Guest: For Illyrio, he got assassins sent after him, clarification happened in the previous chapter to avoid confusion.
quartz: He's not, but what can he do? The best he can do is not use them, but he can't really go on a crusade against slavery at the moment.
kagne and all the others: Thanks!
Daeron
Jon rested his hands on the large oak table, in front of the gaze of the Tyrells.
Their castle was as petty as the others in the face of dragonfire, and Winter could keep him safe. If anything happened, she'd sense it and come to his rescue. That is, if the Tyrells dared to do anything stupid.
He'd enjoyed the confused and terrified expression of Willas Tyrell when the heir to Highgarden confused him and Harrold Arryn. After all, the new lord of the Eyrie looked more like a Targaryen than he, with his blonde hair and blue eyes.
But now, the initial shock had subsided and the current master of Highgarden had calmed down. Not letting himself be intimidated, he showed a calmness that slightly unnerved Jon. More unsettling to Jon were the looks he was receiving from the beauty at Wylis' side. His wife? Betrothed? Hostage? In any case, he was surprised to learn that she was Princess Arianne Martell…
Jon did his numbers in his head. Princess Arianne could be useful to trade Sansa, since all the echoes he had had pointed to her presence somewhere in Dorne.
He'd considered a rescue mission, like the one he'd attempted to the Eyrie, but this would not work. As Daemon said, there could be a hundred thousand places where she was kept, and Dorne was large, he would need to fly almost a week to reach Sunspear if she indeed was kept there.
Such a journey would be hard, especially not knowing the country. At least the trip to the Eyrie was only a day's flight from his men.
No, it was better to be safe in this regard. And surely, the princess could be an asset. But Jon wasn't a cruel man. If she was the heir to Highgarden's wife or betrothed, he would not press the issue. If she was here against her will or as a hostage was another matter entirely.
But back to the situation at hand, Jon felt uneasy as Willas Tyrell calmly offered generous terms: he would give anything Jon needed, from grain to the means of transport! Of course, Jon could take the grain himself, but, at Goldengrove, the Rowans had the good sense to burn the carriages, forcing his men to bring a whole caravan from the Riverlands…
If Willas Tyrell did indeed give him all the necessary means to bring back North, this did change things…but this only reinforced his suspicion. Why give him all this? Mercy? Jon would've given it to him anyways. Goldengrove did not burn, and surely this would be known here.
No, this hid a favor somewhere, and Jon did not like it.
Thus, after hearing Willas, Jon finally stepped in,"That is all very generous, Ser Willas, but, if I may say so, this I can already take for myself, what do I win in this exchange?"
"You may be right, Lord Regent," Willas cleared his throat, his figure leaning on the table while trying to compose himself. "We have nothing capable of stopping you from plundering the area, our crops, our land. However, you are far from your home, and your logistics must be strained. I can offer my full cooperation so that this grain reaches the safety of the Riverlands."
"That's very generous of you," Ser Brynden Tully intervened, "but this does not answer Lord Regent Stark's question. What do you stand to gain from this?"
Willas Tyrell straightened up, not letting his face show any emotion.
"I wish a favor from Lord Regent Stark for our cooperation," he finally let out. "Perhaps two."
"A favor?" Harrold Arryn scoffed. "You do know of the massive dragon beyond those walls?"
"I see it indeed, and it is most impressive," Willas conceded.
"Let us hear it, Lord Arryn," Jon quickly cut in, intrigued.
The blond-haired boy looked annoyed at having been so quickly put down, but nodded nonetheless, slumping back slowly into his seat.
"I know that your cousin, Lord Robb Stark, gods rest his soul, was killed in a way most foul by the Ironborn." Willas' words stung Jon to the core.
Immediately, the old memories came back. The day the Northmen came to the watch, Winter, Theon's screams as the direwolves lacerated his flesh…
"I am sorry if I have caused offense," Willas quickly defended himself, having sensed Jon's uneasy expression, "I only wished to state that the Ironborn are your enemy. It just so happens they are mine too."
"We have heard about the sack of Oldtown," Ser Brynden said whiling nodding.
"I wish…" Lord Willas bit his lip. "I wish for us to be…partners, against the Ironborn."
"The Ironborn? At Highgarden?" Harrold Arryn laughed.
