Chapter 23

~Larra Baratheon~

"Where's Argella?" Larra asked the seemingly empty room. "I put my daughter down to thread my needle and she has disappeared."

The giggling coming from underneath her chair was studiously ignored.

"Oh well, I guess I won't need to fix Monty's wing."

Monty was a pillow in the shape of a vulture and Argella's favorite toy. While Larra could have just had a handmaiden repair the damage she enjoyed little moments like this, getting to spend time with her daughter just for the sake of it.

There was a sound of panicked babbling as the babe crawled forward between Larra's legs.

"There she is!" She grabbed Argella's midsection and pulled her up. "There's my little girl. Sneaky sneaky. And sneaky girls get. . . tickled!"

Argella howled with laughter and struggled in Larra's hold.

"Oh no, the big strong girl is going to escape my grip. I can't hold on. What if I drop heeeerrrrrr." She swung her daughter down towards the floor but swerved upward at the last moment. "Gotcha!"

Larra smiled as Argella made a number of noises. She thought she heard 'ma' in there but that could have been a random sound as opposed to her daughter calling her a specific word.

"Yes, you're probably correct. I am the best mother in all of Westeros and you are lucky to have me." She set Argella down to the side, where numerous carved animals were scattered. "You play with your toys while I heal Monty."

Grabbing the shredded cotton on the table next to her, Larra began the process of replacing the stuffing Monty had lost since his 'injury' had become apparent. Keeping an eye on her daughter while she worked made the time fly by. Sooner than she thought, Larra was restitching Monty's wing. As she was examining her work and debating whether it would stand up to her daughter's play the door swung open and her husband stepped in.

Argella was quite happy at this. The wooden lion she had been chewing on fell from her mouth as she reached out to grab at her father. He only plays with her when I force him to, why does she enjoy his company so much? Are familial bonds that strong so young? Or maybe it's because they look so similar.

Argella was a picturesque Baratheron, light skin, hair that finally thickened enough to show off its black hue, and vibrant blue eyes. Larra, with her dark skin, blond hair, and brown eyes looked absolutely nothing like her daughter. She hoped once Argella grew older and became a woman grown that they'd have something in common in their appearance, perhaps shape of the face or sway of the hips, because right now, as much as she loved her daughter, Larra saw nothing of herself in her.

Stannis would have moved right past Argella had Larra not affixed him with a glare. He paused mid-step and pivoted, turning to look at the babe. "I see you are learning the animals of all the Great Houses, good. Mayhaps you'll marry into one of those some day."

I didn't even have to say anything. He's learning.

Argella continued to make grasping motions as Stannis while refusing to move from her seated position, surrounded by her toys. He sighed and picked her up, resting Argella on his hip. "There, satisfied?"

Larra wasn't sure if he was asking her or their daughter so she nodded silently while deciding Monty needed a second line of stitching after all. Picking her needle back up, she got to work while Stannis sat in a seat across from her.

"Yes Argella, that is my face. You don't- that is my nose you're grabbing."

Hiding her smile, Larra continued her threadwork on Monty.

"I need to speak to your mother. Can you sit quietly in my lap or should I return you to the floor?" Stannis listened intently and seriously to the string of sounds that came out of Argella's mouth. "I shall interpret that as you choosing the first option."

"Yes?" Larra asked as Stannis attempted to finagle their daughter into a sitting position on his lap.

"Why did you ask Cressen for an accounting of our food stores?"

"So I know how much food is available for the feast."

"Feast?" Stannis asked blankly.

"Yes, Argella's first name day is less than a turn of the moon away. Did you mean to just let it pass by without comment? Your firstborn child?"

"It is a frivolous expenditure. Our bannermen will come to simper and fawn over Argella, an event she will not remember and will serve no purpose to you or I. The coin could be better spent elsewhere."

"No purpose? Feasts exist so that you might get a measure of the men and women attending and so that they might, in turn, get your measure. Loyalty must be reinforced through regular interaction else it withers away like a crop that was never watered."

"Men should serve as is their duty, not as their whims dictate."

