Although this is just a fanfiction story, I still want to keep the feeling of GRRMs work. This means Matthew can't just show up, kill a few people, and everything will be smooth sailing from there. Every one of his acts has unforeseen consequences.
Matthew's still an amateur when it comes to the Game of Thrones. He's King and possesses canon knowledge, which has allowed him to push through so far. However, he's surrounded by players more experienced than him, so it remains to be seen whether he'll be up to the task. Ideas for advanced technology may not be enough to ensure Matthew's survival.
At any rate, enjoy the chapter.
XXXXXXXXXX
Cersei opened the door slowly, savoring the moment. "So Lord Baelish, how do you like your new accommodations?"
He was too weak to do anything but turn towards her. Baelish's right eye was missing, as was his right hand. Stripped naked, his body was covered in burn marks, cuts, and sores. His remaining eye widened, weakly struggling against his restraints.
"What, no witty remarks?" Cersei mocked, moving closer to him. She waved the torch near Baelish, making him flinch.
"My…" was all Baelish would utter. He'd pleaded that he was innocent, but looking through his financials proved that was a lie. To Cersei, though, Joffrey's accusation was all she needed to condemn him.
"The only reason you're still alive is that the King ordered you to be kept that way," Cersei continued, taking her time. "Well, I wouldn't call it living."
Her fingers brushed against the restraints, blood dimly visible in the torchlight. In the end, Baelish told her everything she wanted to know. "But I'm not about to allow my son to get a reputation for weakness. I won't let his enemies prey on his mercy."
He turned his body the best he was able, only a handful of teeth still in his mouth. Cersei crossed her arms, waiting for him to attempt pleading his innocence after he confessed. "Please… I've told you everything."
"Maybe you have, maybe you haven't. Either way, you won't be in any position to harm my family." The man accompanying her cautiously handed her a jar. Cersei grabbed it, being sure to keep the torch far away.
"I've always been curious to see what wildfire does to human flesh," Cersei grinned. Baelish fought against his restraints with all his remaining strength, pleading with her for mercy. "Let's find out."
She tossed the jar onto Baelish, ducking as far away as she could while still witnessing the spectacle. Green light immediately lit up the cell, his screams only dimly heard through the crackle of flame.
Cersei's eyes lit up at the sight. The flames consumed Baelish as well as the table he was strapped to. Her guard put out the torch, both to avoid any danger and because it was no longer necessary.
It didn't take long for Baelish to die, his flesh melting off his body. Still the fire burned, embers coming close to igniting Cersei's clothing. She backed further away, the wooden table collapsing onto the stone.
She marveled at the raw power of wildfire. Little wonder the Mad King was so obsessed with it. The flame gradually subsided, scorching the stone walls. Perhaps one day I'll be able to do the same to Tyrion. Cersei wasn't about to let the little monster harm her children. They might trust him for now, although Joffrey's change of heart was a recent one, but she wasn't about to fall for it. The Valonqar.
She swore she would never allow it to happen.
XXXXXXXXXX
Sansa looked over at her friend on the other side of the room, uncertain of what to do. What she anticipated to be a joyous reunion was nothing more than a tragedy.
Jeyne never spoke unless she was spoken to and even then, said no more then necessary. When Joffrey brought them back together, she screamed in panic when Sansa tried to hug her.
"When I found her, she was being whipped in a brothel," Joffrey told her when she first asked. "She's gone through a lot on unpleasant experiences so be gentle with her."
He was only seventeen, but his words and expressions spoke of a much older soul. Sansa never asked him about it, though she was sure something happened. What caused such a transform, she could barely guess at.
"Jeyne?" Sansa tried again. The girl might only have been the daughter of a minor lord, but she was still her friend.
"What is it?" Jeyne looked over, still unwilling to speak.
"It's good to see you again; I missed you." All her lessons about courtesy failed her. What her friend went through, Sansa could only guess at.