"I fear it is true," Lady Alerie cut in for the first time, "Lord Regent, the Ironborn are led by a madman, Balon's brother, Euron. He used dark magic to throw the Hightower into the sea, and used blood magic to summon creatures from the depths to summon a victory at Oldtown. The madman has cut a bloody path to Highgarden, killing anything that stands on his path…"
"My lady mother speaks true," Willas resumed, without breaking stride, "as much as it pains me to say, I am afraid that such a man, whether the rumors are true or exaggerated, cannot be taken lightly. If he does have magic capable of toppling walls, what protection can I give my people? I'd need an army to oppose him on the open field and well. . ."
Willas didn't need to say what had happened to the forces of the Reach. Jon pondered the situation for a moment, thinking slightly.
Then, he leaned in."I understand your concern, Lord Willas, however, what is stopping me from taking all that I want and leaving you at the mercy of the squids?"
"Nothing," Willas admitted. "But I also know that you wish to not burden yourself with more logistical nightmares. The granaries of Highgarden are large, and I am willing to give them to you. But you do not have the means to transport them. I can give you this, and call on more from my vassals if we do not have enough. This will save you much time and effort. Time which, forgive me for saying, I think you may be running out of. 'Winter is Coming' as the Starks say, after all."
Then, the heir to Highgarden added another layer, never breaking his confidence.
"And then, there is the Ironborn. If we fail to stop them here, and without your help I think that is very likely, they will continue to sow death and destruction. You know as well as I what their character is. They have no honor, no shame and no limits to what they will inflict. I call for your help to stop them, and save many people from death or suffering. And if you do not care for the suffering of the men, women, and children of the Reach, you must know the Ironborn won't stop at us. They will turn their gazes northward after a time."
Jon pondered these words carefully. Having all of the Reach's means of transport at his fingertips would make sense, and the Ironborn would be made quick work of thanks to Winter. Surely, they could not be that many.
Just as well, it was an interesting proposition.
"And the second favor?" Ser Brynden asked.
Willas sighed and looked Jon in the eyes.
"I wish that, after Highgarden, you leave the Reach alone. You will go no further than this."
"That's not for you to decide!" Lord Arryn growled, to which Ser Brynden also looked uneasy, frowning.
Jon couldn't blame them. After all, what could the Tyrells do? Jon could march all the way to Oldtown without being stopped…but that was never the objective. He could march to Horn Hill, though, and give Sam his inheritance…
A few thoughts crossed his mind, but he shook his head.
"I'm afraid I cannot give you an answer right away, Lord Willas."
"That is quite alright," the Heir to Highgarden said, looking at the three women flanking him, "we will leave you to your decision. We can have rooms prepared for you if you wish, or you may return to your camp."
Jon looked at Ser Brynden and Lord Arryn. It's true they have been on the warpath for a while, a warm bed and a shower would do them some good. After all, this was as much his castle as Willas Tyrell's, if not more.
"We are thankful for your hospitality. Ser Brynden? Maybe send a runner with a sealed letter, you've certainly earned some rest."
"I thank you, Lord Regent, but I'd rather sleep with my men. But I'd be happy to relay your message to the camp if Lord Arryn wishes to stay."
Harrold Arryn thought for a few moments, then nodded.
"I'd like to stay the night, if the Lord Regent accepts."
"Granted, Lord Arryn." Jon nodded, before adding. "Of course, Lord Willas, I need not to remind you what happens if you try to harm either Lord Arryn or myself. I shall light a fire from Oldtown to Bitterbridge if so much as a hair is taken from me or him."
"I have not forgotten, Lord Regent. You are esteemed guests here," Lord Willas said while rising, leaning on his cane, "and it has been a long time since Highgarden has hosted a dragonrider."
With that, the room was emptied as people left, leaving Jon free to wander the halls of Highgarden.
It was truly a wonder of Westeros. A marvel in all aspects. Large, decorated rooms at every turn, all covered in roots and flowers of various colors. Truly, a magnificent sight.
The gardens gave great views of green and gold as far as the eye could see, there being a small fountain or some sculptures evoking the knights of old at every turn in these small havens of green that dotted the outside of every hall.
It was in one of these small gardens that he surprised Lord Willas, comforting his mother, it seemed. Lady Alerie was clearly distressed, all clad in black, while the heir to Highgarden was wiping her tears with a white cloth.