"Loyalty requires effort on both sides, Stannis. You cannot assume men will be loyal to you just as they cannot assume you will be loyal to them. Both you and they must be in regular contact to ensure the other knows the truth. Loyalty is not a wall, you do not build it and then accept it as finished. Loyalty is. . . it's vineyard. It must be carefully pruned and nurtured year after year. It requires effort but the end result is as wonderful as wine."

"How am I to rule my holdfast if I'm a servant to my bannermen? I cannot look out for their needs and that of my household at the same time. To say nothing of my duties as Master of Ships."

Larra paused in her sewing of Monty. "You do understand that it is not an all-or-nothing thing, correct? You do not need to spend every moment meeting with bannermen. Hold a feast every couple of moons, make a tour of your holdings once a year, exchange regular ravens with a select few lords, and that is the majority of the work already done."

She could make out the sound of Stannis grinding his teeth so she considered her point made and went back to her needlework. But then a thought occurred and she couldn't resist making one additional comment.

"Given that your wife managed to talk you into agreeing to marriage despite being on opposite sides of the war, maybe in the future you should listen when she has advice on how to manage people?" Her tone was perfectly innocent and she made sure to keep her eyes on Monty so that Stannis wouldn't think she was mocking him. It was a fine line to walk, pushing him into a headspace he was uncomfortable with without going so far that he ignored what she was trying to teach.

Eventually, he choked out, "You talk as if my wife is someone other than you."

"Helps prevent me from sounding like a braggart when I'm praising myself."

"Hmmm." Stannis looked down at Argella's smiling face as she clapped her hands. "Even if you are correct, I'm not sure her first name day is a good justification for a feast."

"Why not?"

"Argella is our daughter. This is not like when Joffery was born, a new crown prince, a child of Robert's blood, warranted a feast. Giving such attention to a girl would be unusual."

"Why?" Larra snapped. "Just because Argelle doesn't have a cock doesn't make her any less a person. Women can rule in Dorne."

"Aye, but we are notin Dorne. We are not in the North, we are not in the Iron Islands, we are not in Essos. We are in the Crownlands, we live as Crownlanders do under Andal, not Rhoynish, law."

For once it was Larra's turn to grind her teeth in anger. She bit back her first response, accusing her husband of not loving their daughter for her gender would have been tactless and a lie. She knew Stannis loved Argella even if he wasn't always sure how to express it.

"We are in the Crownlands," Larra finally admitted. "But I am still a Dornishwoman, Argella must not grow up ignorant of half of her heritage. I am not saying she will inherit Dragonstone before a son, but she should be exposed to my culture, and that includes a name day feast with the bannermen."

"Robert would probably be pleased that I was late in returning to King's Landing if it was due to a feast," Stannis admitted. "Very well."

~Tyrion Lannister~

As Lyanna Stark stormed out of the room, Tyrion couldn't decide if he should follow or not. On the one hand, she was clearly still in a foul mood and he didn't want to have her anger focused on him. But on the other hand. . .

"Ow," Torrhen said as he slowly sat up from where he was laying on the floor. The shattered remains of his chair beneath him.

Tyrion really didn't think it was safe for him to have borne witness to the Lord of the Dreadfort getting beaten in his own solar.

At least I wasn't the only one.

Lyanna had dragged (more like carried) Tyrion to Torrhen's solar where he was meeting with the maester. Tyrion hadn't even heard what the two had been discussing before Lyanna had interrupted the pair by screaming at Torrhen. Eventually, she had simply dropped Tyrion to the floor and leapt across the desk.

The fight had been short and brutal, mainly because Lord von Carstein hadn't really defended himself. Presumably because the attack had caught him by surprise.

Then again, the enormous guard outside never came in to break up the fight. Is this a regular occurrence?

"Um, do you wish to continue the discussion my lord?" the maester asked.

But Torrhen was, for the moment, ignoring Garth and lightly touching his own face. "She definitely broke a bone or two, my nose at the very least. I think my cheek too." His teeth, which had seemed so intimidating before, weren't nearly as scary with half of them missing.

"Krell is right outside, he would have been happy to be called in," Garth said.

Oh, so that was Krell. That explains why the one guard said he wanted to see us together. I should have known it was a dwarf joke.

