I know it's been close to two months since I've updated. Between my original projects and dealing with personal issues, however, I haven't had much time to work on this. Hopefully, the next update won't take nearly as long.
XXXXXXXXXX
"Things are finally starting to come together," Matthew observed his personal army, which had grown to 10,000 individuals. All of them marched in formation, a combination of pikes and muskets. On the flanks rode Lannister cavalry, the only individuals who wore more than leather armor.
Four layers of pikemen stood in front of three ranks of muskets. Matthew now possessed 1,500 flintlocks, and construction speed increased every day. His plans was to have at least 50% muskets by next year, and was cautious optimistic they would reach their target.
Behind the main formation and on the flanks were cannons and howitzers, the latter of which were designed for anti-dragon tactics. Few of his men wore uniforms, but Matthew considered that a low priority. With more than sixty artillery pieces in total, he was well-prepared for future threats.
"I am most impressed, Your Grace." Margaery had insisted on coming along. "But do you think they will stand up in true combat?"
"Some of them already have." Matthew knew his wife intended to evaluate them as a threat. Despite their marriage, their alliance was an uneasy one at best. "Most have risen from nothing and look at them now."
"Few would be so daring as to comprise an army of smallfolk." Margaery nodded in acknowledgement. Matthew refused to tolerate incompetence, promoting subordinates strictly on merit.
He galloped his horse in front, displaying his authority. Many of his army stared at him with respect and even admiration, thanks to a generous paycheck and decent, albeit strict, treatment. "Thank you all for your service." Matthew nodded, with everyone on foot going to one knee. "There is only one more thing to say: will you follow me into fire? Will you follow me into darkness? Will you follow me into death?"
"Yes, Your Grace!" A chorus erode from them. Matthew had them swear a vow to him alone, not including to let a usurper take charge. Wonder when the next attempt will be. Things had settled down for now, but Matthew knew that wouldn't last. Peace is that glorious moment in history where everyone stands around reloading.
Matthew marched his army into King's Landing, the gates already open. Pride swelled within him at how far they had come. He'd already worked out numerous anti-dragon tactics for when Daenerys arrived and her inexperience would be a crucial weakness when the time came. Robb was a much more skilled commander and Matthew had beaten him.
He dared to take a deep breath upon entering the city. While the streets were still covered in human and horse manure, visible progress had been made. Matthew gave a slight nod of approval witnessing townspeople dump their chamber pots in the tunnels. While a proper sewer system would take years to implement, it was a marked improvement.
Within the septs of King's Landing, Matthew spotted fewer individuals than he would have expected in a medieval society. A few of his men muttered underneath their breaths but stayed quiet. "I hardly recognize the city now," Margaery complimented. "We will begin implementing this at Highgarden and Oldtown immediately."
"No doubt you have enough gold to afford it." Matthew expected his wife mentioned it at least partially as a threat. "King's Landing is meant to be a symbol of Westeros, not a cesspool." He pointed to a pair of public baths being constructed. "Do you possess any of those?"
"A few small ones, though I am curious as to why you pour perfectly good wine inside them." Margaery turned to smile at him. "But every King is allowed a few eccentricities."
"Oh, I have my reasons." Matthew could only enforce his edicts about germ theory in the Crownlands and Westerlands, thanks to Kevan Lannister becoming convinced of the political advantage.
During their journey, Matthew looked over banners belonging to the followers of the Lord of Light. While open bloodshed had thus far been avoided, he considered it only a matter of time. Two men in red preached the Lord of Light's word, though they appeared to have no genuine powers, as Melisandre did.
Civilians possessed fuller bellies and greater safety, although still malnourished by 21st century standards. Matthew nodded to those who hailed him, the Kingsguard ready for any possible trouble. His rule had begun to stabilize, which allowed him to make proper preparations for Daenerys.
So long as I make sure Oberyn and Arianne don't escape. Matthew expected Dorne would be furious at a perceived trap, but it wasn't as if they could hate him more than they already did. A cycle of revenge couldn't be broken unless both parties agreed to it.
Margaery looked back at the cannons. "Such marvelous devices, Your Grace. Perhaps my family can have one or two, help solidify our new alliance."
