The Ghost of Yi Ti
The_Jade_Samurai
Summary:
Fearful of Robert Baratheon's wrath, Lyanna Stark flees the Seven Kingdoms with her newborn son and the remaining loyal Kingsguard to Essos. However, a series of unfortunate events send them wildly off course toward the mysterious Golden Empire of Yi Ti, a land unknown to them. Jhaegar 'Jon' Targaryen is raised by the noble jeonsa, legendary warriors known for their honour and strength in battle. Raised in a different culture and speaking a different language, how will Jon fare when he decides to take back the Seven Kingdoms and reclaim what is rightfully his? With the might of the oldest and most powerful empire in the known world, surely it will be easy?
Notes:
A rewrite of my story The Princess of Yi Ti so major it's a completely different story. Please read the summary for a brief idea of what to expect from this all-new story. I hope you enjoy Ghost of Yi Ti as much as you did Princess of Yi Ti. Any and all reviews (except for trolls) and constructive criticism are welcomed.
Updates will be weekly/fortnightly, with the aim being every Wednesday night Australian Eastern Standard Time.
Chapter 1: Tyrion I
Chapter Text
Tyrion Lannister, the dwarf of Casterly Rock and his father's greatest shame yet most clever of his three children, really wanted some wine right about now. The headache he'd woken up with had been manageable, for the most part until he'd started to perform his labours as acting Hand of the King. Dealing with court politics was easy enough as most of the lords and ladies of the court of King's Landing were utter simpletons who couldn't tell which end of a sword was the pointy end. But it was the other things Tyrion had to deal with that were just making his head spin even more.
Joffrey was simply getting worse and worse. His idiocy in having Lord Stark executed was making the brat think he was invincible, even as his country threatened to burn because of his impulsive cruelty. Now Lord Stark's eldest boy Robb was declaring himself the King in the North and fighting against the crown in the Riverlands. In the Stormlands, young Renly Baratheon had married that Tyrell girl and was fashioning himself a claimant to the throne, and the unyielding Stannis waited in Dragonstone, sending ravens out to as far as the Wall declaring himself the rightful king of Westeros. Not only that, but the smallfolk in King's Landing were rioting, and not even Joffrey's cruel reputation was doing anything to trample down the anger and fear of the people. And the stupid boy was too cowardly and sheltered by Cersei to do anything about it. And Cersei, oh by the Old Gods and the New she had become infuriating since Jaime's capture. All of this was just giving Tyrion the biggest of migraines that refused to go away.
And he did not even have time to take a break. A ship had arrived at the docks, from Yi Ti of all places. The goldcloaks did not know what to do with the odd situation, so they had sent someone up to the Red Keep to investigate. Naturally that meant Tyrion was the only one qualified for the job and as such he was forced to take a whole battalion of Gold Cloaks and Ser Bronn with him. After all, it would not do for the Heir of Casterly Rock to be killed by a mass of angry peasants, even if it might make his father smile for the first time in years. Imagine that. A Lannister, killed by the commonfolk. Actually Tyrion's father would probably send his armies to slaughter all of King's Landing if that happened, if only to preserve the legacy he so desperately wished to uphold for his house.
Tyrion came to the docks and breathed in the fresh, salty air that removed the constant stench of shit and filth, escorted by over a dozen Gold Cloaks and Ser Bronn. Janos Slynt, the Lord Commander of the Gold Cloaks had insisted he come as well. Tyrion did not even need to ask to know why. Janos Slynt was as corrupt as people came, and he was also looking to elevate his station above others much like the rest of the morons in this city. The Lord Commander's presence was simply a fool's wish in seeing himself surrounded by other people of power, most notably the Hand of the King. Even from behind Tyrion could imagine Ser Janos's pompous expression on his face. Tyrion was actually considering getting rid of Janos and replacing him with that other man, Ser Arnold whatever his last name was. He seemed to be the only man in the whole City Watch capable of swinging a sword well, and from Tyrion's limited interactions with him came across as a strong, honourable man. King's Landing could do with a few more of those kinds of men.
Most of the workers on the docks kept their distance upon seeing the entourage of soldiers, some with looks of fear in their eyes. Tyrion sighed. The Gold Cloaks were supposed to be King's Landing's protectors, but their corruption and brutal methods under Joffrey's regime was driving the trust of the people further and further away. If Tyrion did not work to improve upon that, the starving population would very soon be the least of his worries. However, there was one group of people who clearly stood out from the rest of them towards the end by a curiously-shaped ship. Some of them were working on unloading crates from the ship onto the dock, while others stood in strange… well, to Tyrion they almost looked like dark grey or black dresses but far looser and worn by men. The men themselves stood straight and tall, eyeing all passers-by distrustfully. They were definitely YiTish however. They were medium-height to tall, with black hair tied up in topknots at the tops of their heads. The ones in the black dresses (Tyrion probably needed to stop thinking of the strange clothing like that in case he accidentally offended one of them) all had strange, curved swords tucked into their belts with their arms folded across their chests, deep scowls on their faces.