Torrhen paused in feeling himself for injuries. "Yeah but Lyanna clearly had some anger she needed to work out. If punching me in the face a couple dozen times calms her down, that's a sacrifice I'm willing to make. Better me than someone else, I'll heal up after a drink."

"I hardly think a broken nose will be better after you quaft some ale." It was only after the lord and maester turned to look at Tyrion that he realized, to his horror, it had been he that had spoken.

"You are correct, but I wasn't referring to ale."

Thank the gods, he isn't mad at me. Tyrion practically sagged in relief. Hmm, in that case I might finally get some proper answers. "Moonshine then? Arya, the lady that was escorting me around, mentioned it will fix whatever ails you."

Torrhen started to laugh but then abruptly stopped with a wince. "Oooh, that was a mistake. But no, not moonshine." He looked to the maester. "Garth, looks like we will have to continue discussing my marriage options another time. I need that drink now."

"Of course, my lord." The links of the maester's chain clinked together as the man stood up and walked past Tyrion.

"You know," Tyrion said once Garth was gone. "While she was attacking you, Lady Stark had some good questions."

Torrhen stood up with a hiss of pain. "What sort of questions? I wasn't really listening to what she was saying at the time. Ugh, walk and talk with me."

"Well, in between all those insults she was hurling at you, she asked several times how you planned to avoid any repercussions for kidnapping the son of a Lord Paramount. Could you answer that one?" Tyrion asked as the pair exited the room.

The sigh Torrhen uttered in response was a long one. "In retrospect it's obvious. I didn't properly explain to Gerold why you and your wife needed to go with him. He, in turn, provided you two with even less of an explanation when he showed up. So the fact that you two thought you were being kidnapped is understandable. I really screwed the pooch on that one. It was supposed to be a rescue."

"Yes but why would I need a rescue?" Tyrion asked and then immediately followed it up with, "And how did you know about myself and my wife three years ago?"

"Would have thought that part would be obvious. Magic."

Magic? About me? "You saw my future?"

Torrhen nodded. "I'm generally really bad at divination, it involves studying the stars and using a wind of magic that I have no skill in. But years ago I did manage to see some accurate predictions of what was to come. It was very scattershot, I saw images from across all of Westeros over a range of years. One such scene was what would happen to you and your wife. I couldn't just sit back and do nothing."

"So the comments from Gerold and you about my father. . .?"

"Tywin Lannister has a thing about members of his house bedding smallfolk. He would have-" Torrhen cut himself off as they turned a corner and they saw a servant carrying a basket of cloth. It was only once they had passed the servant that Torrhen resumed speaking. "Your own father would have ordered your wife to be raped by a garrison of his soliders and then have your marriage annulled."

"WHAT? WHY?"

"Short answer is because your father hates you. Longer answer is he doesn't believe anyone could legitimately love a dwarf and that your wife is only with you for your gold, so in his mind she's a whore and should be treated as such."

Tyrion couldn't even form words to speak, he was in such emotional turmoil. Did he believe Lord von Carstein's tale? His relationship with his father had always been tense but Tywin wasn't emotional or affectionate with anyone so Tyrion hadn't really felt singled out before. Could the lord of the Dreadfort have been lying? It was possible and it wasn't like Tyrion had a method available to check the accuracy of a prophecy, especially now that Torrhen had done something about it. The future he saw might never come true now. Something I'm thankful for. . . if he spoke true. But how can I trust him? He could be after gold or want a hostage against my family.

"That is quite the accusation you've made against my father," Tyrion said, knowing the statement served no real purpose beyond stalling for time. Obviously that was a serious thing to say about Tywin Lannister.

"Yep. And judging from the expression on your face you still don't know if you believe me or not." When Tyrion opened his mouth to respond Torrhen talked right over him, "No no, I don't blame you. Looking at it from the outside, my actions don't paint me in the best light so it's natural for you to be wary."

"Oh." Because what else could Tyrion say when the man who maybe-kidnapped him admitted his behavior was suspicious?