"You've done a lot to get back into my good graces, but one thing at a time." The Reach possessed over twice the men the Westerlands did and Matthew wasn't positive he could count on the Stormlands to keep them in check. If he could build such weapons, others would also have the ability. "Perhaps when a son is born to me."
"You've made little effort on that front, I'm afraid, Your Grace. I've missed having you in my— I mean our— bedchambers."
"My duties leave me with little energy, as I'm sure you understand." Matthew had only slept with the woman once, their alliance still an uneasy one. She's got a point. If we have a child, a son especially, it'll make them less likely to betray me. He didn't fancy having both Dorne and the Reach as his enemies. "Tonight, however, I'll be sure and meet you."
Loras shook in rage behind him. Matthew knew the boy still wanted him dead and even a whisper of mistreatment would lead him to become a second Kingslayer. Not that he would, but Matthew didn't put it past his enemies to plant false rumors, perhaps even Margaery herself. War is so much easier than politics.
Those of his troops on duty stood outside the Red Keep while the others returned to their homes. Matthew made sure to have agents watch them to ensure they didn't cause too much trouble on their off-hours. He didn't expect them to be saints, but wanted more than an army of brutes.
Upon entering the Red Keep, Matthew's Master of Whisperers beckoned for his attention. "Excuse me, My Lady." Matthew smiled and kissed her hand. Margaery nodded in response, but he expected she'd be eavesdropping on every word. He'd do the same in her position. "What do you have for me?"
"Some of my informants in Volantis have passed on information that the Triarchs have succeeded in hatching dragon eggs," The spymaster cautioned. "They are no more than hatchlings, no doubt, but hatchlings grow."
"Is this confirmed?" Matthew chewed his lip. He couldn't remember anything similar happen in the series. All the more reason why my preparations are necessary. Only the Targaryens possessed dragons once, but it appeared as if that was no longer the case.
"Not one hundred percent, but I am certain enough of the accuracy to give you the report." His new spymaster handed him a parchment. Matthew focused on every word, praying it was mistaken.
"Do you have any recommendations?" Matthew expected poisoning them was out of the question. The dragon babies would be well protected. . . but they couldn't be too heavily guarded, lest the secret became exposed.
"I'm working on possible neutralization methods. Even dragons are vulnerable when they are born, but I do not know precisely how long ago this was. The time frame I have is between three weeks and five months."
"Not a lot to go on." Matthew didn't know everything about dragons, but they grew fast and even babies were dangerous. But since Volantis is fighting against Daenerys, perhaps it won't be necessary to do anything. "I'll put it on my list of long-term problems. As for our more imminent threat, how large have Daenerys' dragons grown?"
"My best estimate is that they have grown slightly more massive than elephants, Your Grace. I have heard many tales out of Slaver's Bay and cannot vouch for their accuracy."
"Well, my philosophy is to take the worst scenario I can imagine, triple it, and hope it's a reasonable approximation of the true misfortune." His Master of Whisperers laughed. Matthew wished he had been joking. "But I want you to focus on something else. You have agents in Meereen, I trust?"
"Yes, Your Grace."
"I wish to have Tyrion no longer be a factor." Daenerys had dragons, but her diplomatic skill was non-existent. "If he isn't there yet, he soon will be. Ensure he doesn't leave."
"You're. . . you're talking kinslaying." The man took a step back.
"Tyrion's already killed his father, attempted to kill his good-daughter, and plots against the rest of us. I prefer to call it self-defense." Tyrion and Daenerys would be a lethal combination. Never should have opened up to the little shit. Matthew intended to fix that mistake. "Can it be done?"
"I believe so, Your Grace."
"Then make the arrangements." Daenerys was too well-protected for assassination, but Tyrion. . . few would care if a single dwarf ran into misfortune in Meereen. His Master of Whisperers bowed and departed.
Matthew spent the rest of the day dealing with paperwork and mediating grievances among the smallfolk. He'd hoped to implement a few more of his ideas for improving Westeros, a Printing Press in particular, but possessed little time away from his duties to do so. He refused to behave like Robert Baratheon, whose neglect Matthew had still yet to be able to repair.
All right, who do I have left to deal with? Matthew did not dare write anything done for fear of it being intercepted. There's Daenerys, the Night King, or whoever the equivalent is. Robb may decide to attack us again if he gets the opportunity. He doubted the Boltons would be able to hold the North, at least in the long term.
