Chapter 48

Succession Games

Queen Baela Targaryen

"This long journey is about to end."

"You were about to add 'at last', my dear wife."

Baela turned to look at her smirking Consort.

"Please. It was only one moon of travelling with my Court."

"One moon that you spent complaining every morning how slow we were compared to your dragon. Am I right Moondancer?"

Her bonded snorted and smoke erupted from his nostrils.

Baela shook her head.

"Traitor," she gave a little tap on the scales. "Why is everyone against me today?"

"Everyone?"

"Well, your daughter didn't let me sleep late in the morning," the Black Queen remarked.

"Oh, it's 'my daughter' now?" Addam grinned.

"I seem to remember you participated in her conception."

"I don't remember you complaining." The handsome Frey said with a fond expression, and a lot of things fluttered in her belly and the rest of the body as the reminder of their nightly activities.

Alas, they had to do...be more prudent now. Given what had happened to her mother and plenty of ancestors on both paternal and maternal branches, everyone from maester to wise women had advised her to wait at least two to three years before trying for more children. And since taking moon tea was not something that could be drunk heavily without consequences, their pleasurable couplings were less frequent since Laena's birth.

"I did not, and I won't." The Black Queen sniffed haughtily.

"Good...your Grace."

Well, it seemed she wasn't going to have the last word in this debate...what a pity.

Baela petted Moondancer, and her bonded growled in appreciation.

Then ignoring Moondancer's protest, she dismounted to join Addam...and give the time for the interminable column of horses, men, women, and children to join them.

It was impressive. Now that the Bloody Gate was behind them, the terrain was far more open, but not so even that the Court and all its myriad of wagons and animals didn't look like a big snake meandering between the small hills of the Vale.

And that didn't take into account the massive mountains flanking them from the north and the south...nor did it acknowledge the eternal snows at their peak, the blue sky, the dark green forests on the slopes, or the grass of the widening valley.

"Just to see this...I am happy to remain the Queen of this realm."

"And all Lords and smallfolk can rejoice," her consort teased her. "You know that by tomorrow, it is going to be far less quiet..."

"Shush you," Baela feigned unhappiness, "let me marvel at the road I paid for."

To be sure, she had done far more than emptying her purse to ensure it would be built on time.

"Well, it is a nice road, my Queen. It is perfect, the last violent thunderstorms of the last three moons evidently did not damage it...and I'm sure plenty of Lords will want to have one."

"So am I..." the silver-haired sovereign agreed. "It will be a long time before I can satisfy everyone, alas."

The scarcity of gold to begin these colossal projects was beginning to be less and less of a hindrance. That was the good news. But since all the Lordships she ruled over were technically equals, this meant she couldn't ignore the North...and north of the Neck, everything was bigger...including the vast amounts of wilderness separating each settlement.

And as she thought this, loud whinnying was heard coming from the east, and what she had seen coming while riding on Moondancer became visible to the foot soldiers and the riders of her Court: a company of knights riding at a steady pace in their direction.

Too often polishing your plate armour had no importance on a battlefield, but Baela could appreciate the martial might of the newcomers.

They were splendid, those knights...all silvery metal shining like mirrors under the afternoon sun.

And the commander leading this detachment of horses and knighted warriors, of course, had by his side a bannersman...and the blue falcon had never seemed so proud and magnificent.

"Well, Addam..." Baela chuckled. "It seems House Arryn is here to welcome us to the Vale."


Lady Jeyne Arryn

"It wasn't a mushroom assassination? How...disappointing."

Lady Jeyne Arryn kept her eyes on the fortress of the Gates of the Moon below the Eyrie.

Nine days out of ten, there would have been silence and only the banners of her House flying atop the ramparts...but it wasn't one of those days.

The plains before the first wall protecting the Eyrie had thousands of souls camping before it. No, it wasn't an army besieging the ancestral home of House Arryn. It was the thousands upon thousands of her Lords' retinue, who had come to renew their loyalty oaths to the true Queen of the Seven Kingdoms...and to play the Game of Thrones.

"I'm glad it amuses you so much, your Majesty," the older woman of the two replied, abandoning her observation of the temporary city of tents which had been raised on her lands. "The bards have even found a name for it, you know. The Feast of Mushrooms. They are singing it from the Bloody Gate to Gulltown."

"Ah. My household heard some whispers of that at the Crossroads," the silver-haired Queen added her touch of mockery to the already disastrous joke.

Jeyne sighed.

"Yes. But I gave several of the cleverest officers of the Vale the opportunity to search and investigate, and unfortunately, it was confirmed that the man who picked the mushrooms didn't know the first thing about them, and since he was trying to woo a married woman, whatever reason in his head was lost. It could have been fine, the mushrooms can't really kill an adult man if you eat them in small quantities. It would have given them ugly pimples plus some terrible headaches and nausea, but..."

"But it was enough to convince both host and visitor that each had tried to poison the other."

"Yes." If the consequences weren't so bad, it would have been quite good to laugh hearing it during the long evenings of winter. As it stood, it was a catastrophe. "So Isembard was the first to think he was poisoned, and as the host, this cretin of Gulltown reacted by going to the kitchens and poisoning the next meals of Arnold and his household! Except...except he didn't know the first thing about poisons either. Or the first mushrooms turned his head into some muddy hole where no good idea could be made. He wasn't already really brilliant before the Feast of Mushrooms, after all..."

"And naturally someone saw him, and didn't eat."

"For all the tradition of bread and salt, there are some people who are a bit distrustful when they are symptoms of poison after eating one meal...and the Lord of the household generally doesn't return assuring everything is well with new meals."

"It really happened like that?"

