming at the top of their lungs in High Valyrian. Catelyn knew maybe one word in five, and half of those she did recognize were obscenities. The Volentene was soon escorted from the hall. His companions followed, muttering darkly among themselves.
"What was that all about?" Catelyn asked the table at large when the commotion had subsided.
It was the Dornish Prince who answered her.
"The Volentene appears to be angry" Oberyn said, swilling his drink. "He said a storm of fire would descend upon Braavos, and the Titan would melt from the heat and fall into the water below."
"Why would he say such a thing?" asked Catelyn, aghast.
Oberyn smiled. "Because the Braavosi said that Volantis' days are numbered. That the city will soon meet its doom. That it will fall into the sea, sharing the same fate as the dragonlords of old." Oberyn Martell scratched at his chin. He looked up at the dais, where the dignitaries from the flying men were standing up and making their farewells, then looked back at Catelyn. "And who is to say they are wrong?" he asked, with a chuckle.
The Prince of Dorne took another long swill, then poured himself a fresh glass of wine.