They didn't know he was watching, and thus allowed himself to walk up to them unnoticed.
A slight turn of Lady Alerie Tyrell's head and she immediately straightened up, as if she needed to stay strong in Jon's face.
"I'm sorry for interrupting…" Jon coughed.
"It's alright," Alerie Tyrell spoke in a soft voice, "I just need to spend time with my…my last son."
"Your last son?" Jon asked.
"Both my brothers are dead," Lord Willas clarified, supporting his mother who tried her best not to break down. "Loras was killed at Storm's End and Garlan was the one leading the host…"
"…the host you destroyed," Alerie Tyrell choked out, before shaking her head. "I'm sorry, I must go."
Lady Alerie quickly rose up and ran off, without sparing a single look at Jon.
"Please excuse my mother, it has been a rough year for her." Willas looked down at the pavement.
"I understand her grief. I too lost two brothers…cousins…but who were my brothers."
Willas nodded, rising up on his cane, while looking around him. Jon looked at the man, then sighed.
"If it is of any worth to you, I do offer my condolences for your brother."
"Garlan…" Willas sighed with a heavy voice, "Garlan was a knight. He knew there was a chance he'd fall in battle, and he did. I can only hope it was quick."
Jon swallowed. He wasn't sure whether dragonfire instantly killed or if the victims writhed in pain for hours on end. He just hoped it had been quick too. Despite him loving Winter as an asset, he surely did not like to reap death and destruction with her.
"Tell me, Lord Regent, why attack Highgarden?" Willas finally asked.
"For your grain, Lord Willas," Jon replied simply.
"Yes, you expect a long winter, the maesters have said it might be the longest in living memory…but surely emptying the granaries of Goldengrove would have given you that." Willas continued, intrigued.
Jon felt a knot in his stomach, then sighed.
"If I told you, you would call me a madman."
"I doubt I could call a man who rides a dragon a madman." Willas unveiled a small smile.
Jon took a deep breath.
"It has to do with beings you would call legends," Jon warned again.
"And a few months ago, we thought the dragons dead for a hundred and fifty years," Willas replied, touching a small rose blooming in the garden. "And here you are…"
"The North is facing a return of the Others."When Jon said the words it felt like an entire weight had been pulled off his chest."The Others are real, Lord Willas. I have seen them and I have fought them. They raise the dead and corrupt the living. Not much can stop them. The North is preparing for war. It will not be a war for the North, but a war between the living and the dead. And I intend to win it."
Willas looked on, not revealing the shadow of an emotion, just nodding as Jon went on.
"They have slaughtered the wildlings, and I have let them through the wall. Men, women, children…that and the armies of those who wish to rally for the greatest fight our kind has seen will need to be fed. And that, Lord Willas, is why I need your grain."
Willas rubbed his beard for a moment, before, to Jon's surprise, nodding respectfully.
"I see…" he coughed, "and why haven't you the Iron Throne?"
"I have no use for an oversized chair." Jon scoffed.
"An oversized chair that can give you a lot of power," Willas replied. "If we are facing an unprecedented threat, as you say, then taking the throne would be the best thing you could do. You wouldn't just be asking for the armies of your allies, all the Kingdoms in Westeros would bow to you and be sworn to obey."
Jon listened with half a heart. He hadn't considered taking the Iron Throne. He had no need of it and hadn't desired to fulfill that part of his heritage. But Willas wasn't wrong in his argument. . .
"Should you take the throne, you may well sway all of the Kingdoms to your side. And thus, it would not be just the North against the Others, but seven, united kingdoms facing the threat. And who better than…" Willas paused, suddenly looking uneasy, then continued, "then someone with a claim, a dragon and the blood to lead them?"
"I had not considered it." Jon paused, biting his lip. "But the chair is still not worth much to me, all your southern games are not something I wish to deal with for the rest of my life."
"But is it not the duty of a leader to make tough decisions for the sake of his people?" Willas asked. "To take it upon himself to accept something he would not usually do, so that they may be better off? You could be that person, Lord Regent. All you have to do is accept a part of you that you reject."
"That's enough, Lord Willas," Jon frowned.
"Just a suggestion," the heir to Highgarden then bowed before exiting the small garden, leaving Jon to his thoughts.