Warriors, or hired guards, thought Tyrion. Unlike the blithering idiots who made up a fair portion of the Gold Cloaks, including their esteemed leader, these YiTish men looked like they actually knew how to kill. He felt a small sense of… well, he couldn't say it was fear exactly, but seeing the men certainly had him on edge. It reminded him a little of his own father, actually.
Steeling himself, and trusting Ser Bronn and the Gold Cloaks to have his back, Tyrion approached the YiTish sailors and guards as confidently as he could.
"Good afternoon gentlemen," he greeted. The men simply looked at him indifferently. Well, Tyrion had been expecting a cold welcome but not indifference. Clearing his throat slightly, he said, "I am Lord Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the King of the Seven Kingdoms. You are certainly a long way from home, may I ask what brought you here?"
Still no response. The YiTish men continued to stare at Tyrion like he was some kind of curious animal, a look the dwarf was familiar with at this point. Behind him, he heard Ser Bronn chuckle.
"You fools, Lord Tyrion asked you a question!" barked out Ser Janos Slynt. The YiTish men's attention turned to the Lord Commander and frowned at him, but did not react.
"Thank you, Ser Janos. But I think it would be best if you let me do the talking," said Tyrion condescendingly. Ser Janos sputtered before stepping back, red-faced and embarrassed. Tyrion straightened his collar slightly before turning back to the YiTish. "Do any of you speak the Common Tongue?"
Ser Bronn scoffed loudly. "Unlikely. I doubt any of these prissy boys can understand anything we say," he said scornfully.
"Be glad they do not, good ser, else they would cut out your tongue for the perceived insult," said a young, masculine voice behind them. Tyrion, Ser Bronn and the Gold Cloaks all turned around to see a young man, possibly in his early twenties dressed almost exactly the same as the others, though his clothing was pitch black lined with blood-red trimming. Something about the clothing nagged at the back of Tyrion's mind, but that was the last thing he was thinking of. The young man who'd appeared was definitely Westerosi, but not only that, but Tyrion felt like he was seeing a Ghost. Why did this man look exactly like Ned Stark come again?
"Forgive my men," continued the man in a polite voice that had the slightest of accents, though Tyrion couldn't place where it originated from. He was too distracted by how much the man resembled the dead Lord Stark to even think properly. The man was either unaware of Tyrion's internal plight or was choosing to ignore it when he said, "What can I do for you?"
"Oh, yes- um," said Tyrion, quickly recollecting himself. Beside him, he glanced at Ser Janos, whose face had gone white as a sheet as he stared at the man. "My name is Tyrion Lannister, Hand of King Joffrey. We came down here to investigate why a YiTish ship of all things had docked in the Blackwater."
"A Lannister? Well, I have heard much about your family," said the man. Was it just Tyrion's imagination, or had the man's expression darkened slightly? "I can assure you my lord, we are not pirates here to ransack your little town," continued the man, looking over Tyrion to give the Gold Cloaks a meaningful stare. Tyrion also noticed that the man had two swords similar to the YiTish's in his belt, though one was about half as long as the other.
"You are not YiTish," said Tyrion.
"No, I am not," affirmed the man. "I am as Westerosi as you are, my lord."
"What is a Westerosi doing with savages such as these?" questioned Ser Janos quietly. Not quietly enough, because the man clearly heard it as he raised an eyebrow.
"Such narrowmindedness will get you in trouble, good ser," warned the man in a friendly tone. However, his hand had moved to casually rest on the pommel of one of his blades. All it would take was one swing and things would fall into chaos.
Sensing the sudden tension in the air, Tyrion stepped forward and before Ser Janos could open his mouth to say something that might put him in an early grave, said, "I am sure that it is a delightful story, one that I would be eager to hear more of. Perhaps, my lord would do me the honour of accompanying me to my favourite pub?" He looked at the man hopefully as an idea came to his head.
The man looked thoughtful for a moment, before shrugging. "I do not see why not," he said. Turning back to his men, he said something in YiTish that had the YiTish men bowing from the waist at him before going to the boat, leaving just two with the man.
"Come," said Tyrion. He turned around, beginning the walk back through the city. Instead of taking the man and his two guards to a regular old pub in the city, instead Tyrion went to Littlefinger's brothel, a place where he could, hopefully, learn more about the strange travellers by providing sufficient distractions that could get them to inadvertently reveal their secrets. It was a trick that Tyrion had used several times to great effect, and he knew that Petyr Baelish and Lord Varys used the same methods with similar results. And more than likely it had been used on Tyrion as well. What could he say, he enjoyed his women and his wine. It was a tried and true method, one that Tyrion was going to exploit once more on these gentlemen.
