Chapter Twenty –Two
Review Reps:
Asharzal: Close answer. We won't have Dorne for a while anyhows. It would be complicated for them later due to Delianah's supporters.
Azai Jin: So Close on guessing.
I REALLY HATE EIRI YUKI: Sorry, no House Elves. We are already cheating badly with the magic and the Philosopher's Stone. No need to be even more OP. hihihi I already have made a choice to Delianah's OP air power. Guess what
Random Reviewer: Thanks
Guest: This is not a wank crackfic! LMAO!
King Carlos: Ned tends to follow Cats suggestions. He's a good husband to her and he cares for her. That's canon and maybe why he built the first sept on the north for her.
Sage1988: Pissed as hell.
Juti91: The Iron Bank is one facility you can't say no and Yi Ti is paying double. Who could say no to that?
Exiled Valkyrie: we'll go into the hair thing later.
Hikari Nova: SHHHHHH! Don't ruin the surprise.
Ryuzakiseven: Shhhh! Don't ruin the surprise! Boltons are also flat now by the way thanks to the Roar. The Karstarks would never revolt as long as Ned is still alive. No need to worry about Robb becoming King of the North long term.
….
Rivendell Private Quarters of Important Guests
Cold air blows continuously from the East making the transparent curtains fly on the open archways of her room. Down below one can see the entirety of the lands controlled by Rivendell that stretches to the horizon.
"Beautiful isn't it Ser Arthur?" the small voice of Rhaenys says in almost a whisper as her eyes greedily drink the view. "Is this how my ancestors see the world at the back of dragons?"
"Maybe your highness, unfortunately I am not so blessed to have experienced living during the times when your family is at the height of its power,"
"Hmmm," Rhaenys replies as she once more admires the beauty provided by the view.
"Though if I might make an observation your highness. I might say the view must also be the same at dragonback, only less safer and more unstable. Personally I prefer that you experience this view your highness rather than the one experienced by your ancestors,"
Rhaenys replies only with a beautific smile at her ever present protector and guardian.
Ser Arthur Dayne has been a constant presence in her life even from before. He was always kind to her when he's on duty sneaking her treats and extra food for Balerion, her cat. He would shy her away when those disapproving angry eyes of her grandfather would wander to her. When she was stabbed a hundred times and her body thrown over the walls of the Red Keep to the dark chasms of the waters below, it was Ser Arthur Dayne who appeared to her as a ghost, her constant companion throughout the endless cycle of life and death.
A cheerful squeal followed by a loud familiar voice of protest makes Rhaenys look down from the railing of her room. Down below she can espy Myrcella practicing one more with Lady Amelia, the head of the Death Dealers serving as Lady Delianah's personal guards. Judging from the pissed off tone coming from Myrcella, her friend is getting her ass handed to her once more.
No words can describe as to how Rhaenys counts her luck on having Myrcella Baratheon in her life. It is quite ironic that the daughter of the Usurper who bashed the chest of her father and overthrew her future would be the one she cared the most. Her mother once told her never to trust people. As a princess, they would attempt to befriend her due to her status, name, and the opportunity to elevate themselves through her. Rhaenys is four years old when the Sack of King's Landing happened. She learned and she learnt well. That's why other than her Dornish cousins, Rhaenys never had true friends.
Myrcella, Myrcella is different though. Ever since the very first meeting of theirs, the daughter of Robert Baratheon never saw her as Rhaenys Targaryen, no. For Myrcella, Rhaenys is just Rae-Rae, the friend she fools around with, who steals sweet cakes with at the middle of the night, who she gushes about when it comes to the "movies" at the pensieve, the friend she has no issues on showing that she shamelessly drools on the night when sleeping.
Yes, she does care for Myrcella Baratheon, she cares about her a lot. Myrcella may be a princess but here at the fantastical castle of Rivendell, Myrcella is Cella. The golden haired girl who is her best friend whom she would give the world to if she only asks; and Rhaenys, Rhaenys would rather be Rae-Rae in this world. It surely is a thousand times better than her previous life as a princess.