"According to the last servants alive, it did..." Jeyne grimaced. "The problem is that they only heard the voice of Isembard and Arnold, who were shouting louder than the rest. Especially when many begin to drop dead shortly after the dinner resumed. After that...after that it was a contest of who killed whom in the most odious and treacherous manner. Isembard certainly tried to win it with three crossbows in the back after a fall from the highest floor of his manor. And of course many of those men-at-arms in Arnold's pay tried to flee, only to be killed by the Watch of Gulltown when they drew steel in the streets."

Her young cousin stayed silent for a long, long time after that.

"What a mess," Baela Targaryen murmured when she spoke again after shaking her head. "I can't help but think this would have been avoided if you danced with a man in your bed."

"You know why I won't."

Even today, decades after it happened, the mere thought of doing...that...was largely enough to make her shivers of revulsion.

And thankfully her royal cousin didn't insist.

"I know. That said, as much as the death of Isembard Arryn of Gulltown and Arnold Arryn of the Forest Nest is filled with stupidity, it shouldn't cause you any problem. You told me you intended to name Joffrey, the Knight of the Bloody Gate, as your Heir. He has the name, and he fought during the Dance. What is the problem?"

The Black Queen she faced didn't ask 'why was I really forced to come here when you assured me the succession issues were handled?', but Jeyne heard it nonetheless.

"I knew Joffrey had warrior qualities that many Lords would find attractive despite his very distant ties to the main Arryn lineage. But as the Long Winter ended and we could more easily hunt the clan's raiders descending from the Mountains of the Moon...Joffrey's pride got the better of him."

"You told him he was your Heir." Baela didn't make it a question, and Jeyne didn't answer. There was no need to. "I suppose that made sense, he could hardly have rallied some support if he wasn't aware of what you intended. And...forgive me cousin, but couldn't you find him another series of duties if he was growing bored of playing guard at the Bloody Gate?"

"Whoever commands the Bloody Gate has the loyalty of one thousand Arryn men, should I die tomorrow," Jeyne reminded her cousin bluntly. "This would have been a spear giving him the ability to rally many Noble Houses to his banner before you or another dragonrider arrived to finish the rebels. Not that I was too worried, Isembard and Arnold weren't loved at all by my greatest bannersmen."

"But now those two are dead."

"But now those two are dead, Joffrey has often been seen getting drunk before the sun is at its zenith, I know he is horrible when it comes to copper-counting, and despite my letters, he hasn't sired a child with his wife."

The purple eyes of her cousin sent the silent message she wasn't exactly in position to give the lessons.

"Yes, I know. I have no children of my own body. But my lineage was never in question. Joffrey, however, is my fourth cousin. He has the Arryn name, but without my support, this is all he has. The Forest Nest and Gulltown branches, if we use the customs of Vale succession, must come before him."

"And you aren't totally convinced anymore that Joffrey Arryn is so competent in the noble art of ruling that he must be the Heir."

"I am confident he would be a better Heir than Arnold's son Eldric," the Lady Paramount of the Vale corrected. "This fledgling was already unbearable before his father died; now that he is the Knight of Forest Nest, his arrogance knows no bounds."

"And Isembard had sons, I take it."

"Three," she confirmed, "I can't profess I know them very well. They lived in the shadows of their father – he sent them to rally several knights to his cause when the Feast of Mushrooms took place –but now they're stepping out of it. And since it was announced you were visiting, many other distant cousins have decided to ride to the Gates of the Moon, and it isn't just to joust or to participate in the festivities."

In many ways, the decision to name Joffrey had been too hasty. Yes, she had been mildly ill for a few days, and yes, there was the need to have an Heir...but Baela had been there. The risk of having the Vale's stability destroyed was minimal. By naming Joffrey as her Heir in front of many witnesses, her will had been known. Unfortunately, it also told her bannersmen and all who bore the Arryn name it was her will which mattered, not the order of succession that was considered to be 'normal'.

"This is a major problem," Baela recognised. "And though I don't blame you, cousin, you will forgive me if I say I see a lot of resemblance with what a certain King did many years ago..."

Jeyne winced. Being compared to King Viserys the First of the Name was never good for a Lady's pride.

"But you aren't dead and mistakes can be solved. You invited half of the Vale in addition to the royal court here. I suppose you have an idea or two which don't involve Moondancer roasting half of the claimants?"


Ser Richard Lydden

Richard had not known what he would find at Great Wyk.

There had been letters between the Ironborn and the kingdom of King Daeron, the First of His Name, but that was all that they were: letters.

It had been uncertain what would be waiting for him at the end of the journey...much like what would be waiting for him on the ships supposed to sail to Great Wyk.

Would there be hundreds of defeated highborn like him aboard this carrack? Or were there hired assassins only waiting for a slip of his tongue to throw him overboard?

Were they thousands of bloodthirsty Ironborn waiting them on the shores of the last island to remain free of Black or Green warriors?

Were the last reavers of the Red Kraken only trying to make them lower their guard before building up new longships and enforcing a reign of the axe and piracy again?

Now that their small boat was floating on the grey waters a stone throw away from the island, Richard felt particularly stupid.

Leaving Lannisport and sailing to Great Wyk had been very disappointing compared to what his imagination could conjure when he wasn't drunk.

There had been no assassins.

There had been no cohorts of highborn exiled for their crimes.

The Lannisport-built carrack, at the very beginning, had four smallfolk families aboard, but they were part of a fishermen's group that House Lannister had rewarded with lands on Blacktyde...or whatever name one called it these days.

Sign of the importance their mission and Richard had – in that very order, if you pleased – the carrack had sailed first to disembark the fishermen.

Therefore Clegane and he had been the last passengers, and though the sailors hadn't been rude or outright unpleasant, one could hardly say they were going to leave as friends.

As for Great Wyk...