No doubt there were others, thanks to his arrival changing things, but Matthew refused to be caught unprepared again. He would improve things in Westeros, regardless of how those in court felt about it.
Matthew looked out the window to see the sun had already set. "Expect Margaery won't be happy with me." He chuckled, remembering his promise. Matthew doubted either would feel genuine love for one another, but if they could get along. . . it'd still be better than many marriages on the continent.
"I was about to give up hope of your arrival." Margaery teased, wearing nothing but a thin gown.
"Why would I keep myself from you, beautiful?" Matthew decided to play along. She was a beautiful woman, one he could hold an intelligent conversation with. Perhaps this arrangement would work after all.
Despite a lack of love between them, Matthew did everything possible to pleasure her between the sheets. Based on the sounds Margaery made and her efforts to take the initiative, he doubted she was a maid, but it didn't matter to him. From what he'd found, far fewer women were virgins on their Wedding Day than was supposed.
"I am most fortunate to have you, Your Grace." Margaery relaxed on the bed when they were done. "Not all women are lucky enough to have such caring husbands."
"You can call me Joffrey, at least when we're alone." Matthew pointed out. "And I hope we won't have the kind of marriage my parents did. What of your mother and father?"
"They were strangers when they married, but grew to love one another. My father never remarried after my mother's death from the Pale Mare." Margaery turned her head. "And what of my proposal to about your new weapons? It would make our alliance unstoppable."
"Alliances can be fluid." Matthew gave it consideration. He knew it was only a matter of time before the devices were copied, especially after they'd proven effective against Robb. And with hundreds of people working on them now, it wouldn't be difficult to find an agent. No matter how dreadful the punishment, men would risk it for enough gold.
"Your Grace. . . Joffrey. . . my family will soon be capable of building such devices ourselves. While impressive, you aren't the only one to have intelligent people work for you. Giving it to us will show everyone that we stand together."
"Even after lovemaking, your mind is on diplomacy." The Queen of Thorns taught her granddaughter well. "Something to consider, but I'm not in the habit of giving things away. I'll require something in return."
"Let us speak of this in the morning." Margaery kissed his cheek. "And. . . do not expect to delay any longer." She turned to her side and closed her eyes.
I'm in a corner. Matthew doubted the threat was an idle one. His cannons and firearms were unique, but wouldn't be for long. And it seems like dragons may not be unique, either. People have seen the power of both and want them for themselves. Regardless, he didn't like the idea of the Reach having access to his trump card.
But what he did know about the Tyrells: they didn't want to hold the Iron Throne. They preferred to be the power behind the throne. Matthew expected they'd do their best to turn him into their puppet, as they had with Renly. But they're too powerful to refuse outright. Stannis and the Storm lords could keep them in check, at least to a point, but with future enemies on the horizon, Matthew wanted unity.
He thought about it long into the night.
XXXXXXXXXXX
"You are the most incompetent, worthless excuse for a son I have ever had the misfortune of encountering." Roose Bolton looked over Bran Stark's flayed corpse with cold eyes. His bastard Ramsey stood beside it with a smile. "What part of my instructions did you fail to understand?"
"The flayed man is on our banners," Ramsey defended.
"On my banners, not yours, Snow." Roose cut him off. He had indulged the old Right of the First Night on his mother, and it had cost him ever since. Domeric was dead and his only heir a reckless fool. "I told you to capture the Stark children and leave them unharmed! They are crucial for our control over the North. Robb is with the crannogmen and no doubt intends to reclaim his former position. His siblings were key to deterring his aggression."
"Winter is coming, as they like to say, and we can let them freeze out there. By the time it's over, no one will question us."
Roose narrowed his eyes, scarcely able to comprehend his bastard's stupidity. "Our bannermen love the Starks and even fear will not keep them in line without hostages. A peaceful land, a quiet people. If you wish to indulge yourself, I will not stop you, but you should not do so openly." Roose considered his next move. The Lannisters would not support him if he was in trouble. He expected Joffrey had set him up to die.
"Robb will die if he dares to leave that worthless swamp and his bastard cares too much about honor to try anything against us."
Roose found himself at a loss for words. How could his bastard be so incompetent? Domeric had been a fool to seek him out, disregarding his system. Should have had him killed at birth. "Our job now is to consolidate our rule. I don't intend to lose our hold on the North the way our ancestors did." Which appeared more difficult every moment.