Don't get her wrong, she loves her mother, and she would always dream of putting a dagger on the skull of the monster that defiled and killed her. At her heart, revenge continues to bring embers on it. It is however tempered by fear. Rhaenys has experienced death a million times over and she doesn't wish to add another one on that number.
"I'm going to spend time watching a movie at the pensieve. Will you stay here till then Ser Arthur?" Rhaenys turns to the knight who simply bows.
"I will stay by your side princess as my duty. Please, do try and enjoy yourself," the ghost replies.
"That's great," Rhaenys smiles turning away as she heads to the library where the Lady Delianah placed her pensieve for Myrcella's and Rhaenys' use. She wants to watch the world of Pandora again with its fantastical beasts and people tonight.
….
Rivendell Restricted Area of the Library
"You play a dangerous gamble Ser Arthur Dayne," Delianah's stern voice catches the attention of the ghostly knight whose hand wanders to the transparent sheathe at its side.
"Everything in life is a gamble, Plane Walker," is the ghost's simple reply not averting his eyes from watching the waters of the pensieve swirl around the head of Rhaenys.
"There are consequences in what you are doing. A soul tribute can reduce your soul to nothingness. There would be no afterlife for you, no eternal rest at the end of the mountain road. There would simply be nothing. You will be nothing more than a memory on the pages.
"And I've accepted that. I am a Knight of the Kingsguard. My purpose is my life and my duty is my honor. As I am today, I am useless to her as nothing more than a spectator. By merging my soul with hers, what I have will be hers and she will survive,"
"Death cannot be averted by the skills of the sword Ser Arthur. As you yourself experienced," Delianah points out.
"But it can increase her chances of living,"
"You are adamant on this?" a slender eyebrow asks.
"I am. How-how much time will I have left with the Soul Tribute ongoing?" the ghost asks.
"At most? A year, maybe a year and a half, enough time for you to wean her out of your presence constantly being there. I suggest letting her spend more time with Myrcella, Amelia or even Yasmina. They can relate to her and can help her acclimatize on this life when you are finally gone Ser Arthur,"
"But not you Lady Delianah?" the ghostly head asks in turn.
A wry smile simply appears on Delianah's lips. "I am the Mistress of Death Ser Arthur. I hold no companions, no friends, no family. It is my fate, it is always my fate. Compared to Myrcella, I am not good. I am the grey against the black and the white. A master or mistress of death's only companions are contentment, grief, regret and greatness. I choose greatness,"
The knight's face is stern but for a split second a spark of pity and gentleness appears on those transparent eyes. "You underestimate the kindness of humanity Plane Walker. You underestimate the ones you love. They might surprise you if you give them the chance,"
"I doubt it Ser Arthur, but we'll see,"
….
Westerlands, Casterly Rock
The midday sun shines brightly through the blue tinted glass of private solar of Lord Tywin Lannister. For any normal observer, it would be quite surprising to see that the Old Lion prefers to use the color blue instead of the gold and red that is favored by his house. For the people that know Tywin Lannister personally, this is just an example of how pragmatic the Lord of the Westerlands is when it comes to his duty to his house. Blue tinted glass after all provides a rest for his eyes instead of the bright red that shines quite sharply in the midday sun. Lessening the stress on his eyes allows him more time to put into attention much of the matters that needs his immediate attention.
Just like the matter today.
In the private room of his solar, Tywin Lannister allows himself to show one of his rare pleased smiles as he stares at the private armor currently standing on its rack. Covered in red Delianite, beaten and designed specifically to accentuate his armor aesthetics, it now doesn't look like an ornate piece of suit but rather a proper representation of the power and wealth of House Lannister.
One might think that the Old Lion would be pissed as hell about the rather abrupt breaking of their deal about his monthly shipment of Delianite from Rivendell, previously Harrenhal. He is not surprisingly and with for good reason.
The Iron Bank does not ask, it demands.
