Jon
Jon stood beside Jaime Lannister and watched their fellow new recruits to the Night's Watch use what they had taught them. Ser Thorne had repeatedly scolded them for hosting these unofficial lessons and had punished Jon and Jaime with undesirable chores and inconvenient watch times to try and discourage them. But Ser Thorne was a horrible teacher, prone to screaming and making one feel like an idiot when they didn't get a technique perfect on the first try. Jon and Jaime did more in one lesson with their fellows than Ser Thorne could accomplish in five.
Castle Black had hardly been bustling when Jon had first arrived. But now the headquarters of the Night's Watch felt almost deserted. Lord Commander Mormont had taken every available Ranger and gone on the Ranging of the Dead as it had come to be named among the men. The men were set to capture one of the undead wights used by the White Walkers and return it to be sent in a cage to King's Landing, where it would hopefully galvanize the Seven Kingdoms into preparing for the coming threat from beyond the Wall. The Visitors Set and Inari had gone with them, leaving Minerva and Vivaan at Castle Black.
Jon's eye was drawn from the duel between two of his students to a couple men leading a new recruit. "I-I-I am Samwell Tarly. I was t-t-told to report to my fellow recruits," the incredibly fat boy said, trembling like a maiden on her wedding night.
One of the recruits just doing forms scoffed. "Well, at least we'll have a fat chicken to throw to the White Walkers when they come for us. What are you, fat boy, a craven?"
"I am. I am a terrible coward," Samwell said with a total lack of hesitance. It was as if he'd embraced the dishonorable fact and had made his peace with it. As Tyrion would say, he wore it like armor so it could never be used to hurt him.
Jon turned to Jaime. "You keep the lesson going, I'm going to help out the new boy."
"He may need more help than you can afford to give, Jon," Jaime cautioned but he didn't otherwise protest.
Jon walked up to Samwell Tarly, Ghost standing from his resting position to shadow his master. "Samwell Tarly? I'm Jon Snow. I might be able to help you."
Samwell looked confused but nodded. "Okay, Jon. But I wouldn't have high hopes. My father brought in over a dozen masters-at-arms and none of them could fix me."
"First off, you don't fix what isn't broken. So you like to eat and you're a coward. There's nothing wrong with that, we can work on it. Second, I know a man who definitely can fix you if you ask nicely. Come with me."
Samwell, eyes wide at Jon's kind words, followed dutifully, though he acted as if Ghost's fur was sharp as a knife as he avoided touching the direwolf. Jon led them through Castle Black to the maester's office. Jon knocked and the door was opened by, as he expected, Vivaan. The Visitor had made fast friends with the blind old Targaryen. It occurred to Jon only then that the maester was his great-grand-uncle or some other kind of distant relation.
Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Jon said "Vivaan, this is Samwell. He would like to be restored to peak fitness."
Vivaan raised a brow and turned to Samwell. "Really? Tell me, Samwell, do I have your informed consent for a nanobot injection?"
Samwell looked confused but Jon emphatically nodded behind Vivaan's back. "Um, yes?" It was a question, not an answer. But it was good enough for Vivaan, apparently.
"Very well." Taking an injector from his belt, Vivaan walked up to Samwall. "Look up, don't flinch," the healer from another world ordered. Samwell obeyed, at least proving he had some pain tolerance when he didn't jump or jerk away from the sting of the injector entering his vein. Vivaan stored the empty injector back on his belt. "If that will be all, I was in the middle of a fascinating conversation on greyscale with Maester Aemon. Good evening, both of you." With that, the Visitor reentered the office and closed the door.
Samwell was looking down at his shrinking middle with awe. "What… what's going on?"
"Vivaan is from another world. It's a long story. Anyway, they have medicine that can make a man as healthy as he can be. And too much fat, apparently, counts as unhealthy on their world. They did this same thing to the king and he lost over eight stone in weight in the space of a few minutes," Jon explained to Samwell.
By the time Jon was finished talking, Samwell's trousers were slipping below his waist. The new recruit held up his pants so he didn't flash his manhood or expose it to the bitter cold of the Wall. Samwell looked down through the neckhole of his shirt. "I have muscles! I've never had muscles. I feel light as a feather! I… I feel incredible!"