Well, from what he could see from his position in the boat, Richard could gladly confirm there was no crowd of bloodthirsty Ironborn waiting to decapitate him and use his empty skull to drink their wine. That was good. He didn't want to die from a reaver's axe.

But watching the shores of Great Wyk, something made easier by the fact the mist was fading away...well.

It really looked like they had arrived at the end of the world.

Their fragile and tiny boat was approaching fast what was a stone pier of robust building...but it was only the one, where a little port on the Sunset coast of the Westerlands could boast at least four or five.

But there was only this pier. Just like there was only an unimpressive wall on the shore, which was not a defensive fortification of any known civilisation, but a place the local population used for its fishing nets.

The closer they got, the more it became evident that the place the dwellers of Great Wyk had invited them to was barely a village: ten houses and some other traces men and women were living here.

That was all. And where the arrival of an emissary or a highborn envoy may warrant dozens of swordsmen and splendid draconic banners...here as far as Richard could see, there was a single man waiting on the pier.

"Not very welcoming those grey stones," the exiled knight who was all that remained of House Lydden commented.

"No," Gregor Clegane agreed, "it looks like a tiny fishing harbour. Next to the wall? Those are cages to catch some crabs and a few other cousins of their breed."

"Really?" His home had been so far to the sea that any topic closely related to the sea was a mystery to him...something he wished had continued when 'being seasick' had been discovered two days after leaving Lannisport. "Crabs? They are eating that?"

"Crab is quite a delicacy, when you know how to catch it and cook it," Gregor lectured him, "my father knew the trick, but I was never able to convince him to teach me how he did grab them."

"Yes...quite a problem when you don't know. These pincers look nasty."

Now that the pier was not half a cable's length away – that was apparently how all proud sailors 'measured' something – the crab cages were everywhere in evidence, and if not every sea critter was the same, all had in common very large pincers.

"Afraid of some crabs, Ser?"

Richard glared for a moment at Clegane before answering.

"Not really. I have seen the fangs and claws of the Blue Queen, Clegane. I am not going to tremble in fear in sight of a crab...though I am not going to charge to touch one."

"Fair's fair," the giant Westerner replied. "I won't either."

"What was the best recipe of crab you know of, by the way?" Richard asked. "Since apparently the fishermen of Great Wyk have no issue catching them?"

"Oh, it was a classic," his second and only companion for this distant isle smiled fondly, "a fair share of wine, some garlic..."

Richard grimaced when the list of ingredients came to an end.

"I don't want to be the crow of ill omen," he told Gregor, "but watching this tiny village, I seriously doubt they have everything you need for this no doubt delicious recipe."

"Bah, I'm sure it can't be that bad," Gregor proclaimed as ropes were thrown to the man waiting for them on the pier, and after a fortnight of navigation, Richard Lydden was free to walk once more upon something that was not rolling or at risk of sinking.

"Greetings, foreigners!" the middle-aged Ironborn who had just helped them secure the boat to the pier welcomed them. "You made better way than I imagined, I wasn't expecting you so soon! I am Erik of Pincer's Bay. Do you have some good bottles to celebrate your arrival?"

Richard groaned.

Even so far away from his beloved cellar, wine continued to tempt him, even when there was no barrel in sight...


Queen Baela Targaryen

Of the three great kingdoms she truly ruled, Baela had no doubt it was the Vale which loved jousting the most. Oh, the Riverlands and the North loved tourneys and other festivities; the latter were never heard saying 'no' when it came to show their ability to empty barrels and wield oversized weapons.

Neither the Lords nor the smallfolk, however, really did love the jousts where knights competed like the Houses of the Vale did. The Northern warriors really preferred the melees, seeing it – for good reason – as the only true way to prepare for war. The highborn sworn to Riverrun liked jousting, but often lacked the dedication for it; House Blackwood was perhaps the best example of it, as its Head of House preferred to train with a bow and an arrow when riding a horse rather than spend the day mastering the long spears the knights used to joust.

Thus when the nephew of Lord Royce dismounted forcefully the second son of Lord Hersy and won the final of the jousting tourney, the crowd went wild. It was like the Valemen had just been told a new King was crowned...and no, it wasn't much of an exaggeration.

"A promising knight," the Black Queen told Lord Harlan Melcolm, who had been given the place of honour to the right of her cousin Jeyne. Normally the Lord of Old Anchor shouldn't be seated so close, but Laena had begun her usual screams when the noise of the spears breaking repeated itself, and so Addam and many others had departed before the final duel.

"Indeed, your Grace. He may try to compete at the next great tourney of Saltpans...provided we are blessed with a good summer next year?"

Baela gave a royal shrug.

"The 'not-Maesters' Orders who try to vie for my attentions are all in agreement that in the next moons, we will likely see very warm weather often interrupted by powerful thunderstorms and heavy rains. It won't be a true autumn, the sun will strike too harshly for that, but there will be too much rain for a pleasant summer. What will come after that, the Gods are the only ones with their divine prescience to know."

The Vale Lord nodded slowly, but with more determination as each moment passed.

"But the summer could continue and give us the fair weather we love?" The older Lord of the East asked as Lord Royce's nephew was carried in triumph by several of his friends in the middle of a smallfolk shouting his praises.

"Everything is possible, of course," Baela replied in a serene and queenly manner. "But we have already been blessed with several years of summer. One or two more is not improbable...but it is better to remember that long winters follow long summers. And the last winter was quite difficult for everyone, my Lord."

"Of course, your Majesty, I wouldn't want to suggest I desire the next winter to be arduous and as difficult as the previous one. I just wanted to note that if the Gods smile upon us, there is still time to build a new road among the lands of the Vale."

Baela looked at her Lord Paramount and cousin...who did her best not to gloat, though for someone who knew, it wasn't subtle at all.