Passing by the door with the mockingbird emblem, Tyrion had one of the City Watchmen open the door into the lavish brothel. Even though the dwarf did not like Baelish in the slightest, he had to admit that the man had exquisite taste. All of the interior was lavishly decorated with the finest and most expensive silks and stone, and the couches and beds made of the best woods and pillows money could buy. Tyrion cared little for the erotic paintings hanging from the walls, but he could still appreciate the art from an objective point of view.
"Welcome to the most refined brothel in all of King's Landing," he said pleasantly. Almost instantly Ser Bronn and Ser Janos vanished, making Tyrion sigh internally. What was the point of having bodyguards if they disappeared at the first opportunity to enjoy a woman?
"Why did you bring us here?" asked the man. Tyrion noticed how he and his men seemed utterly bored with the place. That was not a good sign, but the girls had not arrived just yet. Speaking of which, several prostitutes came from around a corner, scantily-clad with silks that hid all but the most enticing parts while teasing what lay underneath them.
"I often find that that after a hard day of making sure the whole country does not burn to the ground, a good cup of wine and the company of pleasant women to be the best source of stress relief," said Tyrion. He sat down on one of the fine cushioned chairs and poured two goblets of wine, offering one to the young man which he took. When the man eyed it distrustfully, Tyrion said, "It is not poisoned."
"That is not what I am worried about," replied the man, but regardless he took a large gulp and set the empty goblet down on the table, sitting down in the other chair.
"This establishment has some of the finest girls in the Seven Kingdoms, so you are free to take your pick of the one who catches your eye the most," said Tyrion as he poured the man another cup, then gestured to the waiting girls who were smiling at them coyly. Or rather, they were smiling at the young man who still had not even spared a single glance their way. Interesting. Perhaps our visitor prefers the company of men? Thought Tyrion.
"You and I have very different methods of relieving our stress, my lord," said the man. He downed his second cup and grimaced. "This wine is weak."
"It is Arbour Gold, the sweetest wine you will ever find this side of the Narrow Sea," said Tyrion.
"It is sweet, but not very strong," said the man. "If you wish to get me drunk enough to spill my secrets, then I suggest you find me some sake."
"Sake?" repeated Tyrion. He had never heard of such a thing. Perhaps, once he was done here, he should take a look at the library and read a little bit about Yi Ti.
"Never mind," said the man dismissively.
Tyrion inspected the man before him. He was young, possibly no older than twenty, but he carried himself in a way that spoke of experience most men twice his age did not possess. He was handsome, in a pretty sort of way with hair black as ink that fell down to his shoulders in soft waves. He had a well-trimmed beard that was a little thin, but the look suited him as it made him seem a little older. There was also a scar above his right eye and on his cheek, possibly from a blade.
"Forgive me, my good man, but I forgot to ask your name," said Tyrion.
"Jon," said the man simply.
"Jon, that is a strong Northern name," said Tyrion.
"My mother is from the North," said Jon.
"And your father?"
"The South."
Tyrion smiled tightly, but inside he was a little miffed. Jon, if that was even his real name, was not giving much away. He had the Northern look, which Tyrion could easily believe, but he wanted to know more.
"Your mother is from the North, your father the South. And yet you claim to be from Yi Ti, may I ask why?" questioned Tyrion.
"My father died just before I was born, and my mother and I were taken in by his brothers to go on a trip to see the world and find better lives," said Jon. "Robert's Rebellion had left them all with nearly nothing so they took the first boat across the Narrow Sea until they ended up in Yi Ti."
"Which is one of the furthest places from Westeros as you can get," said Tyrion. He took a sip of his wine before saying in a careful, yet slightly prodding voice, "So what brings you back from your long exile?"
Jon gave a small grin at that. "Opportunity, my lord," he answered. "My friends and I, though we do not look it, are merchants sent by one of the lords of Yi Ti to find an opportunity to open a trade route between our two nations. I was sent because I am from both lands."
"One so young, yet trusted with such a heavy responsibility," commented Tyrion.
"Women are married and begin bearing children far younger than I am. Compared to that, this is nothing," said Jon.
"Wise words," said Tyrion, raising his cup to the younger man. Jon copied the gesture and finished his cup, then set it down once more. Tyrion noticed that Jon still had not looked at the waiting prostitutes, so he thought he might push the man in that direction. "The girls seem rather eager to get to know you," he said lightly.
Jon shrugged indifferently. "They are not my type," he said.
Tyrion felt an eyebrow raise on his ugly face. "Do you prefer a…" how could he put this? "Rougher company?"
"I am very much attracted to the opposite sex my lord," said Jon, "however my tastes are rather exclusive."