"Thank you." Jeyne got to her feet for the first time, staring out the castle window. "Do you know how long we're going to be here?"
"Probably until the war's over," Sansa wasn't sure she wanted to leave. Their families were at war, but Joffrey was proving himself to be the heroic king she heard about in the stories. He rescued Jeyne, looked after her, and supported even the lowest in King's Landing.
"I want to go home. I want to go back to Winterfell." Jeyne kept her eyes out the window, only slightly acknowledging Sansa. If not for her condition, Sansa would have demanded she treat a Lady of Winterfell with more respect.
Deciding not to push Jeyne any further, Sansa turned away. Maybe I can still marry him, have it bring our families together. She wasn't ready to give up on the stories just yet. Sansa had learned many in King's Landing were liars and manipulators, but there had to be some honest people in the city.
"Once the war's over, I'm sure you'll be allowed to return home," Sansa attempted to encourage. She wasn't sure what to do. Jeyne was so unlike the talkative, carefree girl she'd grown up with.
Sansa heard a quiet knock on the door, telling whoever was outside to come in. The door opened slowly, revealing her new maid. She hadn't bothered to learn the girl's name; all she knew was that the girl was at the brothel where it was said Joffrey went mad.
I can't believe he'd allow such a woman near me. Whores were the lowest of women, the sort all respectable lords and ladies stayed far away from. Based on some of the conversations she'd overheard, though, she didn't believe it was as uncommon as her mother always claimed.
The girl cleaned their room without a word, picking up and heading off to dump the chamber pot. Paying her no further attention, Sansa decided to try a different tactic: "Do you remember our favorite story? Ser Peter the Dragonslayer…"
"Don't ever mention those stories again!" Jeyne burst out. "Nothing but lies!" Sansa would ordinarily have rebuked her for such disrespect but couldn't bring herself to do so in Jeyne's state. "True knights don't exist; I saw that much for myself!"
"Of course they exist; one of them rescued you," Sansa reassured. "The people who… did this to you…"
"Raped me, you mean?" Jeyne snapped, making Sansa gasp. "Rape" wasn't a word you were supposed to say around a proper lady, let alone hear it from one. "You can't even handle hearing the word. While you were living comfortably in your room, I was taken by Baelish to be 'trained.'"
"By the Gods…" Sansa felt her eyes watering. She'd always had an uncomfortable feeling about the man but learning that he would do such a monstrous thing…
"Once Father was killed, I had no one to protect me. I was taken from my bed in the middle of the night and…" Jeyne couldn't go on any longer.
Sansa kept her expression sympathetic, righteous anger swirling within her mind. No one in Winterfell would have dared treat even a whore that way, lest they face her father's wrath. "I'm sorry, Jeyne. I promise that won't happen again."
"You can't promise anything like that. I'm sorry to say this, but you deserve to know the truth, Sansa. All the stories we loved hearing, tales of knights rescuing, and saving ladies… none of them are true. I was forced to… be with enough knights to know that much."
"Then they weren't true knights." None of her father's men would ever have done the same. The Lannisters were another matter.
"I wish I could believe that, but I'm just a young, defiled girl that no one in the city cares about. What's going to stop someone from doing it again… or doing it to you?"
Sansa stood up in protest, a fierce denial ready to escape her lips. Only… Jeyne was a highborn girl, and it didn't stop Baelish from turning her into a whore.
"We've come to a dangerous place." She hadn't forgotten her father's warning. Sansa hadn't taken it seriously then, being too enthralled with the Capital of Westeros. Witnessing what Jeyne had endured, and she was positive her friend only spoke of a few things, warned her that no one was safe.
Nor was there any sign of Arya. However aggravating she found her little sister and her refusal to behave like a lady, Sansa missed her. Joffrey swore to locate her, but she'd heard nothing.
Perhaps she was even dead. "No, I won't believe it." Sansa shook her head. Not unless she was forced to see her sister's body. After everything Joffrey had done for her, she didn't believe he would lie to her about something like that.