Jon patted Samwell on the shoulder. "We'll get you a uniform in your new size. Follow me." Jon led Samwell to the armory where they found a Knight's Watch uniform that fit. Samwell hesitated to change in front of Jon and Jon considerately turned his back. When Samwell said he could turn around again, Jon admired how the boy looked in the uniform. "You look like a proper black brother, Samwell. Now we just have to make you one on the inside as well." Grabbing a sword and sheathe, Jon handed them to Samwell. "Do you know how to use one of these?"
Samwell gulped. "You can call me Sam, Jon. My father and the masters-at-arms tried to teach me. I can learn forms just fine, but when it comes time to spar I get too scared and can't do anything."
Jon nodded consideringly. "There's three responses to fear, according to Vivaan: fight, flight, freeze. I'm fight, I want to smash whatever's scaring me. Some men, even some of the men in the Night's Watch, are flight, they run away from what scares them. You, it sounds like, freeze, you go all still and hope what's scaring you ignores you. Am I right?"
"Yes! That's exactly what happens. I tell my arms and legs to move and I just… can't," Sam nodded energetically.
"Right. Well, no two ways about it Sam, if you freeze when a wildling or a wight or a White Walker is charging at you, you're going to die. So we're going to have to train you to fight," Jon said matter-of-factly.
"But I told you! Over a dozen masters-at-arms, Jon! I'm too big a coward," Sam protested.
"Let me guess. They all tried to bully you and call you names and yell at you every time you did something wrong," Jon deduced.
"Pretty much," Sam nodded.
"Well, Jaime and I don't teach that way. We'll do our best with you and hope it's enough. Nothing like a challenge," Jon got a wolfish grin.
Sam gulped.
"So if you're a craven and can't fight, why'd you join the Night's Watch?" Jon asked as he led Sam back towards the training yard.
"My father doesn't want me as his heir. He wants my little brother to inherit everything. I was told in no uncertain terms if I didn't take the black I would die mysteriously in a bandit attack," Sam said with a dull kind of sadness, like he'd expected what happened to happen all along.
"I've heard worse reasons for joining the Watch," Jon shrugged. "Well, this might not be the life you wanted, Sam, but it's the life you've got. So you might as well make the most of it!"
They reached the training yard and Jon began a gentle, encouraging lesson on the forms favored by the Night's Watch. Both Sam and Jon had smiles by the end.
Tyrion
Tyrion and his two bodyguards entered King's Landing, through the Lion's Gate naturally. Tyrion rode confidently up to the Red Keep. He noticed a long line of smallfolk when he got near and realized today must be a day the King (or more likely the Hand) was holding open court. Tyrion and his men moved to enter the castle, bypassing the line, when two Goldcloaks stopped them. "No cutting in line, go to the back," one said tiredly.
"I'm not here to see the King, I live here," Tyrion protested. Or at least he had when Cersei had been Queen and Jaime had been a Kingsguard. It only then occurred to Tyrion that Robert might not humor his presence any longer.
"Right, 'course you do. And what's your name?" The other Goldcloak asked.
Tyrion had a sinking feeling in his guts. "Tyrion Lannister."
The two members of the city guard looked to each other and burst into laughter. "The Imp? He's a dwarf, you idiot! Leave before we make you!"
Tyrion was wondering if he had enough gold in his purse to bribe these two when Solomon, the Grey Man, walked out of the castle and towards Tyrion and the Goldcloaks. "Gentlemen. This man speaks true. He is Tyrion of House Lannister. He was cured of his dwarfism by medicine of my people. Please let him and his two companions pass."
The Goldcloaks gulped and stood at attention. Tyrion got the sense the Visitors carried great authority in the Red Keep. "O-of course, Lord Solomon! You may pass, Tyrion Lannister."
"I am no lord," Solomon corrected gently with fatherly consideration. Then he turned to Tyrion as the Lannister rode into the Red Keep. "How fortuitous you should arrive when you did, Tyrion. The Small Council is debating at this very moment who shall replace Littlefinger as Master of Coin. Captain Prophet has put your name forward for consideration, and we calculate an 89% probability that they will vote you in, pending the King's approval of course."
"Thanks for helping me back there," Tyrion said honestly. "And Master of Coin? I have many questions, but the first is what happened to Littlefinger."