"There is still time, I suppose," the silver-haired Queen agreed readily, "but I can't justify the building of a new road just for a single Lordship, my Lord. While I don't know all the secret passes and the hills of the Vale by name, I know your lands are...somewhat flanked by the mountains and the sea, to use battle-words."

Something that unfortunately was causing House Melcolm of Old Anchor problems, as Jeyne had explained to her. The new road, by only using Ironoaks as a stop before going north-west, was making things more difficult for the merchants there.

"But there is the Hare Pass, your Majesty."

It was all mummer's play, for she already knew the answer before opening her mouth to speak.

"And this...this 'Hare Pass' can be used by the wagons and other horse-towed transports during autumn and winter alike?"

"It can, provided a new road can be built. The stones and the rest of the work done long ago, are...somewhat lacking." Lord Harlan confessed with some amount of shame.

Shame which was somewhat justified, for as long as the roads were impracticable, House Melcolm could exert its power and sea-faring influence upon House Waynwood and other Noble Houses. Or at least it had been the case before the new road from the Bloody Gate to Gulltown had been completed.

"This new road would give the opportunity to the smallfolk of the eastern Vale to enjoy the same fruits of prosperity their western brethren enjoy right now."

"True," the daughter of Prince Consort Daemon Targaryen bowed to their logic in that instance. "But if we want the farms and fields of the eastern Vale to benefit all from this, wouldn't a continuation of a new road from the Gates of the Moon to Longbow Hall be the best choice?"

In practise, the road of course wouldn't begin here, in the shadow of the Eyrie towering on the incredibly high Giant's Lance, but several leagues east.

Of course, from the perspective of House Melcolm, the result would be the same: they would be deprived the opportunity to sell the majority of the Vale harvests, and it was far from impossible that in a few years, some other harbour would rise to take their place.

With the Bloody Gate-Gulltown road, House Grafton had cemented its place as the Noble House controlling the greatest sea port of the Vale, but according to her Council, if the Vale kept its prosperity, there was enough gold and goods around to need a second harbour.

The only question was whose House would control it.

"We are the loyal servants of your Majesty," Harlan Melcolm assured her.

"Of this I have no doubt," for all the games the Vale Lords played behind Jeyne and her back the moment they weren't watching her, Lord Harlan and his peers had remained loyal. "But I will remind you, my Lord, that a road is not a small expense, both in skilled hands, finely crafted stones, and most expensive of all, gold and silver. My Master of Coin," Eon Grafton, to not name him, who had a lot of reasons to give her an accurate price, "mentioned you had proposed something of this nature last year. If I remember correctly, the sum of ten thousand gold dragons was mentioned."

It was a bit less than that, in fact, more eight thousand golden dragons than ten.

But her words carried the message she wanted. Assuming the road was built and several Houses poured their gold in the project, what did Lord Harlan was ready to give so that his House's prosperity and those of his docks were preserved for another generation?

"In the case the building of the road through the Hare Pass would begin before next winter, House Melcolm would justify the loyalty you placed in it, your Majesty, by permanently detaching four war galleys to the Royal Fleet, scorpion armament included."

"It is a great gesture," Jeyne gave her opinion. "And one which would indeed speak truly of House Melcolm's loyalty."

If someone asked if Jeyne was as true as the Father Above in his role of Judge, Baela would be forced to answer she was not. The critical part of her head told her that it was a very good thing her 'neo-Valyrian Roads' didn't need to be rebuilt over time, because with the current Lord of House Melcolm, they wouldn't be rebuilt at all!

"What about bridges, your Grace?"

Baela turned her head to the left, and recognised the face of the new Lord Pryor.

The young man was really not a 'new Lord' at all, for his father had been caught in a terrible cycle of errant madness when he was awake, and long days where he was sleeping so close to death many weren't able to see the difference.

And unfortunately, as far as Baela had been able to observe, the father being unable to teach the Lordly duties to his sons was...a great problem.

"A bridge," Baela said cautiously. "Lord Pryor, save at several passes north of Heart's Home, I don't see any location where a bridge's construction is in the interests of the realm."

She dearly hoped the young man wasn't going to suggest they built a bridge between the Vale and the island of Pebbles where the light brown-haired highborn had his castle. There were many good reasons why it wouldn't work. It would be an affair of years, assuming it was at all possible. She didn't have the gold for that. The island had nothing valuable which justified this honour. And to begin to make something profitable, they would need to build a complete road from Heart's Home to Coldwater and beyond, on a terrain where there were many clan's raids and few villages outside the fortresses.

"There is one!" Crone and Maiden, this was going to be bad... "Your Grace, I propose to build a bridge tying Gulltown and Crackclaw Point! With it, one knight will be able to ride to tourneys and war to the Riverlands without using the Bloody Gate or having to fear to the axes of the barbarians of the mountains!"

Baela had to use most of her inner strength not to gape.

The Bay of Crabs separating the Vale from the lands of the loyal Crownlanders recognising her authority was an enormous distance, and there was nothing but water in the way. She didn't see an island like Dragonstone to serve as a midpoint, last time she flew over it!

It was worse than the hypothetical plan of linking the Pebbles to the Vale, and if that wasn't saying something, nothing would.

"No. Lord Pryor, by respect of your rank, I would suggest to stop saying such nonsense in front of your peers." Bridges had their hour and place. Really, studies were made for them when it came to the Trident and the three Forks. But for the Vale? It was building a bridge to build a bridge, and she wasn't going to empty her coffers for some nonsense.

"But it can work!"

Baela looked at the new Lord...the more she watched, the more she realised he had to be her age, plus or minus one year.

And the Targaryen Queen didn't like what she saw.

"No, no it won't. I would suggest, my Lord, you cease to waste my time if you have nothing intelligent to contribute."