Lords and ladies spoke freely around her, seeing her as little more than a hostage. That her betrothal to Joffrey was at an end became common knowledge at court. Few here can keep things secret for long.
She wasn't in Winterfell here. In King's Landing, almost no one could be trusted. Like it or not, she would have to play the game. But she didn't know where to begin. Sansa was used to being supported because she was a Stark, not because she was a superior player. Perhaps it's time to start. If nobody sees me as a threat, they won't pay attention to me.
Ideally, she hoped to convince Joffrey that they belonged together after all. Sansa still dreamed of having a handsome prince by her side, someone who provided prosperity to the realm. They could be the King, and Queen Westeros deserved.
She'd have to be patient, but Sansa refused to give up.
XXXXXXXXXX
"Your changed behavior provides a mystery to us all, Your Grace," Varys remarked during their Council meeting.
"I can't very well play around and be a royal brat when my father was killed… by a boar, of all things," Matthew gave his rehearsed response. "You know better than I how he spent us into such debt."
"I am most impressed by what you've done so far, Your Grace," Varys flattered him. "And during wartime conditions as well."
"Thank you, Lord Varys." Matthew wasn't sure whether the spymaster was being sincere or sucking up. I'd love to be able to replace him. He knew what Varys' real plans were, but however tempting it was to execute him, he had no proof. Worse, he hadn't had the time to build up a spy network of his own, and many of the "little birds" were loyal to Varys alone.
"I'm pleased to report that our wildfire production is going swimmingly," Tyrion announced. "We should be able to reach ten thousand jars by the time Lord Renly reaches us."
"You believe he's going to be the one to arrive first?" Matthew questioned, remembering it was ultimately Stannis they fought at the Blackwater.
"Harrenhal and our father stand between Robb Stark and the Capital," Tyrion explained. "He cannot besiege Harrenhal, nor can he afford to bypass it and have my father assault him in the rear. No, we're safe from him, at least for now."
"What are we going to do about Stannis?" Cersei warned. "If he blockades us from the sea while Renly hits us from land…"
"Then we're likely screwed," Matthew informed. "Lord Varys, how many ships does Renly alone possess? Give me the most accurate number you can."
"Although most of the Reach has joined him, the Redwyne Fleet has not," Varys tutted. "Without their naval strength, my latest information tells me he has between sixty and eighty warships along the coast."
"All right, so we're not too badly outnumbered in that aspect, providing Stannis doesn't join him." Matthew rubbed his chin. With the Braavosi ships, the numbers would be just about even. "How much time do we have?"
"At his current speed, close to a moon," Varys responded. "The food being shipped from the Free Cities should provide some relief at least."
Damn, I was hoping for more time. None of the cannons had been completed yet, although a couple were close. Not enough would be built to have any significant effect on the outcome, meaning he was forced to face his enemies with comparable technology.
"Then we're going to need allies. We're barely holding off starvation as it is and that will get worse once we're under siege."
"The Iron Islands, perhaps?" Pycelle suggested.
"With Stark still holding his remaining son hostage, Balon's not going to do anything. He sneers at the idea of alliances anyway. Remember that he chose to attack my grandfather and the riverlands at the same time. No, I don't see him being interested." Matthew intended to send an offer anyway: an alliance with the Lannisters in exchange for the western shore of the Riverlands. Perhaps Asha at least would be interested.
"I had an alternate idea. Tell me, who is the oldest enemy of the Reach?"
"You mean to form common cause with Dorne?" Varys inquired. Just a brief glimpse of excitement was visible underneath the surface. "If I may be so bold, Your Grace, the Martells hold little love for your family. Either of them."
A subtle jab about Joffrey's true parentage. Letting it slide, Matthew added: "That grudge goes back a generation, but their war with the Reach has lasted for centuries. I think they'll be interested, providing we offer them enough to mend old grudges." I know Doran Martell wanted to side with Viserys, but he's dead. More than anything, I need to keep him from joining with Daenerys when she finally arrives.