"Many of Stark's allies have perished fighting the wildlings. No one's going to want to fight a war in winter."
"Winter does not last forever, and the North remembers." So long as the Starks were alive, they would be a rallying point. Roose dismissed those who felt love as fools, but he could not deny the Starks were adored by their bannermen. He'd never achieve anything similar, but fear would do.
They possessed only a few true allies and Ramsey was likely to alienate even them. Roose had received an offer from Walder Frey but had yet to make up his mind on it. The old toad possessed nearly a hundred children and was desperate to marry them off. I'll be able to squeeze a better deal out of him, then.
"So long as even one Stark is alive, our position is not secure," Roose declared to his bastard. "Fortunately, two of them have made themselves prime targets. The wolf girl and Ned's bastard are at the Wall." At times, he wondered whether Jon was truly Ned's son but it didn't matter to him.
"Our army will cut through them. The Wall lacks defenses on. . ."
"No, this will require something quieter." Roose refused to make such a brazen move. Even if successful, it would only make him more enemies. "Most of Stark's allies have returned home, but not all. No, I'm going to give you the pleasure of killing them yourself."
Ramsey's laugh echoed through the dungeons. "I managed to take Winterfell. Removing a bastard will be easy for me."
"You disregarded my instructions one. You will not do so again." Roose narrowed his eyes and even Ramsey knew better than to cross him. "Disguise yourself as a mere traveler, travel to the Wall alongside your friends, and remove Snow and his sister as a threat. It must be done quietly and without fuss. This means no indulging yourself. There will be time for that later."
"I understand, Father." Ramsey concealed his disappointment. "They're far too confident for their own good."
"I do not wish my banners to be seen, nor that this is anything more than a random incident. Most who serve at the Wall are criminals and ruffians. It will be easy to place the blame on them."
"I'll leave immediately," Ramsey promised, pulling out a flaying knife.
Roose snatched it out of his hand. "Leave no evidence as to your true identity. And do not screw this up. If you come back and you've failed, the consequences will be. . . considerable." Ramsey got the hint and nodded.
XXXXXXXXXX
This doesn't look promising. Tyrion gripped the railing as he walked down the ship's ramp, looking at the sky in a desperate attempt to avoid water in his vision. He'd spent most of the journey vomiting onto the deck or overboard, his stomach unused to the Narrow Sea.
He spotted several fires in the vicinity of Meereen. The Meereenese Knot had beaten the blockade by mere hours and already ships from Volantis had cut off the city from outside supplies. Tyrion had caught a glance of the armies besieging Meereen, though they did not possess the strength to breach the walls.
"You truly mean to meet with Daenerys Targaryen?" The captain questioned, his crew much more accustomed to sea voyages than Tyrion.
"I do," Tyrion doubled over, telling himself not to vomit again. He hoped the city still had a good tavern or brothel. He still possessed a decent amount of money for such indulgences.
"And what do you expect you can offer her?" The captain had become friendly to Tyrion, though the dwarf suspected this was due to the handsome payment he'd been given.
"Everything." Tyrion summed up his plan, refusing to divulge such details to him. No need to make himself an unnecessary target.
Fortunately, he was able to travel directly to Meereen. The thought of going to Pentos, traveling across Essos, encountering who-knows-what along the way. . . Tyrion shuddered at the idea. He might never have arrived at his destination.
Tyrion threw a hood over his head in hopes of being mistaken for a child. Much as he disliked it, he was recognizable and by this point, the King had certainly called for his head. Not that he'll last long now. Tyrion swelled with pride over what he'd accomplished.
His nose curled at Meereen's smell, one comparable to King's Landing. Ribs stuck out through the clothing of many former slaves, though Tyrion detected a certain pride which wasn't there before. Merchants sold rats for food on street corners.
Soldiers traveled in groups, complete with shields and spears. They stood shorter than many men, staring through the crowd with experienced eyes. The Unsullied, Tyrion realized. He'd heard tales of their skill and power, but it was the first time he had encountered one. Their muscles poised for action, short swords on their belts, the crowd keeping a wide berth. . . Tyrion had no trouble believing the stories.