"The question," Torrhen continued, "is what happens going forward? Do you wish to return home to the Westerlands? Stay here? Something else entirely? I feel as I owe you for the accidental kidnapping so I can have Soves drop you off wherever you want."

Tyrion couldn't keep the disbelief from his voice, "You'd do that, just fly Tysha and I anywhere we wanted to?"

"Long distance travel is a costly and time consuming endeavor for most people but when you have a dragon it's barely an inconvenience."

"I suppose that's true," Tyrion conceded. "But that means you'd be without a dragon for the duration of the trip."

Torrhen shrugged. "What need do I have for a dragon the vast majority of the time? Sure, it's handy in a fight, fun to fly, and tends to put an end to any dick measuring contests that might spring up, but otherwise it just sits around and takes up space. I'm happy to see it being of use."

Tyrion was momentarily stunned by what he was hearing until he reminded himself, he left it in the ocean for three years. It was hard to put himself in the mindset of Lord von Carstein. Lyanna was right, he cares not for the prestige or military prowess the dragon would bring him. He only values the magic he studies.

"You mentioned being bad at divination, but from the looks of things you're quite good at necromancy," Tyrion began leadingly.

"Always room for improvement but yes."

"Are you good enough to teach it?"

"I have no idea," Torrhen admitted. "I tried teaching Lyanna, she picked up some spells but overall she did not enjoy the whole experience. I'm taking on an apprentice soon, guess we'll see if I can teach her with any degree of skill."

"Oh? Who will you be fostering?"

"Tyene Sand, daughter of Oberyn Martell."

Tyrion tripped over his own feet at that name and only barely managed to avoid colliding with the wall of the hallway by rolling into his fall.

"Whoa, you okay there?"

Pushing himself to his feet, Tyrion said, "I'm uninjured."

Fucking hells, Oberyn Martell will get access to magic? Jaime had run into the prince numerous times in the Red Keep during the negotiations to end the war. The Dornishman had been extremely antagonist towards Jaime, constantly poking for reactions. The point of contention had been the death of Aegon Targaryen, Oberyn's nephew, at the hands of Gregor Clegane. House Martell seemed to hold all Lannisters responsible for the actions of one landed knight to the point that when Jaime had written Tyrion, he had advised against ever being alone with any Dornishman and to never go to Dorne itself. Tempers had not cooled over the years, with the Lannister fleet getting charged double to make port in Dorne and the clear enmity between the two women of the royal family meant the pair couldn't stand to be in the same room together. Though personally Tyrion suspected that might have less to do with Dornish feelings over Aegon and more with the fact that his queenly sister was a massive cunt that could alienate even the staunchest of allies given time.

My family's future prospects look ill if a Martell, or a Sand, becomes as powerful a necromancer as Lord von Carstein. While he may be content to sit back and study I doubt she will be.

Tyrion's mind supplied him with images of what this sort of magic could do on a battlefield. Scores and scores of skeletons, fearless and ever loyal, marching to war, Westerland men dying of their injuries only to rise and turn on their fellows, the dragon flying above it all.

I have to do something, he realized. Or the Lannister name may go the way of the Casterlys.

"What if-" Tyrion stopped as a cough racked his body. Nerves. Come on, get it together! "What if I stayed here? Not as a steward, such a position would be beneath someone of my station. But what if you took me on as an apprentice as well? Not many people can say they've fostered a Lannister from the main line."

Torrhen hummed in thought as they descended a staircase. "Not so sure that would be a good thing. If it becomes known I'm fostering Tywin Lannister's son that would likely bring me more attention than I want. I'm happy with my little corner of the North, I don't want a bunch of people suddenly arriving and disrupting the improvements I've been making."

Fuck, how did I forget he doesn't care about prestige so soon after telling myself that he only cares about magic? "Why did you want me as your steward?"

Tapping a finger to his temple, Torrhen answered, "Because you're smart, you read a lot. Stewards need good managerial and financial skills, things not typically highly valued by people that think being able to swing a sword really well makes for a good lord."

"And what skills make for a good sorcerer?" Tyrion probed.