"Most clever of you, nephew," Tyrion complimented. "In fact, I have a few ideas. We all know the tragic fate of Elia, raped, and murdered during the Sack of King's Landing. Not an easy grudge to overcome… but I'm sure Doran would love an opportunity to take revenge on certain people."
"The very thing I had in mind," Matthew concurred. "Tywin can always find another beast to replace him. We send a letter to Sunspear, offer Doran the heads of Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch. He can do to them whatever he pleases."
"Doran Martell is a weak Prince of Dorne, Your Grace," Pycelle spoke.
"I must concur with the Grand Maester," Varys added. "He has not left Sunspear is nearly a decade. I cannot see him marching his troops north for the sake of families he considers the enemy."
He's anything but weak. "I am aware that the heads of two men may not be enough to smooth things over. So let's give him an offer he won't be able to refuse, at least not out of hand. His grandchildren as heirs to the Iron Throne."
"Do you mean…" Varys questioned.
"A marriage between Arianne Martell and myself." Matthew interrupted. As it was doubtful he would ever return home, he knew he had to think of his new future. Arianne Martell would have been of legal age on Earth, unlike Sansa and many others. "A reconciliation between our families. With the power of Dorne behind us, we can face our remaining enemies on superior terms."
"You know, it's said Arianne is quite enthusiastic between the sheets," Tyrion remarked. "And marriage isn't something Doran will be able to dismiss easily."
"A pleasant bonus at a minimum," Matthew smirked at Tyrion. Cersei and Pycelle looked appalled, Dornish norms involving sexuality being looser than on the rest of the continent. "He won't accept right away, I'm sure, but he understands the value of self-interest." And hopefully cause him to delay his plans.
"So you're counting on him having grandchildren on the Iron Throne to override his certain desire for revenge," Tyrion summarized. "That will be quite the conundrum for him. Regardless, nephew, he's not going to act soon enough to save this city."
"I don't need him to. What I need is to ensure he won't become one of our enemies. Oberyn in particular, being as hotheaded as he is."
They discussed it for a while longer. Varys attempted to talk him out of it while trying to appear he was not doing so. Barristan spoke up for the first time in approval of the idea. Tyrion continued making quips about Dornish girls while going over the positives and negatives.
But Matthew's mind was made up. "Grand Maester, do you have any information for me regarding the number of childbirth fatalities?"
"There has not been enough time to study the number of children, Your Grace," Pycelle stroked his beard. "However, I have seen far fewer women die, ladies and smallfolk, since your decree. As our food supply is so limited, I cannot say for certain."
"Huh, it's almost as if I knew what I was talking about." Matthew mocked the old man. "I trust everyone involved in the process is following my instructions."
"Everyone in the Red Keep, yes, Your Grace. I do not know if… all midwives among the smallfolk are doing so."
"Make sure the message gets to each of them and tout the benefits we're already seeing among the noble ladies," Matthew gave him a stern look. "Expecting mothers will not want either themselves or their newborns to be put at risk. If that's not enough, those who neglect the health of those so vulnerable will be thrown into the stocks."
"Yes, Your Grace." Pycelle could say nothing else.
"You have many intriguing notions, Your Grace," Varys smiled. "There are already many tales being told about your actions."
"Are they calling me a hero or a madman?"
"Depends on the source," Varys leaned forward onto the table. "Due to… certain rumors, many at court ask themselves why you would lower yourself to protect whores."
"Lower myself? Lord Varys, you came from humble beginnings yourself, correct? And slavery is punishable by death in every kingdom. I merely administered it."
"Not quite what I had in mind when I arranged a gift for you," Tyrion quipped. "I've heard things as well: on the streets, I've heard you considered a hero out of a fairytale."
