Chapter 5: The Shifting Tides
KEVAN
The first thing that Kevan Lannister did after arriving in King's Landing was seize control of the Lannister forces garrisoned there. The Queen Regent, Cersei Lannister, had been imprisoned by the Faith Militant and without a leader to rein them in, even the disciplined men of his brother's army had taken to acting like a bunch of outlaws. Kevan will not have it. He will not have them insult the Lannister name like that. It was bad enough that his niece had been doing it for years now.
The second thing he did was assume the position of Lord Regent that had been offered to him by the King. Grand Maester Pycelle had conferred with the boy king Tommen I, and together, they had sent a raven to Casterly Rock, summoning Kevan to the capital to serve as the new regent. He had gotten to work immediately. First order of business was to ensure Cersei's freedom. For that, Kevan had enlisted the method of his late brother, Tywin Lannister. As he had done with their late father's mistress, Kevan suggested to the High Sparrow that Cersei should be made to go through a Walk of Atonement. It had worked, and within a week, his niece had been walking down the filthy streets of King's Landing, from the Great Sept of Baelor to the Red Keep. It wasn't easy for him to watch his niece being subjected to such humiliation, but he knew it was necessary. It was the first step towards ensuring her freedom from the Faith.
The third thing that Kevan did was replace the captains and lieutenants in the Lannister forces that were loyal to his niece, and have them sent to the Wall. They had drowned themselves in debauchery under the command of a sycophant, and thus, it wasn't hard to bring up charges against them. When given a choice between death and a life of celibacy, almost all of them chose the latter.
In the month following his ascent to the regency, Kevan had thought of several plans to take complete control of the city. In order to do that, he'd need to first get rid of all of the fanatics of the Faith, and then make sure that his niece finds her way back to Casterly Rock. It was essential that Cersei be far away from her son, for that was the only way that Kevan could make sure that his hold on Tommen was absolute. And he needed the boy to be in his control if he was to make sure that the Seven Kingdoms are firmly under Lannister control. But before Kevan could put any of his plans into motion, he needed to make sure that the safety of his son was secured. Kevan didn't know how and why or when Lancel had decided to become a shoeless zealot, but he would make sure that he'd see his son return to him even if it was the last thing he would do on this earth.
And so, with that in mind, Kevan turned his attention to the new arrival in his solar. "I have a task that needs to be done, Ser Bronn. And I was assured by my nephew that you are the best there is in the city," he said.
"I don't do them kinda jobs anymore," said the sellsword-turned-lord. "It's Lord Stokeworth now, and I don't need anything from you. All I ever wanted was a castle of me own, and well, I've got it now. And, not to mention, I don't do that sort of work anymore."
"Ser Bronn of the Blackwater," Kevan said. "As I understand, you were given to wife the Lady Lollys Stokeworth by the good grace of my niece, the Queen Mother Cersei Lannister. However, that was when she was in command here. But now that I am Lord Regent, I have the authority over everything and everyone under the rule of the Iron Throne. And as such, I can easily have you removed from Castle Stokeworth and groveling the shit stained streets of Flea Bottom by the end of the day."
"And how exactly do you plan on doing that?" Bronn said, and before Kevan could even get his mouth open to call for his guards, the man had crossed the table between them and was now holding a knife to Kevan's throat. "All it takes is a little push and pull, and your pretty little throat will be covered in your blood, just like the red of your House colors."
Struggling to breathe for fear of cutting his flesh on the sharp edge of the dagger, Kevan sputtered, "You dare…I'm the Lord Regent!"
"And I hold your life in my hands right now, old man," said the sellsword. "I'd choose my next words very, very carefully if I were you."
"H-how about D-Duskendale?" Kevan stuttered, and Bronn lowered the knife just barely enough to allow him to form coherent sentences. "It's a major port in Westeros. As its lord, you will be one of the wealthiest men in the realm."
"Don't try to fool me, old man," said the sellsword. "Duskendale is the seat of the fucking Rykkers. What happens to them if you give me their castle? I don't think they'll be happy to just pack up and leave."
"They won't have a choice in the matter," Kevan answered quickly. "In the war, they proved useless. Lord Tarly and the Mountain had to save their hides when the northerners were threatening to capture the Dun Fort. King Tommen is not his brother. Joffrey might have let the Rykkers keep their seat, but his brother will kick them out of there. I'll make sure of that."