The fact one of her Kingsguard had still to 'convince' the young Lord to return to his seat was not a good sign at all. Damn it. She would have to tell Lady Sabitha to keep an eye upon him, the last thing they needed was another loudmouth like the Brax knight...

But in the mean time, she had to deal with an important matter.

"Lord Harlan. I acknowledge you have brought many important issues to my attention..."


Ser Jaime Lannister

Jaime took a deep breath.

The red cloaks of his escort were gone, dismissed by the former Regent of the West.

They were alone.

And to be honest, he had been dreading this moment since the order had been given since it was given moons ago.

"I have failed."

When Lady Johanna looked at him, Jaime didn't know if he had to be ashamed or relieved that there was no anger in her beautiful green eyes.

"Sit, Jaime."

The senior advisor to the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands – for all the changes proclaimed by King Daeron and Lord Loreon's ascension, they had all kept their ranks for now – obeyed the command.

"I won't pretend I am pleased," the Lady Dowager of Casterly Rock said, "but I understand you did the best with what you have. The only thing I want to ask you...if you think that if I named someone to replace you in your inquiries, would he or she be able to find something new?"

"No." The blonde-haired advisor shook his head. "At least I don't think so. All the tracks my hounds have been pursuing have been dead ends, whether because there was nothing to find, or because all the men we wanted to interrogate had been slaughtered. As a result, I have not a clue who ordered the death of Tywald Reyne."

His superior said nothing, and so he continued.

"We know that two merchants may have been involved in transporting potential treasonous messages to the tourney of Lannisport. One was a Reach merchant, the other was certainly a Riverlander smuggler. Both were found dead when we searched for them."

Four more parchments were grabbed from his bag and delivered on her desk.

"Since corpses aren't in a habit to speak, I tried to discover with whom those men might have spoken, or failing that, whose assassins killed them in the first place. Every time I found more corpses. Three paid killers were decapitated near Tarbeck Hall, and though those who ambushed them took their possessions, they couldn't remove their brotherhood's tattoos. There were more we discovered in a ruined castle of Sarsfield. There was another incident which had been undiscovered in one of the castles belonging to a Swyft vassal. There were some letters which if you read the right way, can be interpreted as promises to support the Black Queen should she invade the Westerlands. But here everyone is dead. Again."

"Someone," Johanna glared at one of the parchments, "felt particularly ruthless removing some inconvenient tools."

"Yes." Jaime agreed. "And I don't think this someone served the Blacks. Not directly, at any rate."

The former Regent gave him an inquisitive stare.

"Explain."

"At first, I thought there might have been something where the whispers of Black involvement were concerned." Jaime spoke after clearing his throat. "But the more I dug, the less it made sense. Beginning with the evidence, if they were trying to push the Red Usurper to rise against us, why did they do it in such an incompetent manner? Why attempt it when the Black Queen was in the last stages of her pregnancy? They could have counted only on Sheepstealer if the King wasn't treacherously slain...which was indeed what happened."

"Playing the Stranger's role, Jaime...it is entirely possible they overestimated the Usurper's support and strength."

He had a ready answer for this...unfortunately or fortunately.

"The main flaw of this reasoning is that they gave absolutely no military support to the rebel armies before the swords were drawn. And once they were, well...assaulting Hornvale and slaying the bastard who had betrayed House Brax can hardly be seen as a gentle gesture of approval. The Black Queen wasn't our ally either; I won't disagree with that. I know she extorted us a lot of gold with her negotiations at the Golden Tooth. But if she really wanted to support the Usurper, there were simpler ways to hurt us. She could have burned the Golden Tooth with her dragon, for example. It would have freed several hundred rebels for another tasks, and there would have been nothing we could do."

"I agree. The Black Queen didn't behave like someone who ordered the death of Tywald Reyne...otherwise we would likely have endured a siege of Casterly Rock. But that leaves other possibilities."

"Not that many," Jaime had to disagree. "King Daeron is obviously out. The possibility exists, I must admit, that one of the Small Council's members decided to take action on his own and order the death of the Usurper's brother, but that would mean someone was aware a rebellion was coming, and apparently none of the Reach, Stormlands, or Crownlands' armies were mustered beforehand."

Jaime placed his hands together on the desk, and forced himself to not show how frustrated he was.

"As far as I can tell," the advisor said in an angry voice, "the one who gave the order had to be aware how our chief traitor was going to react. That means this mysterious he or she knew the Usurper's future rebellion was well-prepared, but not enough well-planned that it had a chance to triumph if it was forced to come out of the shadows this year. And if I continue on that path, there is no other explanation that our shadowy plotter has a very, very good web of killers and spies spread across the Westerlands."

"A web we had no idea of the existence until the spider at the centre of it did give the order to strike," Johanna commented darkly.

Jaime didn't reply. What could you say aside repeating the obvious?

"Aside from the Master of Whisperers of the Black Queen and our King," the mother of the new Lord Lannister asked, "who could have possibly the gold, the men, and the reach to do this without being noticed?"

"I doubt it required a lot of gold," Jaime frowned deeply, "it would have been above all Knightly Houses' means, but a Noble House would have largely found the coins, provided it wasn't half-destroyed during the Dance, to pay for that sort of expanse. The real trouble is that it took a lot of time to put everything in place...and yet the web-mummer playing the Reynes didn't show any reluctance to sacrifice all the pieces when the game was played."

This was the kind of nightmare the Master of Whisperers was supposed to prevent in the first place.

It would be tempting to accuse Larys Strong. The Clubfoot had the means and the reputation to do some ugly deeds in the name of 'the Good of the Realm'.

But if it had been him, the man who would have lost his life at Lannisport would have been Walder Reyne. And King Daeron would have been warned to move against House Reyne moons before the first banners were called to the battlefield. They likely wouldn't have been any assassination in the streets of King's Landing...which would have changed everything.