Torrhen laughed but immediately stopped and bent over in pain, grabbing at his face, nearly tumbling down the stairs. "Ow, I shouldn't have done that. But to answer your question, you need to be smart and read a lot. So I'll admit you might take to magic reasonably well."

The two were silent as they resumed walking. Tyrion, because he didn't want to appear desperate or over-eager, Torrhen because he was (hopefully) contemplating taking Tyrion on as an apprentice. The staircase ended and Tyrion realized they were down in the dungeons. Occupied dungeons, judging from the sound and smell, no less.

"I'm self taught when it comes to magic. The books were helpful, gave me the kickstart necessary, but from that point onward it was all on me. My only attempt at teaching was with Lyanna and, as I already mentioned, it didn't turn out so well, despite the advantage she had. Because of that, I'm not sure if the problem lay with her or me. That said, limiting myself to a single student at a time might also be part of the issue. It means I can't compare how different people learn and adjust my teaching style accordingly and that my students can't help each other."

Help each other? Does he mean. . .

"When Tyene arrives, I'll start teaching you magic with her."

Tyrion didn't think he had ever been more conflicted about something in his short life. While he was thrilled that he would get to learn magic, the prospect of doing so alongside the daughter of the Red Viper had him worried beyond compare. I may not have thought this through as much as I should have.

"We do need some kind of explanation for why you're here though," Torrhen said. "My original idea was that I was offering a permanent haven for a runaway noble and his smallfolk bride. How do you propose to sell the whole fostering thing to everyone, especially your father?"

"Uh, well - you did mention I could use your dragon-"

"I'm not having Soves fly over Casterly Rock in broad daylight for all to see," Torrhen interrupted. "Yes, that would convince everyone but it would announce to everyone what I can do."

He really doesn't want people knowing. I could threaten to expose him but I doubt that would work long term.Might not even work short term, he could just kill me here.

"I could write Father a letter and explain things," Tyrion offered.

"And he'd believe you?"

"Not if I told the truth," Tyrion admitted. "But the story you suggested has some merit. If I say that I ran away with Tysha because I knew Father wouldn't approve, that I sought refuge with a lord I knew through Jaime, that I would return in a few years once I had a child of my own, that he might believe."

"Would you be allowed back? You could end up banished from the entire Westerlands."

"That is a possibility. But I imagine if I show up with a retinue of skeletal servants Father will be more inclined to forgive me."

"That assumes you'll be any good at necromancy, for all I know your wind might be metal, or fire, or beasts. . . or fuck, that plant one. Plants would be useful as hell economically. But I see your point."

"Are there many different kinds of magic?"

"Uhhhhh." Torrhen silently counted on his fingers. "I can think of like, twelve at least. Most of which I'm absolute dogshit at, by the way. And I'm sure there's more."

"Is the exclusivity because it requires focus and training to get skilled and you spent your time on necromancy or do you think there is some inherited ability from a bloodline?"

"Good question but hold that thought for a minute," Torrhen said as they approached one of the cells. "I need that drink now."

Grabbing a key off the opposite wall, the Torrhen unlocked the cell and swung the door open. The man inside was pale and emaciated, sitting in the corner, resting his chin on his knees, an enormous nose at the center of his face. Oddly, he was surprisingly clean for a prisoner. He barely reacted when Torrhen entered the cell, merely looking up at him.

"You keep getting skinnier, don't know if Lyanna is overfeeding or you're trying to starve yourself."

Lyanna overfeeding? What has Lady Stark done down here?

Torrhen reached down and grabbed the man, easily pulling him up, and then the Lord of the Dreadfort opened his mouth wide and bit down into the prisoner's neck. The man didn't even struggle, instead letting out a sad whimper.

That is a truly broken person. Is he one of the wildlings Arya mentioned?

It wasn't long, only a minute or two, before Torrhen released the man, dropping him to the floor.

He really was drinking his blood. Torrhen's face was painted red and he was panting, he likely would have been smiling if his mouth wasn't open so wide, tongue darting out, licking at whatever it could reach.

"WOOOOO! That's a fucking rush! Didn't realize how long it had been since I had a good drink. Now then-" he grinned at Tyrion, showing off a full set of sharp teeth "-what were we talking about?