He walked around the garden, twisting the Reachman's words over and over in his head. Finally, Jon settled on a bench next to a small fountain. Surely, taking the throne would cause more trouble, but as Lord Willas said, he would be obeyed and the chances of having to unite all the kingdoms seemed more and more appealing…
Suddenly, a female voice struck him out of his thoughts.
"Enjoying the calm, Lord Regent?"
Jon turned around, discovering the Dornish beauty which sat at Willas' side during the conversation around the table. She wore a delicate green dress which showed all of her curves, displaying expensive jewelry around her arms and on her face.
Jon could almost see some Val in her, if not for all of the expensive attire and skin tone, of course.
He shook his head inwardly. Val was lost to him, he had made a choice.
"As you can see, princess," he finally answered.
"Please," she scoffed, "I haven't been a princess since I arrived here. Call me Arianne, it will have the merit of me not having to suffer through more 'my lady' from these idiots."
Jon smiled.
"Then if I am to call you Arianne, it will only be proper if you call me Jon."
The princess smiled slightly and sat down next to him, observing the fountain's water running through the gardens.
"If I may be so bold to ask," he continued, "what is a Dornish princess doing so far from home?"
Arianne smiled slightly, looking at him with sad eyes.
"I thought I was to be Lord Willas' wife. I am perhaps still to be,eventually." She then shook her head. "But the sad truth is that I am not much but a prisoner here. My claim to Dorne is the only thing that these people want from me."
Jon frowned.
"Surely, your betrothed must be crazy to mistreat a woman as beautiful as you!" he protested.
"No, not mistreat." Arianne sighed. "But, do you see this rose bush, there?"
Jon nodded.
"Well, the thorns are just like the Tyrells here," she said before letting out a long sigh, "they strangle anything that tries to free itself from their grasp, until it either breaks or retreats back into their fold. It is the same with the Tyrells, they cut you from your home, and they dig in their thorns into you, strangling you, until you give in or break."
The princess then looked down towards the ground.
"They promise you everything, and you end up a pawn in their great game," she then turned her head to Jon, fire in her eyes, "do not believe their honeyed words. They are all part of a mummer's play. Their tears are not real, their pleas are naught and their words mean nothing. Sooner or later, they will strangle you too."
"I thank you for your honest advice, Arianne." Jon nodded. "But if I may be so bold, I remember learning you were the eldest, why find yourself here, in the middle of a bunch of roses?"
"I nearly had my brother killed because I was a selfish, stupid girl." She ran a hand through her curly hair and shook her head. "My father disinherited me, barred me or my descendants from having any claim to Dorne."
Some tears started flowing, to which Jon answered by handing her a cloth.
"When I heard the news, I was devastated," she continued, "all I wanted, since I was a little girl, was to be the greatest ruler Dorne had ever seen, even greater than Nymeria herself. And it had been snatched from me. I thought I could redeem myself in Highgarden, but I was wrong."
"I understand," Jon said, looking at her, "when I was a young boy, I thought I could have Winterfell one day. It was a feeling…I never wanted to usurp Robb, he was my brother. But it was there. After all, I was older than him, I had the Stark looks…surely, I was better suited, right? But I was also a bastard, and bastards don't inherit a thing."
Arianne was listening attentively now.
"I never really wanted to usurp Winterfell. After all, I loved all of my siblings… cousins… equally. I would never have wanted them harm, but I must confess that when Lord Karstark came to me saying I was the new Lord of Winterfell, I had a tinge of joy. Joy which faded when my brother Rickon came back…" he then raised his hands above his chest, "I know it may sound horrible! For a brief moment, I regretted that my brother was alive! I…I was a fool, a selfish fool."
"It seems we have more in common than I thought, Jon." Arianne smiled sadly."It seems that both of us had this brief moment of joy at our kin's misfortunes when it allowed us to gain something we truly wished and desired. But we love our kin more, that's what makes us good, no?"
"Aye," Jon agreed. "I would never wish harm to come to Rickon, or Arya, or Sansa…"
Arianne nodded in agreement. "You grew up with your cousins, I hardly knew my little brother, and when I finally did, I nearly lost him because I chose to be foolish."
"Daemon told me some of what happened," Jon replied.
"Daemon? Is he alright?" Arianne asked.