"You prefer the women of Yi Ti?" questioned Tyrion. When Jon nodded, he snorted. This man was truly something else. Shaking his head slightly, he asked, "Tell me about Yi Ti. I am a studious man who enjoys learning new things, but I must admit I know next to nothing of your strange world."
"Yi Ti is the oldest civilization in the known world," said Jon. "The empire existed during the Age of Heroes and the Long Night. Not even the Valyrians could outlast them. Our cities are grander than anything you have ever seen my lord, they make King's Landing look like a squalor in comparison."
"Fascinating," said Tyrion quietly. They talked for several more hours as Tyrion picked Jon's brain of as much information about the reclusive empire as possible. The dwarf found that while Jon was a man who answered simply and honestly (a true breath of fresh air), the boy seemed to be a little on the sober side. Again Tyrion was reminded of how much he seemed like Ned Stark, even down to his personality and mannerisms. Though Jon definitely appeared far more confident than the dead former Warden of the North. There were other interesting things that Tyrion picked up on. When Jon asked him about the state of the Seven Kingdoms, he talked about how there was currently a war going on in the Riverlands between the Lannisters and the North as a result of Joffrey killing Ned Stark. Jon's face had looked briefly stricken for a moment before it resumed its natural, closed off expression. Tyrion filed that in the back of his mind for later thought. And as they spoke, Tyrion couldn't help but shake the feeling that he was the one being manipulated, not the other way around. Perhaps it was the wine speaking.
The two men would have continued well into the night were it not for Ser Bronn and Janos's return, both looking satisfied with their time in the brothel. Tyrion would have made a snide remark about the two men's abandoning of their duties for a time of temporary satisfaction, but he noticed the dark look that had crossed on Jon's face as he looked at Ser Janos. Another thing to ponder about. However, the time had come to separate from the YiTish and their leader, though Tyrion managed to squeeze a promise out of Jon to meet again before heading back to the Red Keep.
"What an interesting fellow," mused Tyrion. He was back in his private room, the fire roaring in the hearth as he sat at a table in a plush chair with a cup of wine in his hands. His mind was still on Jon and his strange origins and story. He was so fascinated, in fact that he had spurned Shae's advances in order to think more about this mysterious new puzzle. There was a knock on his door, and when Tyrion bid the person to enter, his senses were assaulted by the smell of strong perfumes and incense. Lord Varys, the Master of Whispers. The eunuch, as always, was clothed in the finest silks, his bald head shining in the orange light caused by the fire. He also had that ever-present look that he knew more than anyone else in the room, which unfortunately for Tyrion, was quite possibly true.
"You asked for me, my lord," said Varys with a light bow at the door.
"I did indeed," said Tyrion sarcastically as he bid Varys to come closer, once the Spider had approached, he asked, "Have your little birds spoken to you of anything concerning the YiTish who landed on our shores?"
"It has been all they have been twittering about, my lord," said Varys. "The arrival of such an unknown entity has gotten all of them singing."
"Have your birds spoken of anything of note?" asked Tyrion.
"The YiTish are supposedly led by a man who looks Westerosi, a Northerner," said Varys.
"I already knew that, I've met and spoken with him. Have they spoken of anything else?" said Tyrion dismissively.
"Just that the men have been seen in all parts of King's Landing, in particular the markets in the middle of the city and along the Blackwater."
"Jon claimed to have been a merchant, perhaps he was looking for people he could barter with," said Tyrion thoughtfully.
"My lord?" questioned Varys.
"Nothing," said Tyrion. Then he sighed. "Have your birds found out about the origins of the YiTish's mysterious leader?"
"Nothing more than what he probably told you, I am afraid," said Varys, sounding anything but. "It seems that everyone who speaks with him, he tells the same story that he was born in the North, but moved with her mother and deceased father's family to new lands in search of a better life. He has spoken often with the smallfolk in particular of how Robert's Rebellion was the cause of his family's need to leave."
Tyrion sighed, frustrated. Jon and the YiTish were a puzzle, and Tyrion had been born with an insatiable desire to learn everything that could be learned, including the secrets of others. Knowledge was power, and if he could learn the reason as to why they had come to Westeros, he could know how to best handle the situation. There were a few things that bothered him, however.
"I think he may have some connection to the Starks," said Tyrion, loud enough for Varys to hear.
"Oh?" said Varys. This must have been the first he'd heard of it.
"Have you seen the leader? The Westerosi man from the North?" asked Tyrion. When Varys shook his head, he continued, "The man bears a striking resemblance to the late Lord Stark, so much in fact I would have assumed that he was young Lord Robb were it not for the fact that I have already met the lad. He looks more Stark than any of Ned's children."
"Interesting," said Varys. "I shall have my little try to find more information about him. Maybe he can be bought or coerced. He is a merchant, after all."