"There are too many things I don't know...and this is why I must admit my failure. My Lady."

In the end, what else could he say?

"Then let us abandon this dreadful topic for now. I want to hear your thoughts about how the reconstruction effort goes in the Cornfield lands..."


Lady Jeyne Arryn

When Jeyne arrived, her cousin the Queen was in a long debate with her Hand, the Lord of Winterfell.

And for all the evidence the subject was not one they agreed upon, the tone remained cordial.

"When I agreed to take her as one of my bannersmen, I didn't think you would place her future Lordship on the White Knife river."

"Then you didn't have enough foresight, my Lord Hand."

"Clearly," Lord Cregan replied before sighing, "it is unclear if those lands belong to Lord Manderly or Lord Hornwood."

"We will compensate them," her royal cousin didn't let the obstacle stand for a single sentence, "the region is more or less abandoned, anyway. I think that the last time I flew with Moondancer, I saw three lone houses and a herd of hairy cows."

"I suspect you're right." The Lord Paramount of the North cleared his throat. "Still, if you go ahead with this idea and the new Lordship of Lady Serrett is indeed the location where we will build the bridge in the years to come, the vassals of Hornwood will certainly request a direct road from Winterfell through this new town."

"Oh? My Lord Hand, you already expect it to grow to the size of a proper city?"

"Wasn't it you, your Majesty, who accused me of lacking foresight a moment ago?"

Baela chuckled...before wincing as in the back of the tent, a baby screamed.

Fortunately, the Royal Consort rushed to take her in her arms and gave some food...which immediately decreased the angry outburst.

"Laena has a powerful voice and knows how to use it," the Black Queen declared with humour, "anyway, to answer your point, I think it will be unavoidable they will request it, but for now, the road we planned from White Harbor to Hornwood will have to be sufficient for them. This is already going to be a large expense for our coffers, I am not going to spend more than that for the next ten years. I have to keep some golden dragons in the coffers...for winter problems, if nothing else. Ah, come in, cousin. You don't have to wait at the entrance of my tent like this."

"Of course, your Grace," Jeyne bowed playfully, "I didn't want to interrupt your lively conversation."

As she stepped forwards, the Lady Paramount of the Vale was able to look at the massive map of Westeros which had been unfurled on the royal tent's table. Unlike many that she had seen, this one was more or less a blank state south of the frontier, but it detailed the North, the Riverlands, and the Vale roads, villages, and Lordships with incredible accuracy.

But the more interesting thing on the map were the roads.

Because unless someone had not informed of her, many of the paths represented to ride from one castle to another so far didn't exist...

"Is this what we discussed lately?" Jeyne did her best to hide her excitement.

"It is," her cousin nodded soberly, "the new roads which will be built under my reign...the order they will be built remains to be determined, but it will be done. For the Vale, we adopted your suggestions. The road from the Trident to the Bloody Gate was a necessity anyway, and we added recently the new one on this map. It will go from Ironoaks to Old Anchor, then go east and use the Hare Pass, reach the lands of House Hunter and Longbow Hall, before truly establishing a major road from one end of the Vale to another. And ultimately, we will build a 'hook' to Heart's Home. There will be no 'new road' to the Snakewood or to Strongsong; it would cost too much for not enough money returning to my coffers."

Jeyne, regretfully, could only approve. It seemed House Belmore and House Lynderly were going to have to wait.

"And in the mean time, you unite the kingdoms together."

The Lady of the Eyrie was anything but surprised to see the major sections of the Kingsroad from the Trident to Winterfell and beyond were going to be transformed into the new kind of roads. The effort to transport stones and men there was way less difficult than it could be otherwise.

The successor to the River Road was not a surprise either. That it would begin at Pinkmaiden was, but otherwise the path chosen was what whispered in the taverns and the castles from White Harbor to Seagard: Riverrun, Stone Hedge, Darry, Saltpans and Maidenpool wouldn't raise eyebrows.

And the roads of the North...well, they weren't really unexpected. But it was ambitious. Very ambitious.

She told it out loud to Baela...who nodded in agreement.

"This is exactly why my Council supported fully the idea of building everything in the next ten years. Not only it gives us time to see a return of golden dragons from what we poured into the roads, but we have the time to change some things. But the roads will be built. The realm must be united by roads and bridges."

"And if you succeed, you will have outdone the Conciliator, cousin."

Jeyne was truly sincere; King Jaehaerys Targaryen had built roads, but they hadn't survived the Dance, like many of the idealist and naive ideas he had.

Her praise brought a smile to the royal purpled-eyed beauty staring at the map.

"The compliments are always appreciated, cousin."

Cregan Stark coughed, certainly to hide his amusement.

"Naturally, there have been some...adjustments lately. In order to avoid some unpleasant incidents, the road we planned to build through Pinkmaiden, the Stoney Sept, Atranta, and Raventree Hall has been cancelled."

It was quite evident which kind of events had prompted this significant decision.

"The Greens may fear we would tie a road to Hornvale with this new road." Jeyne bit her lip. "I know it is...prudent."

"But you disagree." Baela said. "Speak your mind, cousin. I am not going to change mind on this...difficult issue, but I want to hear your opinion."

"There has been ugly rumours from the South about some fanatical septons," the Lady Paramount of the Vale revealed what she knew, "and in the Westerlands, a small number of knights and fools led by the last Brax are urging their Lords to declare war against us. Before the next winter coming, I agree it is a sound decision to let the tempers calm a bit. But sooner or later, it is my opinion, your Majesty, that the realm will need your roads to extend south, so that the frontier will be easily defended by your banners. Let's not forget that the Greens have the Gold Road to rally their armies. It is not equal to the roads you build, but it is a road nonetheless."