That is a saying that those in power would be wise to always remember. What the Bank wants, it gets. It is actually not surprising for the Bank to get a monopoly for the rare mineral, it is after all a great source of money in their hands, both the supplier and the producer. He knows that if Delianah said no, the Bank would still get what it wants, with the exception of her probably missing a head or dying in a ditch somewhere. The Bank is fair however in all its dealings as it is well-known to, thus Delianah's decision, he understands.
Of course the Lady of Rivendell is not so stupid as to forget about their old deal completely, no. Part of the contract between Rivendell and the Iron Bank is a clause stating that he, Tywin Lannister be able to buy first at ever season of market of the Bank with a discount. So, in a way he still gets what he wants.
It is a better choice even for him, Tywin admits. A dead Delianah means the Iron Bank controlling the Delianite mines and that is no assurance to him being their primary buyer. The Free Cities after all have enough rich people that can challenge even him gold-wise.
"Wise and wary, why can't my children be more like her?" Tywin grumbles mentally, his good mood evaporating as fast as it came.
Jaimie stuck as a Kingsguard and Cersei despite being queen is slowly alienating even more and more people against her. She also spends a lot of gold that Tywin has to increase her daily stipend three times this month alone.
"What that girl is up to only the gods know," Tywin curses under his breathe before returning to his work. Messages of every kind litters in his desk in an orderly fashion. They are all blank sealed however. No need for his correspondence to his spies all over Westeros to be found by some random knight or guard thanks to an unsuspecting letter filled with Lion seals.
Things in the capital are surprisingly silent for King's Landing(as silent as King's Landing can possibly be). A norm seems to have settled on the capital of the Seven Kingdoms for some reason with each piece moving as expected. However telltale signs seem to be brewing around the other kingdoms for some reason.
According to his spies, many of the Lords from the Riverlands, Vale, Crownlands and the Reach seem to be calling their fighting forces. Not of course enough to their full strength that is the norm during warfare but rather enough to be noticeable for any sharp observer. The septons also seem to be more active as usual on their preaches and the emphasis it seems are more into the sin and hatred of bastardry and the threat of heretical religion. More pious lords seems to be contributing a lot of money to their local septs more than usual also.
Tywin frowns at that. While things here at the West seems to be quiet thanks to his tight rule,maybe it would be wise to recall at least his cavalry for a routine exercise just in case. If the Faith Militant is planning to have another attempt at a rise thanks to Robert's inane ruling, it would be bad not just for the crown but for everyone else.
Better nip it at the bud before it grows into something more. First things first though, he better summon Raynald, the representative of the Septons here at the Westerlands for some questions of his own.
Last he recalls, there are seven fingers left at the man's hands.
…..
North, Winterfell
Eddard Ned Stark sighs tiredly as he sits on the familiar shades of the Heart Tree. Once more he welcomes the silence that accompanies the presence of the godswood. It is certainly a lot quieter here compared to the Keep of Winterfell.
To say that things are hectic would be a complete understatement right now in the place he calls home.
Ever since The Roar, the other lords of the North have been extremely vocal about their protest about his decision to replace the Sept that his wife worships on. The Northern Lords call it divine justice. Cat calls it bad construction and Ned is stuck between. If he sides with the Northern Lords, he will be facing a day to day glare from Cat and not to mention she would be quite literally a pain in the ass to deal with, something that is extremely inconvenient if you're a Lord Paramount. On the other hand if he sides with Cat, the Northern Lords would revolt faster than he can fart. Southeners after all are heavily mistrusted if not hated by many of the Northeners. It does not help that shortly after the Roar, Delianah's declaration to the Old gods and miracle at the newly dubbed Rivendell only reinforced the Northeners' faith that the Old gods are working again in power.
Thus a tenuous compromise has been set by Ned in order to placate the Northeners and at the same time keep a semblance of peace at his home. Cat would be free to worship at her Sept but only the Northeners who is devout at the Seven can go there. It is an ugly compromise but a compromise nevertheless that leaves many Northern Lords grumbling angrily. Still, the loyalty to the Stark Name won and despite the Greatjon personally visiting and trying to swing a warhammer at the sept to prove his point that the Southeners' gods are wrong , the new Sept remain intact despite the rather large crack at its side.