"I trust the other brothel owners have gotten the message." Matthew wasn't naïve enough to think he'd suddenly ensured every prostitute's safety but hoped some of the businesses would think twice.
"My little birds tell me they're terrified you'll come for them next."
"Good. Perhaps they and their clients will keep the consequences in mind. Right now, though, I've got other concerns. According to my own spies, Daenerys Targaryen is in Qarth with three dragons."
"If that's true, the Targaryen needs to be killed immediately!" Cersei spoke up.
Huh, she can say something intelligent once in a while. "Yes, I think we're going to have to act." 21st century values would only lead to disaster in Westeros, but they were nonetheless difficult to discard. "Her dragons are small now, perhaps. What's going to happen when she crosses the Narrow Sea? One dragon can destroy an entire army."
"You intend to give the assassination order your father rescinded, Your Grace?" Pycelle questioned.
"I'm afraid so. Not my favorite tactic, but I know what will happen if she arrives. But…" Matthew raised a finger for emphasis. "I don't want to give a general command, offering a Lordship to whoever succeeds in killing Daenerys. This should be a professional job."
"Perhaps we can offer instructions to Jorah Mormont," Varys suggested. "He is close to the girl and is eager to return home."
Yeah, like I'm that stupid. Jorah both loved and lusted after Daenerys. "No, he's not suitable for the task. I want a professional killer; a man or woman who can end the Dragon Queen's threat quickly and discretely. A Faceless Man, if possible."
"Your Grace, I don't think we possess enough money in the treasury to hire a Faceless Man," Tyrion warned. "Not and deal with the crown's debt at the same time."
"She's in Qarth right now, correct?" At least if Matthew remembered the books correctly. "It would have been much better for us if Daenerys perished in the Red Waste. Have a down payment of gold sent, along with anonymous instructions for her death." Matthew wasn't sure how much good it would do, but the last thing he wanted to face were three fully-grown dragons.
"I will make the arrangements, Your Grace," Varys agreed.
But to kill her or save her, I wonder? Much as Matthew wished he could have Varys killed, it would leave him blind to further developments in Westeros. He had few spies of his own, and indeed not the extensive network Matthew would require.
"Your Grace, you are speaking of murdering an innocent girl," Barristan frowned.
"If you have a better idea, by all means, tell me," Matthew responded. I'm not surprised he would object to it. "Being King doesn't allow any easy decisions to be made. If she arrives with an army and three dragons, millions will die. One life for millions is a fair trade."
Barristan paused, wanting to argue but struggling to overcome Matthew's logic. Not allowing him to come up with a reason, Matthew declared: "My decision's final. Westeros has suffered two wars in a generation. I won't allow her to inflict more devastation."
I don't think the tactic is going to work, but the effort needs to be made. At least in the books, scorpions and ballistas could only kill young dragons, save for an enormously lucky shot. Cannons would be more effective… in theory. Expect I'm going to find out for myself when the time comes.
Their conversations turned to more local matters, chief among them the food supply. Varys and Pycelle informed him about complaints from those at court being forced to abstain from their luxuries. Tell them to suck it were words Matthew very nearly spoke out loud. "Ask them what's likely to happen if the poor get desperate enough to riot."
"One problem, however, has been solved," Cersei smirked. "Baelish will no longer give us any difficulties. His plans have been fully revealed, and a message has been sent to anyone else thinking of treason. I must say, wildfire is a spectacular right." Her eyes lit up in a way that reminded the Small Council of the Mad King.
"You did what?!" Matthew could not hold himself back and bellowed.
"I'm not about to allow anyone to consider us weak," Cersei defended. "My grandfather was a kind man, and he nearly brought ruin to our house."
"I hope you didn't take his word for it," Tyrion cautioned. "I haven't had the time to search properly, but it's clear Littlefinger had something big planned."
"The rest of you get out," Matthew ordered. "I need to have a private discussion with my mother." No one dared to disobey, with the Small Council making a hasty retreat.