To her relief, Baela really thought about it.

"You give me sound advice...cousin. My Hand, we may have to think about creating a new map of roads to build in case the tensions between my Green cousin's lands and mine are growing out of control."

"Fairmarket does not sell cheap maps, your Majesty," the Lord of Winterfell reminded her.

"True. But I'm sure we will be able to spend a few more golden dragons for the good of the realm."

"By your will."

Baela gave a cheerful expression to her Hand, and then turned once more towards her.

"Now that this affair is agreed upon, I want to know before the archery contest-"

"YOUR GRACE! YOUR GRACE!" A knight in Targaryen colours surged towards in the tent before kneeling. "Terrible news! Your Grace!"

"Speak."

Jeyne felt her stomach turn. The eyes of the highborn sworn to her royal cousin were filled with panic and fear, and that meant bad news, very bad news.

"Your Grace. Ser Joffrey Arryn was seen drawing his sword and attacking Ser Eldric Arryn after the Knight of Forest Nest insulted him. Ser Eldric has been gravely wounded. It took three men of Lord Royce to stop Ser Joffrey. Lord Royce-"

Jeyne froze as a decade worth of plans, schemes, and thousands of coins went in smoke with these words.

But while she did, her Queen didn't. In fact, by the 'Lord Royce' mention, the rider of Moondancer was already on the move.

"You have done well to warn me, Ser. Kingsguards, my Hand. With me!"


Queen Baela Targaryen

"He will live."

Baela nodded in thanks, showing no relief...something made easier by the fact she didn't feel that emotion. The story the witnesses had told her was enough to confirm that while Ser Eldric Arryn had not deserved to die, his behaviour had been nothing but trouble since the day he arrived to participate in the tourney of the Gates of the Moon.

"I see. Give my thanks to Lord Royce, Ser...and please go assure the Dogmatists who healed him I will want to see them before the tourney's end. Their healing skills are to be praised and rewarded."

"Yes, your Grace."

The vassal of Runestone bowed and left her tent.

Not ten heartbeats had passed before the knight on his knees before her tried to speak.

"Your Grace, I-"

"Silence."

Baela looked at the Vale knight. Pale blonde hair, blue eyes. Ser Joffrey Arryn, for all his extremely distant ties to the main branch ruling over the Eyrie, had inherited the famous traits of the descendants of the legendary Falcon Knight. No one would call him handsome or fair today. After two Lynderly men lost their teeth trying to stop him from murdering Ser Eldric, the Royce men-at-arms had broken his nose and beaten him until many parts of his body, including his face, turned an ugly blue.

"You are a very lucky man, Ser Joffrey." The Queen of the Black Kingdom said quietly. "If you had killed him, I would have personally taken your head."

In the North, they said the man who gave the sentence had to wield the sword. In that case, Baela completely agreed.

This whole mess was...was a titanic waste. Yes, titanic. As big as the famed Titan of Braavos. Moondancer and she had never flown to Braavos, the Narrow Sea wasn't that narrow and there was too much to do, but...

Seven Hells and everything that was unholy. This was a massive waste.

Jeyne had wanted him to be her Heir. The only thing the former Knight of the Bloody Gate – his attainment had been uttered less than ten turns of hourglasses before the wounded knight's survival announcement – had to do after that was not to antagonise anyone, sire a child with his wife, and maybe win a few supporters among the Noble Houses of the Vale.

All of this he had failed to achieve in the last years. It seemed that beyond his swordsmanship, the jousting skills, and his impressive leadership when leading men to war, there wasn't anything that made Ser Joffrey Arryn qualified to be the Lord Paramount of the Vale.

"Your Grace, I can...I can make everything right. Please give me a chance to prove myself!"

Baela gave him the expression she usually reserved to fools.

"Can you give a new sword arm to Ser Eldric?" This was just one of many terrible injuries; Joffrey had been really, really close to kill him, and would have done so if a dozen of Royce warriors hadn't intervened.

"No, but-"

"Can you erase the injuries you gave him?"

"No, but-"

"Then please, Ser, don't tell me you can make everything right."

"But your Grace, I had to defend my honour! This bastard of Eldric affirmed he slept with my wife and told her to take moon tea!"

Baela's eyes narrowed.

"And you have men of high birth to confirm your words."

"Err...your Grace?"

"You were surrounded by over four score of men and women who heard your ruckus, Ser. If Ser Eldric said this, surely everyone will have heard it."

"Your Grace...ahem...he told me this morning when we were in the stands watching the preliminaries of the archery contest."

How convenient. A little thought in her head whispered it might be true...and it was sufficiently strong that Baela promised herself to give orders to investigate. The whole affair had been disastrous, and while Eldric was not at fault here, if there really was adultery, he would have to be punished.

"I see. Then it is your word against his, and your actions of today were unacceptable. Ser Eldric's deeds aren't."

"I had to defend the honour of House Arryn-"

"No, you were defending your honour." Baela cut through his lie effortlessly. "And you drank heavily before confronting him."

Even now, after several times of the men of House Royce plunging him in the nearest torrent to turn him half-sober, there was a slight slurring in Joffrey's words.

"Nowhere it is forbidden in the laws of the realm to drink wine, your Grace."

All the Gods be praised she hadn't formally acknowledged this 'honourable idiot' unable to recognise his mistakes as the Lord of the Eyrie. If one thing was sure after today, it was that Ser Joffrey's tenure as the Lord Paramount of the Vale would have been a bloody catastrophe.

"And nowhere was it said in the laws of the realm that you are allowed to drown your sorrows with a full barrel of cheap wine before removing the sword arm of a knight who had not drawn a weapon to defend himself. If you wanted to fight him so badly, you could wait for the melee in two days."