"I already tried that," said Tyrion, "the man refused the prostitutes at Littlefinger's brothel."
"Not every man thinks with his cock," said Varys chidingly.
"Spoken like a man without one," retorted Tyrion easily. He did not feel sorry in the slightest when he saw Varys shake his head in disappointment.
"I meant that perhaps we can gain his loyalties. He did say that we was here to establish ties between Yi Ti and the Seven Kingdoms," continued Varys.
"It is possible, however we first have to know what it is that motivates him," said Tyrion thoughtfully.
"I shall have my birds on the-" Varys was cut off when there was a sudden pounding on the door. Tyrion got up out of his chair and opened the door, feeling surprised when he saw a breathless Lannister soldier standing there.
"Lord Hand! A body has been brought to the Red Keep. It is urgent!" breathed out the soldier.
"Bodies are found all the time, I am sure someone else can look this issue over," said Tyrion. Looking over his shoulder, he saw that Varys looked completely unperturbed, though he definitely looked curious.
"My lord, the body is Ser Janos Slynt of the City Watch," insisted the soldier.
Tyrion froze as he looked up at the soldier. Janos Slynt, dead? But he'd seen him just a few hours prior!
"Take me to him," ordered Tyrion. The soldier wasted no time in leading the way, and Tyrion did his best to keep up with his stubby legs, but it was difficult and he soon found himself out of breath and his knees aching. Though out of sheer stubbornness and that innate need of his to prove that he could be just like anyone else in spite of his physical limitations he pressed on. They were taken down to the lower parts of the keep, down to Grand Maester Pycelle's quarters. Already there were several people gathered, including Cersei and Lord Baelish. They were gathered around a table that had the body of the City Watch's Lord Commander laid on top. Tyrion pushed to the front, ignoring the annoyed grunt of one of the guards and inspected the body.
Janos's body had, to put it simply, been butchered. His neck had three thin red marks in it, two on the side and one right under his jaw that indicated that he had been stabbed upwards right into his brain. His armour, once golden and well-maintained was now stained in his own gore, with several puncture marks in the armour. The blood was still fresh, and so was the smell of shit. Tyrion stepped closer and looked at the wounds in Janos's neck. They were thin, like they had been made by a dagger or a similar blade. Every single one of the wounds on the dead man's body were fatal, but the amount was almost overkill.
"Who did this?" asked Tyrion. He looked up at Maester Pycelle, who was busy inspecting the body from the other side of the table.
"We do not know, the body was found outside the front gates of the Red Keep," answered Lord Baelish.
"And no one saw who put it there?" questioned Tyrion.
"No one, my lord. It was as if the body had just appeared right there before our eyes," said someone, a soldier.
"Were you there?" asked Tyrion.
"No my lord."
Tyrion looked at the Janos's body. He did not like the man at all, having found him a slimy bastard who, if intelligence reports were to be believed, had no issue murdering children and babies to improve his station. However, the cause of death by multiple stabs was certainly a little overboard. Tyrion looked at Cersei, who had so far remained uncharacteristically silent so far.
"Nothing to say, have you dear sister?" he asked mockingly.
Cersei glared at him before curtly replying, "Find another City Watch Lord Commander," then walked out from the room, her crimson skirts trailing behind her as one of the Kingsguard followed closely behind.
Tyrion sighed. "The cause of death?" he asked despite already knowing the answer.
"Multiple stab wounds in the neck and torso, interestingly enough every single laceration could have been fatal," said Maester Pycelle.
Tyrion sighed impatiently, but he held his tongue and instead chose to nod his head. "So whoever killed him was not some common thief or catspaw," he said.
"It is very unlikely," said Maester Pycelle.
"It is more than unlikely, it is simply impossible," argued Lord Baelish. "This was mostly likely a premeditated attack, or even an assassination."
As much as he was loathe to ever agree with anything Littlefinger said, Tyrion had to admit that the man had a point. There was no way that every single strike to Janos was a fatal wound without it being done by someone who knew what they were doing. But there was also the fact that Janos's body had been dumped in front of the Red Keep for anyone to see. No, this was more than just a random killing, or even an assassination. It was a message.
But who was the message for?
Janos Slynt's death quickly became the start of a long string of murders all across King's Landing. It was starting to cause mayhem in the Red Keep, particularly amongst the higher ranking officers and commanders. Janos was just the first death in the City Watch; every other man appointed to the position of the Lord Commander soon met gruesome fates. Not only that, but other men, including the captain of the guard of the Red Keep and dozens of soldiers were turning up dead in the streets, hanging from rooftops or in places where hundreds of people could see. Conveniently every single one of the commanders were suspected of being in the pockets of either Cersei or Littlefinger, and while Tyrion did find it amusing to see two of the most self-professed smartest people in the world losing their minds over what to do, it was giving the Hand a headache as he was running out of people to select for the role of Lord Commander and captain of the guard. Thankfully that man Tyrion had considered replacing Janos, Ser Arnold had taken up the offer, and so far he had not been killed, but that was likely in part due to the fact that it seemed he could not be bought. Cersei kept insisting that new Lord Commander looked familiar, but Tyrion simply dismissed it as his sister's growing paranoia.