He fingered the gold in his pocket. Many around him wore hoods to conceal themselves, though none had yet glanced in his direction. Tyrion sidestepped a puddle of urine, not wanting to dirty his still-clean clothes. On the other hand, perhaps I'd fit in better.
The crew of the Meereenese Knot had gotten him to his destination, but none would provide Tyrion with any more help than that. At least in Meereen, his face was less recognizable.
Sounds echoed from outside the city walls. Tyrion did not know the specifics, but expected Daenerys was severely outnumbered. Masters were reluctant to let go of their slaves, and even slaves dreamed of becoming masters one day.
She should be bringing her dragons out there. From the tales Tyrion had read, dragons were all but invincible on an open field. Daenerys had little knowledge of her family history, but she had to have known that. Yet she appeared reluctant to use them. Something I'll have to cure her of. Tyrion smirked at the idea of his sister eaten alive by one.
Tyrion kept his head high and a hand on his dagger. Not that it would do him much good against an experienced enemy, but it would deter opportunistic predators on the street. Desperate people would do anything for survival.
Those who were still relatively well-fed Tyrion expected were the former masters. Several curled their lip at freed slaves, but others were adjusting to the new times. Tyrion's eyes wandered, curious as to whom among them were working against Daenerys. As a rule, those who had power could never give it up. Few would want to be a slave, but many would like to own a slave.
Perhaps she doesn't have the ability, after all. Tyrion still searched the sky for her dragons, wishing to see one in person at least once in his life. He knew dragons took many years to mature and while they were powerful, they weren't invincible. Although I expect they're large enough to eat Cersei alive. He hoped to run the idea by Daenerys.
A screech echoed through his ears. Those around him stared up at the sky, mixed emotions on their faces. Tyrion followed their lead. . . and witnessed a dragon for the first time. From its distance, he could make out few details, save for its golden skin.
Little wonder the Targaryens were so feared. Daenerys' dragons were babies and if they were already so large, none of their opponents would have stood a chance. He'd long since given up on the dream of having a dragon, but seeing one with his own eyes made it worth it.
And she possessed three of them. Already she had conquered Slaver's Bay, though Meereen was under siege. Their otherworldly visitor was right to see her as a threat.
One building was particularly well-maintained, with a pair of Unsullied guarding it. Based on the giggles inside, Tyrion knew it could be nothing but a brothel. A sudden rush of lust filled his body, reminding him he hadn't been with anyone since Shae.
Yes, an excellent idea, at least until I figure out how to obtain an audience with Daenerys. Tyrion wandered into the brothel, curious as to whether they were different than in Westeros. It would be the first time he'd visited since Shae was murdered. Shae. . . A pit in his heart formed at the thought of her. He'd failed to protect her, just as he'd failed Tysha.
A dozen women wearing little clothing wandered throughout the brothel with obviously fake smiles while bringing men inside the rooms. Tyrion's ears picked up moans from behind the walls, allowing himself amusement at the idea some men wouldn't realize they were fake.
Looking around, it hardly seemed there was a siege going on. The girls were well fed and most of their clients were as well. Tyrion raised an eyebrow at Unsullied using their services; he'd never imagined eunuchs had any use for whores.
Tyrion rubbed his chin, attempting to decide whether he wanted a woman who reminded him of Shae or someone completely different. He wondered if his father was watching from the afterlife, still disgusted at his propensity for whores. Tyrion gave a dark chuckle, wishing him an audience.
"Ah, a foreigner." A young woman approached him, polite smile plastered across her face. Tyrion noted, while her smile was present, her eyes were dead. "I wasn't expecting many visitors since. . . Tyrion?" She jumped back when he removed his hood.
"How did you know who I was?" Tyrion prepared his dagger in case of danger. Few would have recognized him so easily in Essos. Only afterward did it occur to him he should have pretended otherwise.
"Did you think I'd forget you so easily?" The woman crossed her arms. "I always wondered if we'd meet again." Her voice sounded familiar as well.
Could it be. . . was this. . . "Tysha?"
XXXXXXXXXXX
No King Bran for this story. I never found his segments to be very interesting and when re-reading the books, I mostly skip the Bran chapters. I've got a good idea how this story will end, but things could always change.
Something a lot of self-insert, OCs, etc. overlook is that if the protagonist is able to build all these fancy weapons (by Westeros standards), others are going to be able to do so as well. You need resources and personnel for development and production.