"Petyr Baelish was executed for the crime of conspiracy to murder Jon Arryn. I understand Lysa Arryn, the poisoner, will face a similar fate if she ever leaves the protection of the Eyrie or its defenses are overridden," Solomon answered.
Tyrion blinked. "Huh. I could have sworn it was my sister who arranged it. Anyway, why in the world would anyone in their right mind want me for Master of Coin?"
"You're intelligent, and your appointment to a position of power might appease your father from declaring war over the 'insult' of the 'lie' of your siblings' incest and consequential punishments as decreed by King Robert," Solomon spoke plainly.
Tyrion blinked, imagining a life on the Small Council. "You said there's more than half a chance they'll vote for me?"
"You are the most promising of the candidates, offering the most gain at the least cost. Any resistance will likely be due to personal bias against you rather than any logical argument," the Grey Man answered.
"But wait… if there's open court today, how can there be a meeting of the Small Council? Unless Eddard is in one place and Robert is at the other," Tyrion realized.
"The King is indeed holding court while Eddard Stark chairs the meeting of the Small Council," Solomon told the heir of Casterly Rock.
"Robert? Hold court? I've been here almost his entire reign and he's only done that when Jon was sick and couldn't do it himself," Tyrion said incredulously.
"The king has recently had a, to use the vernacular, right kick in the arse. Captain Prophet and Eddard Stark together managed to convince him to take on more of the responsibilities of the Crown. It's only been a few weeks but the king shows no sign of stopping." Solomon paused at a door into Maegor's Fast. "If you will leave your horse and release your men, I will escort you to the meeting."
Tyrion slid off his usual steed. "Get her to the stables and then you're free to do what you want." Tyrion handed a few gold dragons to each of them so that they could enjoy their night off, and as an acknowledgment of their duty in following him all the way to the Wall and back.
Tyrion followed Solomon through unfamiliar hallways; Tyrion had rarely been in this part of the castle. Solomon paused at a door and knocked. "Solomon, escorting Tyrion Lannister."
Eddard Stark opened the door, nodded to Solomon, and turned to Tyrion. "Tyrion. We were just talking about you."
"All good things, I hope?" Tyrion said with his usual dry wit.
"We just voted you to become Master of Coin. Unless Robert objects later when he hears our decision, the office is yours," Lord Stark said brusquely. "If you would join your fellow Council members, we have a Realm to run."
Tyrion entered the Council chamber. Feeling a sense of unreality, he took the seat reserved for the Master of Coin. "Very well. What shall we discuss next?"
Tyrion kept his ears open and his mouth shut as Eddard stark, Varys, Renly Baratheon, Grandmaester Pycelle and Lord Commander Barristan Selmy discussed the problems plaguing the kingdoms. When a financial question came up, Tyrion did his best to answer without knowing the precise state of the Realm's coffers. Nobody mocked him or called him a fool, so Tyrion considered the meeting a success.
When it ended, Tyrion approached Lord Stark. "My Lord Hand, do you know where Littlefinger's office is, where he kept his records? I need to review what he left to get an accurate view of the Kingdoms' finances."
"Call me Ned, Tyrion. We'll be seeing a lot of each other. And I don't know, but I know someone who could answer your questions without having to check the records. Could the nearest Visitor please come to help Tyrion?"
In minutes, the Blue Man, Lao Zi, arrived. He nodded solidly to Ned and turned to Tyrion.
"They know everything you want to know. Just ask and he'll tell you. See you tomorrow," Ned said before leaving the room.
Tyrion turned to Lao Zi. "Okay, my good man, let's begin. How much is in the treasury right now?"
"X number of dragons. The Crown owes your father Y number of dragons. The result is a debt of Z dragons," Lao Zi answered.
"Okay. What were the tax percentages for each kingdom last season?"
Tyrion asked questions for an hour, Lao Zi accurately answering all of them. Tyrion finished when he couldn't think of another relevant question. "Thank you for your time and knowledge, Lao Zi," Tryion bowed.
"You're welcome." With that, the Visitor left.
Tyrion made his way to the suite he'd had for as long as he'd lived in the Red Keep. He ordered a serving girl fetch him dinner, he didn't want to presume he was still welcome to dine at Robert's own table. He ate alone and fetched a book on dragons from his personal library. Tyrion had the mad idea that if the Visitors could create Winter, perhaps they could make Tyrion a dragon. Well, there was no harm in asking, surely. Resolving to do so when next he met one, Tyrion went to sleep.