There were not only murders, but soldiers were turning up with missing hands or fingers. When questioned about who hurt them so brutally, they could only say that they had seen a shadowy ghost that mutilated them with blades thin as paper and dark as Valyrian steel. There were no names, no faces, just figures in dark clothing and faces like demons that hunted them. The commonfolk were no better, but all the witnesses agreed that whoever was causing the terrorist acts moved as swiftly and silently as a ghost and could not be pursued.
Tyrion certainly had his hands full. Cersei was furious and Joffrey even more so. The bratty young king was demanding that someone's head be brought in, but as the witnesses had said, this 'Ghost,' was proving to be an elusive person to catch. Houses had been searched, inns and pubs cleared, brothels overturned and still there was no sign or hint as to where the Ghost could be. Whenever a new body was found, the culprit was already long gone. The worst part of it all was that the Ghost was quickly becoming a revered legend amongst the commoners and smallfolk. From what Varys' little birds had gathered, the Ghost only seemed to attack men who deserved it. Every man who came in with missing limbs had been attacked immediately after attempting to assault a barmaid or kitchen wench, losing the hand that had caused the offence. The ones who turned up dead had done far worse. The Ghost was becoming a symbol of hope and rebellion for the commoners, and Tyrion found this to be a far more dangerous concern than the actual deaths.
He'd already written to his lord father, but Lord Tywin was far too busy fighting back Robb Stark to return to King's Landing. Cersei was consistently refusing to believe the rumours being spread about the Ghost, which infuriated Tyrion to no end. Cersei believed that the smallfolk were weak and powerless, but her arrogance would be her downfall. The smallfolk outnumbered the combined might of the City Watch and the Lannisters station almost a thousand to one; if they decided to rebel, they would most certainly succeed. Every single small council meeting was spent deliberating more fantastical and ridiculous ideas on how to capture the Ghost, but nothing worked. Tyrion had tried to send out relief parties of soldiers and maids who would provide food and fresh clothing to the denizens of Flea Bottom, and while it was successful, the terrorists acts that constantly struck in various parts of the city were far more effective. Tyrion was quickly running out of ideas and he was growing desperate.
He could not help but think that something was going to change in all of the Seven Kingdoms. Whether it would be for good or ill was still undecided. And of course, Tyrion was right when a month after the attacks began, the bells signaling an invasion began to ring through the air. He woke up from his bed suddenly, alert and feeling slightly frightened and quickly got dressed before making his way to the throne room. He noticed that it was still dark outside.
Upon entering, he saw that Joffrey was sitting upon the Iron Throne, looking mad with fear and anger. To his left, Cersei stood, looking composed though her hands constantly ringing together gave away her true feelings. At the foot of the dais, the entirety of the Kingsguard sans Jaime stood assembled, looking taut as bowstrings with their hands gripping the pommels of their swords. The gathered lords and ladies of the court were all whispering frantically, but Tyrion ignored them as he approached the dais.
"Where have you been?" demanded Cersei in a low hiss as she looked down on Tyrion with contempt.
"My legs are shorter than everyone else's, so it took me twice as long to get here," replied Tyrion. "What is going on?"
"What is going on is that a fleet of ships has been spotted coming towards Blackwater Bay!" snapped Joffrey angrily.
Tyrion started. "A fleet? Has Stannis launched his attack?" he questioned.
"Unlikely, my lord," said Varys, seemingly materialising out of thin air as he approached. "Our latest reports indicate that Stannis is marching to confront his brother in the Stormlands."
"Then who is attacking? Is it the Ironborn?" asked Tyrion.
"The fleet is completely unknown my lord," said Lord Baelish. Unlike everyone else, he seemed to be relishing in the panicked atmosphere of the hall.
"Unknown? Who else could be…" Tyrion trailed off as a theory came to his mind. He looked at his nephew and said, "The small council must meet privately to discuss this urgent matter, Your Grace."
"You presume to command me? I am the king!" shrieked Joffrey.
"And as the king, you must make sure that the peace is kept, even during times of war," gritted out Tyrion impatiently. Oh, how he wanted to slap the boy silly right now.
Joffrey looked like he was about to argue, but Cersei quietly urged her son to listen. Reluctantly, Joffrey ordered the small council to meet privately. Ten minutes later, Tyrion sat with Joffrey, Cersei, Varys, Littlefinger and Maester Pycelle in the small council chambers. The new Lord Commander of the City Watch, Ser Arnold stood guard at the door alongside Ser Meryn Trant and Ser Boros Blount of the Kingsguard. On the other side, Sandor Clegane, the Hound had been tasked with watching the outside so that no one could eavesdrop. In spite of there being less people, the tension was just as thick in here as it was in the throne room.