"Mother, what part of my orders were unclear to you?" Now we're going to have the Vale to contend with, courtesy of that yandere Lysa on the throne. "Did you ever consider I had a reason for keeping him alive?"
"Treason cannot go unpunished, sweetling," Cersei insisted, making Matthew cringe at the word. "We are surrounded by enemies all looking for any sign of weakness. Mercy is not rewarded; only spat on."
"I wouldn't call what I had done to him mercy, but you might have just screwed us all. Baelish had a hidden ally, one almost no one knew about. Lysa Arryn's been obsessed with him since she was a girl."
"Why would such a highborn lady have any interest in a man like Littlefinger? The man died the way he deserved."
"And we're going to keep that hidden for as long as we can. Please tell me you didn't do anything like send letters all over the Seven Kingdoms announcing his death as a warning for treason." Cersei didn't answer, but her silence was reply enough. "Fuck!"
"You're still new to ruling, and your father was…" Even Cersei hesitated to attack Robert in front of Matthew.
"Yes, he was an incompetent drunk. Tell me, though: how exactly does subverting my authority make me look anything but weak? If I have my orders countermanded, what message does that send to those at court?" Matthew strained to keep his temper under control.
"I apologize," Cersei spoke the words with great difficulty.
"We're all going to be sorry once the Vale joins in the war. Hill tribes aren't going to be able to do much to hinder their forces, even being armed with better weapons." Matthew considered removing her from the Small Council, as Cersei's actions had proven themselves a liability on multiple occasions.
That would probably blow up in my face too. On the Small Council, I can keep watch on her. "Do keep in mind we're on our own and likely to face a siege in a short amount of time. You're my mother, but keep this up, and I'll remove you from the Small Council."
Despite her unhappiness at being rebuked, Cersei felt pride at the man her son had grown into. "You're already a far better King than Robert."
"Next time you plan on making a big decision, clear it with me," Matthew brushed the compliment aside. "If you'll excuse me, I have some brothels to visit."
As always, Barristan waited outside the door to escort him. Matthew nodded in respect, walking towards his destination.
Balon Swann joined them shortly afterward; he was the one Matthew spoke to replace Arya Oakheart, remembering him as an honorable man from the books. He even gave Balon a brief smile, grateful for someone who deserved to wear the White Cloak.
Matthew spoke about the brothels he intended to experiment with just loud enough to be overheard without being obvious about it. A few ladies were aghast or at least made the appearance of being so. Others spoke in huddled tones, making crude jokes.
"I think I remember the way correctly." Matthew clapped his hands together. Both Swann and Barristan stayed silent, exchanging a brief glance.
This at least will be easier than Small Council meetings. I can deal with my enemies; my allies are the ones likely to send me to an early grave! Having to make battle plans to face multiple enemies who outnumbered him while dealing with the constant stupidity at court made Matthew want to unleash his inner Joffrey at times.
His first destination was Chataya's brothel. The dark-skinned woman greeted him with a bow and smile. "Welcome to my establishment, Your Grace."
"Thank you, and how is Serenity doing?" She'd informed Matthew she didn't know any other way than whoring to support herself. As child protective services did not exist, he at least decided to place her in a location where Serenity would be better treated.
"She's adapting, Your Grace," Chataya bowed again. "I promise you, all my girls are treated well."
"Be sure and keep it that way." Matthew gave a brief warning. The stories of his rampage grew with each telling. He didn't think Chataya would do so but knew better than to take anything for granted.
"Let me introduce you to my daughter Alayaya," the woman hurried to find her. Matthew looked over the brothel, a few of the customers staring at him nervously.
Definitely better than Littlefinger's businesses, not that that's saying much. The moans he listened to didn't sound as fake, with Matthew concluding he was in the right place.
"It's an honor to serve you, Your Grace." Alayaya was tall, but not quite as tall as her mother. "Is this your first time here?"