"When he came to the Night's Watch he was morose, nearly broken. But he gained purpose and redemption in service, I think. He willingly followed me when I left the Wall. Daemon was injured at Riverrun and has stayed there since then."
"Gods be good, he is alive." Arianne smiled. "I feel awful for what happened to him…he was my friend, and I betrayed him."
"You didn't betray him." Jon put a hand on her shoulder. "He went too far and he knows it."
"Will you…walk me back to my rooms, please?" Arianne asked with a small smile. "I think I need your presence at my side. It feels good to talk to someone who listens."
Jon rose and a hand, which she gladly took.
"Do you not have Dornishmen with you here?" Jon asked as he pulled her to her feet
"I do," Arianne replied. "But they do not listen much. They keep telling me Willas is the perfect husband, but they cannot open their eyes to the reality."
"What would that be?"
"He is the perfect husband for anyone but me. I am not one of the many southern girls you may see here. I do not wish for my husband to tell me what to do, even if he is soft-spoken and kind. I wish for someone to let me rule by his side, one that does not shy away from letting me do what I want, one that likes a sharp tongue and that knows how to love and take me properly," she said, confidently.
Jon smiled. Princess Arianne was an interesting character. But was it surprising? According to the tales all Dornishwomen were said to be this way.
They talked a little more on the way to Arianne's rooms. About Dorne, the North, their family…
Then, arrived at the door, he made way to say his farewell.
However, to his shock, Princess Arianne rose, cupped his face and kissed him deeply on the lips. Jon did not resist but neither did he push her away.
Was that who he was? She was betrothed. He couldn't do this.
Something inside his head suddenly brought him back down, and he immediately broke the kiss.
"Sorry, princess, that was unbecoming of me." Jon sighed.
Arianne looked at him, confusion in her eyes.
"You are betrothed, it wouldn't be right of me," Jon continued, seeing confusion in her eyes.
"Betrothed to a man who doesn't love me," Arianne whispered while pushing her hands towards him once again, "a gaoler is what he is. A golden cage perhaps, but a gaoler all the same. All they want is my right to Dorne, my name, nothing more. You say this isn't right, but isn't that for me to judge? And I judge that I wish to kiss the man who will rescue me from them."
She was beautiful, and he needed this more than he needed anything else at the moment. His mind wandered again, losing himself in her eyes for a brief moment. Betrothed yes, but unwillingly, could this change things. What would his father…uncle say about this?
A kiss, nothing more…surely. He gently cupped her cheek with one hand and ran his hand through her hair with the other. Slowly, he deepened the kiss, which became rougher…more passionate.
Gods knew how long they stayed that way, but when they finally broke it, Arianne was smiling, and, to his shock, so was he.
"Would you…stay with me longer?" she asked.
Jon froze for a moment. He remembered what he'd done with Val. He had chosen duty over love and desire. He could have had her, but he refused it to please the North. And now the gods have graced him with a second chance. Something he failed to do with Val, could he do with Arianne?
However, the thoughts kept crossing his mind. She was betrothed…this wasn't right. But then again, there was this burning desire within him to take what he wants. He had been denied it all his life: the Stark name, Winterfell, Val…he could have had all of them but he was denied every single time.
She's not betrothed, you idiot.
And now, he had the opportunity to have Arianne. To make her his. A voice cried from inside him, burning: you are a dragon, take what you want.
I am not a dragon, Jon inwardly cursed. He knew better than these people. He wouldn't give in easily.
But once more, the memories came back. The humiliation, the pain of having something at arm's reach only to have it taken away brutally. All he did, for his family, for his honor, for his people, it was only at his detriment. Why couldn't he have what he wanted!
Jon was entranced. He felt something, he knew that much. She was beautiful, strong-willed, experienced…to the seven hells with all of this, why shouldn't he give in to his own personal desires for once? He had followed those of others long enough!
Take what you want. The voice kept repeating. Take it!
Finally, Jon made his choice. As Arianne opened the door to her room, he kissed her roughly, pinning her on the opposite wall while slamming the door. His hands wandered around her hair, freeing it from its small bounds, while he sought to make his tongue dance with hers.
On the other hand, the princess' hands were on his back, trying to feverishly tear down his garments, her nails tearing through the light fabric of his shirt.
All of this continued to fuel the fire inside of him. He needed more.
Perhaps, for now, he could be a dragon.