Inside his house things are starting to go loud also. Robb develops a friendship with the Greyjoy boy and little Arya seems to make it her life's intention to make her older sister's life miserable via pranks. Little Brandon is still a baby. Jon on the other hand is now treated a lot better after the Roar but Catelyn Tully seems to take it a personal insult to her as she treats the boy even more harshly and degrading. Ned of course wants to step in, but the very attitude of Catelyn is the shield that Jon's life depends on. As long as he carries the stigma and Catelyn's ire, his life would remain safe. It is a better alternative than having a caved chest, courtesy of Robert for being Rhaegar's son.
Ned himself on the other hand is besieged by work more than usual. The settlement at Sea Dragon Point is started to being mapped and explored by the Green Men that Delianah sent. Surpirsingly, many of the Northeners are welcoming of them disregarding the fact that they are Southeners. Of course it may be because they are also worshippers of the Old Gods or simply the goodwill that Delianah provided for them due to her continuous supply of food from the False Winter. The Northeners rather has a high opinion of the little lady. The North itself has enough money to kickstart their economy due to her fair prices and the passage South disregarded due to the trade route of longships makes things easier for many Northern purses.
Not all is well and dandy though. House Bolton is literally in trouble as the Dreadfort collapsed on itself after the Roar killing Roose. Now Domeric is recalled from the Vale where he is being fostered but the young boy of seven has no knowledge of ruling the land of his forefathers or the rather large amount of men it holds. Ned has to choose a seneschal later to send in order to keep the Bolton line stable and under wraps. The last thing he needs is some idiot whispering to the impressionable young lad about the bloody desires of the Red Kings of Old.
While the North does food however due to the supply line to Rivendell. It is becoming pathetically obvious that said supply line is being stretched. Rice is slowly becoming a commodity that is highly favored due to its practicability and taste. It is exotic also and is slowly being bought by many if only for the novel. For the Northeners however it is a need, but with everyone else buying with higher prices, that means that the preference of the markets of rice is turning to someone else. Only problem is that there is only one source of rice at Westeros.
What Ned needs is a way to make Delianah Tully agree for a monotony of rice at the North or at least a specific quota. He has no idea what to offer though.
If not for the fact that it is a Heart Tree that is nearest to him, Ned Stark would have happily drawn Ice and hack the nearest bark in frustration.
…
Astapor, Slaver's Bay
Dragon Shit hates coming back here. It reminds him of darkness, death and decay. Slavery at its finest, he knows however that realistically speaking this is his only choice. There are too many recruits back at Rivendell and there are too few of him and his brothers to train them properly.
Westerosi are proud of their freedom. However none of them other than those that employ at the Bounty Hunting Guild can fight for shit. He needs more manpower and he needs those that knows and thinks like him. Purchasing men like him makes him want to vomit his lunch and dinner but for the sake of the goddess that needs him performing at his utmost best, he would swallow his disgust and pride. Thus he asked Master Floki from Portsmouth to sail him here on his fastest ships that he can spare.
"Aaaahhhh Master Draco, or is it Dragon Shit? I remember you very well being whipped on the plaza," the sleazy master that greets them at the gates says making Draco want to skewer him with his spear head to toe. How dare the bastard use the name given to him in a whim by his goddess who dislikes the demeaning title given to him?
"Thirty Thousand Gold," he simply replies nodding at two of his companions who drag a wagon full of gold dragons at the front of the master. "Two thousand Unsullied to be filled on the longboats,"
"Oh, into business Master Draco immediately. Would you like to enter the plaza for some refreshments. You would enjoy watching your brothers come into formation. I'm sure it would bring fond memories of-,"
"The boats in the afternoon!" Draco replies with gritted teeth before marching back to the longboats.
He needs to get out before he accidentally causes an international incident by murdering the slaver. His goddess could not have that.
Not while she has no army at her back and call at least. Draco swears by the Old gods that he would make her the best one.
...
Author's Note: Sorry for the late update of one day. Life's been busy and I've been Playing Jurrasic World 2 at PS4. It's awesome.