"Yes, and I've heard Summer Islanders are legendary for their skills at lovemaking," Matthew grinned, taking in her beauty. Alayaya gave his crotch a brief squeeze and led him to her private room.
During the journey, he watched each corridor, listening to the customers brag about their exploits. Matthew never ceased to be amazed at how open they were with prostitutes.
With the door secured, Alayaya removed her clothing and asked: "Is there anything specific you're looking for?"
"Matter of fact, yes," Matthew tossed her a silver coin. "What I'm looking for is information."
"What do you wish to know, Your Grace?" Alayaya sat down and caressed him.
"Anything you might find relevant. Enemy plans, whispers of treason, the comings, and goings of the prominent men at court…"
"You want me to be your spy, you mean?" Alayaya whispered, still trying to get him to lay down.
"Exactly. Recent events have already shown I'm willing to look after my subjects. In return for this service, I offer both money and protection. I'm sure you've had a few difficult clients."
"Yes, Your Grace. Westeros is not like the Summer Islands. Here, men are willing to use whores, but see them as lower than dirt."
"That won't happen with me. If you say yes, I will ensure whoever mistreats you will suffer a severe penalty. All you have to do is write down a few notes."
"I… I cannot read, Your Grace."
Damn. "In that case, I'll just have to visit you. You have a good memory, I trust?"
"I do, Your Grace. Men are most talkative after sex."
"Is that a 'yes'?"
"It is, Your Grace." Matthew gave another silver coin as an act of sincerity. "Tales of your kindness are already being spread. Serenity can't stop talking about you. I can thank you properly."
"Another time, love." Matthew kissed her cheek. "Now since the men and women in this building are all abuzz, certain things will be expected of us. I trust you know how to fake enjoying yourself."
"As you like, Your Grace." Alayaya lowered her head, having wanted to be with the King. "If you're ever interested in a proper reward… you know where I am."
"You're a hard woman to turn down." Matthew was very tempted to accept, with his attempt at loyalty to his girlfriend fraying by the day. "And if anyone in this establishment tries to rape the girls, you'll let me know about that too, I hope." Such crimes were beyond the pale on Earth, at least in the developed world, but Matthew knew they were commonplace in Westeros.
"I will, Your Grace. Are you sure you're not interested?" Alayaya looked down between his legs and smirked. "I believe you're a man for whom my pleasure will be genuine."
It took everything Matthew had to say no. Why am I being so stubborn? She's 16, which is legal in much of the U.S. and certainly no problem in this shithole.
But his goal was accomplished. It would take time, but Matthew intended to build a spy network of his own. Robert Baratheon's reputation would serve him well; few would think anything of his supposed son following in his footsteps.
XXXXXXXXXX
What could the Lannisters possibly want with us? Davos Seaworth carried the two letters in his hands to Stannis Baratheon.
Despite being the rightful king, Stannis only had a few supporters. Many of the Storm Lands went towards his brother Renly, although some left when rumors of his homosexuality came to light.
The five thousand supporters he did have were still based on Dragonstone. Stannis' only advantage was his Navy, bolstered by the sellsail Salladhor Saan.
Even had he been so inclined to read the letters, Davos was illiterate so it would make no difference. He ignored the disdainful looks of the men around him as he climbed the steps of Dragonstone. Davos cared nothing for their opinions of his low birth.
"Where is King Stannis?" Davos inquired of the first page he saw.
"He is at the topmost tower with Lady Melisandre." The page wore a fiery heart on his clothing, an indication he had converted to the Red God's religion.
"Thank you very much," Davos nodded, always making sure to treat his subordinates with respect. No matter what, I have made sure my children will lead better lives than the ones I had. They would not be forced to live in Flea Bottom and survive on scraps.
He walked up the steps with little difficulty, bracing himself for Melisandre's presence. Of all the women he had by his side, the red woman frightened Davos. He still refused to believe in her powers, but the influence she had over Stannis could not be doubted.