"So, we do not know who commands the fleet or where it comes from," said Tyrion to open the meeting.
"No, Your Grace," affirmed Varys. "It appears as if this fleet appeared out of nowhere."
"They must have come from somewhere," argued Tyrion. "How many are there?"
"Over one hundred ships have been counted so far my lord, large enough to fit at least a hundred men per ship," spoke up Ser Arnold from the door.
"Over one hundred?" exclaimed Tyrion. That meant that they were up against over ten thousand soldiers most likely. He could think of dozens of factions and nations in Essos who possessed that many troops, but not all of them had a navy large enough to ship them all over.
"I remember that poor King Robert was worried that the Targaryen girl had amassed a horde of Dothraki to command," said Baelish. He seemed amused by the whole series of unfortunate events, rather than frightened or stressed.
"The Dothraki would never cross the ocean, they fear it. But that still does not answer my question," dismissed Tyrion quickly. He looked at Ser Arnold and asked, "Has the City Watch been rallied?"
"My men are almost finished with preparations for the city's defence," answered Ser Arnold. He seemed unnaturally calm about this situation as well, slightly putting Tyrion on edge. He dismissed it though, thinking that Ser Arnold was more than likely a war veteran and had experience with sieges and battles. Tyrion was glad at least one person was remaining reasonable.
"Have ravens been dispatched to Lord Tywin for assistance?" asked Tyrion.
"They fly as we speak, my lord," answered Varys.
Tyrion nodded. "For now, the best we can do is make sure the city and the Red Keep are secure," he began, "we'll need to make sure patrols are on full alert. No one is allowed outside of their neighbourhoods unless absolutely necessary, we cannot have the Ghost taking advantage of the impending chaos."
"Who cares about the peasants? The Red Keep is the place that needs to be fortified," said Cersei.
"The Red Keep is already filled with hundreds of soldiers willing to lay down their lives for the king," snapped Tyrion impatiently, "if these invaders manage to get a foothold in the city, it will prove disastrous for us all."
"I want all of those people on those ships dead!" shouted Joffrey indignantly. "They dare to attack my city? I will have all of their heads mounted on pikes along the city walls!"
"And so you shall my lion," assured Cersei.
"They have not attacked us yet," pointed out Tyrion.
"They are an armada, they will attack us eventually," snapped Cersei.
Tyrion bit back his retort. He knew that Cersei was right, but he wanted to quickly consider all their options. The fleet was here for a reason, perhaps they could be negotiated with?
"We need to see to the disposition of the troops. We are most likely in for a long assault, so we must make sure that we can hold the invaders off long enough for Lord Tywin to receive our message and-" Tyrion began to say.
He was cut off when outside, a loud whistling sound split the air like air being forced through a tube, only a thousand times louder and far more high-pitched. The dark night was suddenly replaced by a burst of azure blue and purple light. A second later, there was a loud whoosh, followed immediately by an ear-splitting BOOM that shook the entire Red Keep. Tyrion's head rang as he was blasted off his chair and crashed to the ground. He was vaguely aware that someone else had fallen next to him. Disoriented and hurting, Tyrion grunted as he pushed himself back up onto his stubby feet, using the table next to him as support while he tried getting his bearings. It looked like everyone else had suffered the same fate as he as they picked themselves up. The air reeked of something burning unnaturally, and he could hear groaning coming from the others as well.
"What just…?" Cersei began to say.
"An explosion," said Tyrion as his mind cleared to a shocking realisation. "The invaders have begun their attack!"
He sprinted quickly over to the nearest window to look outside and gasped in horror. Far down below, part of the wall had been blasted to smithereens by the explosion. Chunks of stone were blasted hundreds of feet away from their original places, and even from where he stood, Tyrion could hear the agonised screams of the unfortunate soldiers caught in the explosion. Looking beyond, he could see that other parts of the city had been hit by the mysterious attack. His clever mind quickly noticed that every spot that had been destroyed was a key strategical location vital for the defence of King's Landing, and now they were nothing but rubble.
"This was a set up!" cried Tyrion. "They knew where the city was at its weakest!"
"How?" asked Baelish, who for once did not look as immaculate as he always tried to be.
"I do not know!" said Tyrion frantically.
"Perhaps I can help you with that," said a slightly muffled, yet familiar voice.