When a servant came to wake him up for breakfast, Tyrion got up and changed. He still had the bodysuit Inari had given him but he preferred to wear real clothes. Tyrion went to the royal dining hall without thinking. He froze when Robert turned to eye him.
"I suppose I'm no longer welcome here. Sorry to disturb you, your Grace," Tyrion bowed and turned to leave.
"Wait!" Robert called. "You always were the one Lannister I could stand. Besides, you're on my Small Council. You have the right to dine here. Come, sit next to me! I always liked your jokes, Tyrion."
Hardly believing his luck, Tyrion took the seat at Robert's left side. His right, Tyrion saw, was occupied by Prophet. As they waited for the food to arrive, Tyrion kept his word to himself. "Prophet?"
"Yes, Tyrion?"
"Could you make me a dragon the way you made Ned Winter?" the Lannister asked, half expecting to hear no.
Prophet sighed. "We could make you something that looked and acted like a dragon, but it wouldn't be a true dragon. The dragons of this world are extremely magical creatures. We currently lack the knowledge or means to recreate a dragon like the kind Aegon flew. If you desire the facsimile, we can start growing it today if you want."
"No thanks. I want the real thing, not a fake. So, Inari said your world has much less magic than ours."
"To be precise, this world has 637 times more free magic than our home world. You have dragons and wargs and servants of the Lord of Light that can conjure fire and see visions. Our world is very dull by comparison."
"Much of what you do seems like magic to me," Robert argued.
"There's a saying from my world: any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. We may seem like mages but we're more akin to maesters. We simply know more about the laws of physics and how to manipulate them," Prophet said.
"Well, if Tyrion can't have his dragon, I'll have a stag. A big, talking stag. I'll have my own animal friend that can carry a conversation like Ned," Robert ordered.
Prophet nodded. "Very well. We'll have him to you by this time next week."
"If you can make animals, can you make people?" Tyrion asked curiously.
"We could, but there are strict laws on my world about artificially creating humans or other intelligent species. Uplifting a lower animal to intelligence is permissible, but making a person in one of our genesis chambers is forbidden.."
"What's our world look like from your ship?" Robert asked. Tyrion, who'd seen Inari's map of the North, anticipated what was to come.
"See for yourself," Prophet said before projecting a hologram. Tyrion noticed one detail instantly.
"The world is round?" he asked incredulously.
"Almost every world is. The curve is so gentle you can't see or feel it. And gravity pulls you towards the ground so there's no 'falling off' or silly stuff like that," Prophet answered.
"Fuck me! There's whole continents I've never heard of. That's Westeros, and that's Essos, those are the Summer Isles, but what are those two?" Robert pointed out.
"That is Sothoryos. And that has been named Centros by the natives. They believe they are the center of the world," Prophet educated.
Robert hmmed. "Could I go up and see it in the flesh? It must be so different."
"We can arrange a spacewalk at your earliest convenience. You will have to wear a special suit that covers your whole body. The space between worlds is colder than the Far North and has no breathable air. And there's no gravity so you'll just float weightlessly. But just tell us when you're free and we'll do it. Should only take an hour at most."
Tyrion was wide-eyed. "May I come along too?"
"Of course. Again, just say when you're free," Prophet said kindly.
"After the meal," Tyrion and Robert said together, excited as little boys.
The food arrived then. Tyrion and Robert ate quickly and waited impatiently for Prophet to finish. When the Visitor cleared his plate, Robert stood and followed the man as he left the room. Tyrion was close behind the king. When they reached the yard, there was a floating circle of metal in the center.
"Stay clear of the edges," Prophet instructed as the three of them stepped on. They rose into the air, and it was its own adventure to see King's Landing shrinking below them. After rising a couple miles by Tyrion's estimate, they entered the Orb. It was dark for a second and then Tyrion found himself in a bare, round room.
"How can you see where you're going inside this thing?" Tyrion asked.
"Like this." the walls of the room seemed to turn transparent, revealing the sky around them and the ground and ocean below.
"Wow. It looks like metal one way and invisible the other. Impressive!" Robert said.