Dutifully, he knocked on the door. Davos witnessed no guards outside, with Melisandre claiming there would be no need for them.
"I hope this is important, Davos," Stannis stated the instant the door was open. However, he would have demanded most others leave his presence rather than accept a surprise visit.
"You have two letters from King's Landing, Your Grace." Davos bowed, making sure to keep his eyes away from Melisandre. She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever encountered… and the most unnatural. Standing even taller than Stannis, she observed him with strange eyes.
"What could they possibly want with me?" Stannis griped, reluctantly taking the letters. "I will not bend the knee to the Lannisters, not when they murdered Jon Arryn and would have killed me had I not fled."
"I cannot say, Your Grace." Stannis snatched the letters out of his hand, ripping the seals open. He looked towards the fire, likely considering throwing the letters inside, but a brief shake of the head indicated otherwise.
For Davos' benefit, he began to read:
Dear Uncle Stannis:
I expect your first impulse will be to throw this letter into the fire. However, it is in both our interests for you to heed my words.
The two of us share a common interest: destroying the corruption infesting the Seven Kingdoms. Baelish and many others have been neutralized but even as King, I cannot undertake such an arduous task alone. My father chose to do nothing about the rampant corruption in his court, an act all of us will soon regret.
You are one of the few honest men in Westeros. You worked tirelessly to keep Robert from destroying himself and the realm with him. Together, we can run the Seven Kingdoms the way the people deserve.
Agree to swear fealty to me, retract the claims of incest, and I will name you the Hand of the King. The very job I believe you were hoping my father would grant you instead of Ned Stark.
Joffrey Baratheon, King of the Seven Kingdoms
"This cannot be Joffrey Lannister!" Stannis scoffed, looking over the letter a second time. It was Joffrey's handwriting, however, which would be hard to falsify.
"Perhaps it was written by his mother, Your Grace," Davos suggested. "Or the Spider. If anyone can fake a letter, it is him."
"Joffrey was foolish and cruel, which my brother chose to do nothing about," Stannis continued. "He cut open a cut to see its kittens… too much of his mother in him and Robert refused to let anyone foster him. He would have done better under my tutelage, or even Ned Stark. Joffrey would have threatened me with death had he written it."
"Your Grace, if I may ask, what do you plan to do?"
"I am certainly not going to take his offer. He claims he wishes to punish corruption, and knows that is among my greatest desires… a better manipulator than I expected. Let us see what his second letter contains." Stannis looked through a couple of lines before pulling his head back. "This one is for you."
"Perhaps he intends to convert to the Lord of Light." Even Melisandre did not believe such a thing would happen, though.
Melisandre:
There is only one war that matters: The Great War. The real enemy is mobilizing his forces beyond the Wall while we slaughter ourselves throughout the land.
If we do not unite to face this common threat, every man, woman, and child will die at the hands of the Others. The longer our dispute lasts, the fewer men we will have to face them. You, if few others, know what the consequences will be.
Joffrey Baratheon
"I do not believe this is a jest, Your Grace." Davos offered. "If this was a mere trap, a second letter would not have been addressed to Melisandre. Joffrey believes this to be true."
"He is not Joffrey Lannister," Melisandre spoke, sticking her hand inside the fire. Davos marveled at how she could do it without injury, beginning to believe in the power she possessed. "He is, but he is not."
"What do you mean?" Stannis and Davos spoke together, having the same thought.
"He is… difficult to read in the flames," Melisandre retracted her hand with no sign of injury. "He has the body of the abomination, but not Joffrey's spirit. Whoever this is speaks the truth."
"Are you suggesting we fight alongside him?!" Stannis responded with disgust. "He speaks of ancient legends, beings long dead if they ever existed at all."
"They still exist, Your Grace, and they are coming for us." Melisandre took his hands in hers. "Would you like me to show you?" Her eyes glowed red, the entire room lighting up. Davos went for a dagger, but found his body frozen. "Before you leave this room, you will believe."