Tyrion's head spun around so quickly he felt his neck crack. Leaning against the side of the wall on the other side of the small council chambers was a masked man. His attire and armour was almost entirely black and grey, with various daggers and hooks hanging from his body like a mural of dark, lethal weapons. The style of the armour was unlike anything Tyrion had ever seen before as well; it was mostly dark leathers and cloth. It looked almost haphazardly put together until he realised that the armour was more for stealth and speed than actual combat. The man's black hair was tied back with a dark grey headband secured over his forehead, with some loose strands of hair framing his face. The lower half of the man's face was covered by a dark grey mask of a snarling… well, Tyrion could not be sure what it was exactly but it resembled a demon with long, curled canines. And the swords on his belt, they looked almost exactly like the weapons carried by the YiTish merchants. Tyrion felt his eyes widen. Those men were not merchants, they were spies! They must have been the ones who planted the wildfire and set them off! And this man, he could be none other than the Ghost himself!
Ser Trant and Blount both quickly drew their swords and moved to attack the Ghost, weapons raised to cut the intruder down. Tyrion moved so that the table was between him and the ensuing battle, as did everyone else not holding a weapon. However, Tyrion found himself absolutely mesmerised by the fight. The Ghost was so quick it was almost impossible to see him moving, especially in the dim light of the small council chambers. In a flash, the Ghost drew the longer of his two swords and parried the blows of both the Kingsguard knights expertly. The blade was made of Valyrian steel, once again surprising Tyrion. Who was this man? Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Ser Arnold had not joined the fray. In fact, he looked almost bored by the fight. Tyrion was not the only one who noticed the other knight's lack of activity.
"What are you doing you oaf? Help kill the monster!" shrieked Cersei.
Ser Arnold regarded her with an indifferent look. "No, I do not think I will," he replied casually.
"You bastard! I will have your head!" roared Joffrey.
The Hound came barging into the room then, sword drawn. He saw the Ghost fighting Ser Trant and Blount, and was about to move to join, but suddenly Ser Arnold stood in his way.
"Let me be the one to entertain you," said the knight. Drawing his sword, he attacked the Hound with such finesse and speed the larger man was soon disarmed of his weapon and had a sword at his throat. Tyrion blinked. Sandor Clegane, one of the strongest and skilled warriors of the realm, had been bested by a mere City Watch guard? What was going on? Not only that, but the Ghost drew his second, smaller blade and stabbed upwards right into Ser Blount's exposed right armpit. When he pulled it out, a torrent of blood gushed out of the wound and Ser Blount screamed before dropping to the stone floor. Ser Meryn did not last much longer after that. In a few seconds, the Ghost had buried the longer of his two blades down into Meryn's neck with a sickening squelch. Ser Meryn's eyes widened in horror as the Ghost loomed over him.
"That is what you get for hitting my cousin," snarled the Ghost. In one fluid motion, he ripped his sword out then swung diagonally down, cleaving Ser Meryn open from his left shoulder to his right hip. As Ser Meryn's lifeless body dropped to the ground with a wet thud, the Ghost turned around, raised his left arm up and cleaned his bloodied blade with the crook of his elbow. Then he sheathed both his weapons.
"Forgive the mess, my lords and lady, but I had originally hoped the peace talks to be a little more… well, peaceful," said the Ghost, waving a hand to where the two dead Kingsguard now lay.
"Hound! Kill them!" screamed Joffrey fearfully.
"Your Grace, the Hound is out of the fight," stated Ser Arnold.
"Do not talk to my son in such a tone. He is the king!" hissed Cersei.
"Forgive me, but you seem to be under the pretense that I was addressing him," said Ser Arnold. Then he looked at the Ghost and nodded his head. "With the pretender and the small council as our hostages, the Red Keep and the rest of the city will be yours as soon as the fleet lands, Your Grace."
"The plan was a success then," said the Ghost with a nod of his head.
Tyrion took a tentative step forward, his hands raised in surrender as he ignored the looks the other small council members gave him. Eyeing the brutalised bodies of Sers Meryn and Blount warily, he asked, "Who are you? You are not Stannis or Renly, or even Robb Stark."
"We have already met my lord, though I must admit I was not entirely honest about my identity," said the Ghost. Removing his mask, the Ghost revealed himself to be none other than Jon, the Westerosi merchant from Yi Ti. It suddenly made sense to Tyrion. The blades the Ghost used that definitely matched the cuts and stab wounds found on the bodies of his victims, the strange arrival of a reclusive people looking to expand their trade routes, the fleet outside. By the Old Gods and the New, Tyrion had been played for a fool! He'd suspected that Jon might be behind all the terrorist acts, but in his hubris he'd ruled out the supposed merchant on the basis that Jon did not have the resources to do such a thing.
"Who are you?" demanded Cersei shrilly.
"I am the king you all forgot about," said Jon in a low voice that spoke volumes of pride and strength. "My name is Jhaegar Targaryen, son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. I am the Ghost of Yi Ti, and I have come with the might of the Golden Empire to take back what is rightfully mine."