"I can, as the Knight of the Bloody Gate-"

"You aren't the Knight of the Bloody Gate anymore. Really, you aren't anywhere near a position of responsibility and duty in the Vale, Ser. Your star was falling dramatically fast in the last years, but with this near-assassination, you have lost everything."

At last, the explanations went through his thick skull, and Ser Joffrey Arryn paled.

"But as I said earlier, you are very lucky, Ser. You didn't kill Ser Eldric. And while everyone agrees there was no need to draw your sword, the Lynderly knight who heard the scene is willing to testify there was some provocation from Ser Eldric."

Baela watched coldly the man who could have been a Lord Paramount.

"You want another chance? So be it. I give you a choice. You can swear yourself to the Order of the Black Swords for ten years, and use the skills who so impressed Lady Arryn to the defence of the Wall and the Gift. Or if your actions fall once again short of the exploits you boasted about, there is the choice of exile on the other side of the Narrow Sea...for twenty years."

Baela Targaryen changed her grip on the hilt of Dark Sister, never stopping to stare in the blue eyes of Ser Joffrey Arryn.

'I give you until dusk to make your choice, Ser."


Lady Jasmine Tyrell

When she was young, Jasmine had thought for many fortnights the greatest and most important duty of a Lady was to answer the ravens piling up on her father's desk.

She had grown wiser since.

However, reading letters and answering them was one of her favourite activities of the day.

One of the reasons for that was that it was so peaceful.

Letters, whether they brought good or bad news, didn't scream when they were opened, or committed one of the multitude of sins the court of Highgarden was routinely trying to make when its members thought they could get away with it.

And Lady Jasmine received a lot of letters.

Today was a small day, by the standards she was used to.

A pity. The skies had opened to fall a long and refreshing rain, bringing an end to the Game earlier than she had wanted.

The first was from Lord Oakheart, with a small list of achievements. All good news...except that apparently, the former Lord Serrett had evaded once again their attempt to bring him to justice, and joined up with...hill bandits?

Jasmine re-read the letter before gloating.

"You always were a pompous idiot, Cerion, but I wouldn't have expected this of you."

The letter she would send back was extremely easy to write: gifts, honours, the usual celebration tourney, good marriage for a son, and a small decrease in taxes for the next couple of years. The Sleeping Oak had proved his loyalty once roused to war, and it wouldn't do at all to let such loyalty go unrewarded.

The next letter was from one of her agents in the Vale. It appeared that after nearly killing another Arryn, Ser Joffrey was sent north to serve on the Wall among the black blades of the Black Queen.

This was...interesting. The man who had once been the Knight of the Bloody Gate was only the last warrior, not the first, to be sent North for an offense which might have seen him exiled or punished most severely by another King or Queen. Ser Joffrey was just the most prominent of the names who would serve side by side with the black brothers.

Was Baela Targaryen trying to keep all her best swords sharp for the next years of peace? If so, it was a sensible idea. By law and custom, nothing would stop King Daeron from copying the practise, but...well, there had been two incidents in the Reach lately, which had many similarities, up to the adultery and someone wanting to avenge his 'honour'.

In each case, the knight on the wrong side of the law had lost his head.

There were more letters after that. Lord Merryweather's fine script was once more a delight...and not just because he had to 'congratulate her'. Yes, announcing that in two years her Regency would end and her son Lyonel would rule over Highgarden and exert the full authority of the Lord Paramount of the Reach...it had been a masterstroke.

For all their prejudices and hypocrisy, the men sitting on the Small Council or waiting nearby in the halls of King's Landing could do...exactly nothing. Demand her that she relinquished her Regent's authority sooner? It would have been acknowledged by anyone as a gross overstep, no matter which lecture of the Conciliator's law you did.

If only the Hand of the King knew.

This move was not the end of the old game for her. No, it was the opening of a new one.

With Walder Reyne dead, House Reyne extinguished, and the 'Red Rebellion' crushed with the Blacks taking Hornvale as theirs, there had been many changes. And the souvenir of the Dance was fading away.

These were interesting times indeed.

And then there was the last letter.

Jasmine read it...and breathed in relief.

One man had died two nights ago in his sleep.

He was no one important, just a son of an impoverished merchant. His children would, by some good fortune, receive some silver coins from a distant uncle. There would be also a recommendation to serve in the household of House Oldflowers. Whether they would rise to the occasion was up to them.

Jasmine grabbed a golden urn which was so heavily decorated with flowers it was difficult to know where the artistry began and where the metal ended.

The letter was thrown inside the flowery-decorated container, and then the fiery touch of a candle set everything in the urn aflame.

"This wasn't what I wanted." The Regent of Highgarden confessed to the empty room, her servants being in the corridor, and appropriate precautions had been taken for no one to eavesdrop on her. "But in the Game of Thrones, House Tyrell has lost nothing of importance."

Killing Tywald Reyne had been a risk, and it appeared that this time her audacity hadn't been rewarded.

It was a pity, yes. The Westerlands falling under Black rule would have presented certain opportunities which wouldn't happen now that the ridiculous rebellion of the self-proclaimed 'Red Lion' was decisively crushed.

But this mummer's farce was over.

The next time, Jasmine knew, she would have to play the game better.


Author's note: Who said the proverb that with allies like those, one didn't need enemies? King Daeron would surely utter the question if he was aware of some past crimes of the Regent of the Reach...

As for the Black Kingdom, well the difficult issue of the Vale Succession has begun. Many of the main claimants have just been ejected from the Game of Thrones, but don't worry...there are plenty of claimants eager to replace them.

More links on the Dance is not Over:

P a treon: www. p a treon Antony444

Alternate History: www .alternatehistory forum /threads /asoiaf-the-dance-is-not-over.391415