"Close, but wrong. The walls of the inner chamber merely changed color to reflect the outside surroundings. Now, prepare for a view no one from your world has ever seen before." Prophet narrowed his eyes and the Orb began to move into the sky.
Tyrion felt like he was dreaming as the world got further and further away below him. He started to see the curvature of the world. Before he knew it, he could see the whole orb of the world. It was so blue from the oceans and white from the clouds. The lands looked small as they did on a map. It just floated there in space, surrounded by the black of night and the bright dots of stars.
Robert held up his hand. "I've got the world in the palm of my hand," he said in almost reverent awe.
"It seems so small from all the way up here," Tyrion commented.
"Our world is about the same size. Other worlds can be smaller or bigger. And your sun and our sun are the same size and color too. Our system even has the same number of worlds as yours. It's as if our systems were twins," Prophet revealed.
Tyrion took his eyes off his home world to look around. "The moon is so close!" he exclaimed.
"The best view to see a world tends to be from the halfway point between it and its moon," Prophet stated.
"I sit on an iron chair and rule over the smallest continent," Robert said as if to himself. "I'm a giant down there, but up here I'm smaller than an ant."
"Your Grace? Robert? Are you okay?" Tyrion asked.
"I think so. I think I've finally found perspective for once in my life. I'm lucky as all seven hells to be King. I should respect this crown after all everyone sacrificed to give it to me."
"15 years and Jon Arryn couldn't teach you wisdom but 15 minutes up here did?" Tyrion asked in disbelief.
"This is actually a common phenomenon for those who have seen their world from space. We call it the 'overview' effect," Prophet spoke. "Now, if you're done admiring the view, it's almost as fun returning to the surface."
The Orb descended back down towards the land of Westeros. It was indeed fascinating to see the world come closer until they were floating a mere couple miles above King's landing. The circle they stood on descended to the Red Keep. Prophet stepped off the flying disc, followed by a dazed Tyrion and Robert.
"Well… don't see that every morning," Tyrion said lightly.
Robert burst into gales of laughter. "Tyrion, if Ned weren't my Hand I'd pick you. You always know how to make me laugh. Now, I'm calling a meeting of the Small Council. And everyone had better be there." Robert walked off to find a servant.
Tyrion eyed Prophet. "You may just have given the Realm a better king."
"Why do you think I agreed so easily?" Prophet said slyly.
Tyrion could only applaud. "Bravo, good man. Bravo." Then he made for the Small Council chamber. He didn't want to be late for the first full meeting in years.
Ned
Whatever prophet had done to encourage Robert to be a good king, Ned didn't know. But the results were a massive boon for the Realm. He attended every Small Council meeting except when he held court once a week, he had good ideas and listened to advice, he hadn't even gotten (too) drunk or ordered a whore to his bed since the day after Tyrion was voted in.
They were in the middle of a meeting and discussing how the North could start exporting lumber from its many forests when Prophet coughed.
"I hate to interrupt but King Robert will want to hear this. Viserys Targaryen just died."
The Council members either gasped or got pensive. "So the last male dragon has died," Robert mused, seeming pleased but not obscenely so. "How did he die?"
"He drew a blade in Vaes Dothrak, which is a capital crime among the Dothraki. Khal Drogo melted down some gold medallions and poured the liquid metal over Viserys's head," Prophet reported.
"So he died with a crown of gold, his lifelong wish fulfilled, if perhaps not how he expected," Varys said as if moved by the poetry of it all.
"So that's it then? There's just Daenerys and her baby to worry about?" Renly ased.
"Her child will be raised Dothraki and only have stories from his mother about an Iron Throne rightfully his. In any case, we can stop worrying about Dothraki invading for at least a decade or two," Tyrion reasoned.
Pycelle frowned. "What if Daenerys convinces her husband to invade and she names herself queen?"
"40 thousand untrained barbarians against the might of the Seven Kingdoms. I'll take those odds," Selmy said confidently.
Prophet said "They're hardly untrained, Barristan. The Dothraki are the most fearsome cavalry in Essos, arguably the world. They're experts at a more savage form of war than you're used to. I wouldn't be so convinced in your victory if they invade. But the odds of them actually invading are extremely low, so it's a moot point."
Ned cleared his throat. "Daenerys is just another horse lady. Neither she nor her child nor any future children are a threat to the Seven Kingdoms. NOw, shall we stop gossiping about a dead man and get back to running the Realm?"
The meeting picked up where it left off. They were approaching a stopping point when Robert brought something up. "How goes the search for my new bride?"
Ned sat up. "I made a list of every lady from every House of marriageable, child-bearing age. Then I ordered them based on my opinion of how much benefit they would bring to the Realm as Queen. Then, because I know you Robert, I factored in their beauty. The top three choices are Margaery Tyrell, Arianne Martell, and Asha Greyjoy."
Robert frowned. "Prophet, could you show them to me? If I'm waking up to them every morning, I'd better like their face."
Prophet projected life-size holograms of all three eligible ladies. The men of the Council whistled and made lewd comments about how lucky the king was. Robert had a considering look as he regarded all three one by one. "Tell me the benefits for each one," he ordered.
"Margaery Tyrell comes with the fields and forces of House Tyrell, she's considered one of the prettiest girls in Westeros, and she has a brain so she could help you make decisions regarding the Realm," Ned said, feeling like he were trying to auction off the maiden.
"And Arianne?"
"Heal the rift caused by Elia's murder, she's Dornish so she might tolerate your whoring if not join in, and she's experienced as any lady of the night."
Robert turned to the last. "That's a Greyjoy?"
"Indeed. Marrying her reduces the odds of another rebellion even further, she knows how to command a fleet, and she has a fearsome reputation for her, ahem, stamina."
Robert considered his choice, for once not thinking with his cock. "I'll take Margaery. Draft a wedding contract and send it by raven."
"At once, Robert," Ned nodded.
"Now, I think we've done enough ruling for one afternoon. Go get dinner." Rob was the first out the room. Renly, an oddly triumphant look in his eyes, followed. The other members filtered out until Tyrion and Ned were alone. "Can I help you, Tyrion?" Ned asked.
"When were you planning to let Robert know about the White Walkers?" the Lannister asked.
Ned sighed. "I'd have done it already except for one problem. If Robert calls the banners of the Realm and says it's to stop the Others, no lord would send a single man. We have to wait for the captured wight to get here."
Tyrion sighed. "You're right, Ned. It's just… sometimes I'm listening to us talk about the issues of the Realm and all I can think is there might not BE a Realm once the Army of the Dead invades. Oh, the Visitors would save us, they told me so, but only after millions upon millions had already died."
"This isn't even their world. It's ours. They're just… visiting. We can't expect them to fight our battles for us." Ned clapped a hand on Tyrion's shoulder. "Winter is coming, Tyrion. It's up to men like us to ensure the Realm survives it."
Tyrion nodded. "Seven help us," he muttered before leaving the room.
Ned made for the Tower of the Hand and had dinner with his children and the portion of his household he'd borught south. Winter cracked jokes that delighted the kids. The direwolf and Robert's stag, Fury, got along very well considering that thier normal counterparts were predator and prey.
Not had retreated to his room when there was a knock. Ned opened the door to find Prophet waiting. "May I help you, Prophet?"
"The question is may I help you," The Visitor said. "Would you like to speak to your wife?"
Ned got wide eyes. "Desperately. But how could I?"
Prophet merely nodded. He gestured and a copy of Cat formed out of Fog appeared before Ned. It was moving and when it opened its mouth Cat's voice came out. "Ned? How are you… the Vistiors are doing something, aren't they?"
"Yes, my love," Ned said, almost in tears just from hearing her voice. "I believe I'm talking to a Fog statue of you and you're talking to a Fog statue of me. Prophet is controlling htem boht and making the sounds. It's almost as good as being together again."
Cat got a wide smile. "Remind me to thank him next time I see him. So what's happened down in the capital? Are the children okay? Is Bran still climbing?"
They talked for hours, updating each other on what they'd missed and just talking as only spouses who are best friends can. Robb was blooming as Lord Stark. A pack of wildlings had attacked and one had sworn herself to the service of House Stark. Osha, her name was. Finally, there were no words left to say but "I love you. Goodbye."
Ned turned to Prophet and embraced the man. "This was my favorite of all your gifts," the grateful husband said heartfelt.
"My pleasure, Ned."
Ned slept soundly that night, the weight in his heart greatly reduced by his 'visit' with Cat.