The man seemed to consider it, his jaw working hard as his eyes narrowed, never leaving Kevan's own. But after a few moments which seemed like eternity to him, Bronn said, "Fine. I'll do what you want. But I still want a shitload of gold, along with the damn castle."
"Agreed."
"And just know," the sellsword said, his face getting uncomfortably close to Kevan's. "If I do this, only to find that you have gone back on your promise, there won't be enough men in your pockets that will be able to keep me from slitting your throat. Do you understand?"
"I have no doubt in your skills with a blade, Ser," Kevan said, pushing down the bile that rose in his throat at having to profane the sacred vows of knighthood by calling a man like Bronn a 'ser.' "In fact, those skills are why I need you for what I have in mind."
"Which is what now, exactly?" Bronn said, releasing Kevan and putting his knife back in its sheath. Then, he rounded the table and took his seat back in the chair he had just vacated a while ago.
"I want you to start a brawl on the Hook."
"We don't know her whereabouts as of yet, my Lord," Qyburn said. "The last she was seen, it is said that she flew off on the back of her black beast."
The one they call the Black Dread Reborn, Kevan thought.
He was in the Small Council chamber, listening to the disgraced maester that his niece had brought into the crown's employ, as he was passing on all the information that his little birds had gathered. Personally, Kevan didn't like the man much, but he had quickly come to realize his usefulness. After the previous Master of Whisperers, Varys, had disappeared from the capital, Qyburn had been smart enough to make the Spider's web of information his own. All the little birds that used to serve Varys were now in Qyburn's employ. And he was rather good at doing the Spider's job, and thus, Cersei had named him to the Small Council as the new Master of Whisperers. Though Kevan had been suspicious of the man at first, he had to push his wariness down in favor of gaining information. That was a fair trade, as it was Qyburn's little birds who had provided Kevan with a crucial piece of information that would ensure the safety of his son, Lancel, from the Faith Militant. This new information had been crucial for Kevan to make a plan to rescue his son. That plan, however, was a secret, one that Qyburn knew not to divulge to anyone else. Kevan had thought at first about having the man thrown out of King's Landing, especially since the Grand Maester had much to say about him. But Pycelle's concerns mattered little to Kevan. What mattered to him was a steady flow of information. He was aware that Qyburn held a certain sense of loyalty towards Cersei, but he had made sure the man understood what would happen to him if he tried to meet his niece. Kevan had a lot on his plate as it was after Cersei's walk of atonement and her return to the Red Keep, and he didn't want her to have any contact with Qyburn. So, to make sure that his niece couldn't contact the new Master of Whisperers, Kevan had assigned a pair of Lannister men-at-arms that he trusted most to 'protect' Qyburn, and their orders were to follow the disgraced maester everywhere he went. But Qyburn had only one request in return. "You will allow me to provide Her Grace with a champion, when such a time comes that she will need to ask for a trial by combat in her trial at the High Sparrow's court." Kevan had begrudgingly agreed. What harm could that do? He had wondered. If only he had known….
It turned out that this champion of Qyburn's was Ser Gregor Clegane. The man had been presumed dead after he had been poisoned by the wounds Prince Oberyn Martell had inflicted on him in the trial by combat of Kevan's own nephew, Tyrion. But, somehow, Qyburn had managed to keep the monstrous creature alive. He didn't seem to be able to talk, something which Qyburn tried to sugarcoat, saying that the man had taken a solemn vow of silence until he had killed all of Cersei's enemies. It was a steaming pile of horseshit as far as Kevan was concerned. But he also couldn't do anything about the Mountain's presence. Yes, he could have him slaughtered, but it would most probably take more than ten of the best fighters in the Lannister army, if not more. And it would be a bloodbath. And with the High Sparrow putting pressure on the crown with the presence of his little sparrows and his septas within the Red Keep itself, Kevan wasn't sure if killing his late brother's mad dog was his top priority. Besides, he wanted Cersei to be found innocent of all charges brought up against her so that she could return to her family as a free woman. No matter their differences, she was his niece and he would not want her to suffer more than she needed to.
The capital was on the brink of falling into chaos. The masses had been happy when the High Sparrow had arrested the Queen Mother. Cersei held no love among the citizens of the city she wished to rule. However, the smallfolk loved their Queen. And when Margaery had also been imprisoned by the Faith, they were not happy, to say the least. Already, there had been several attacks on many of the little sparrows that patrol the city. Many of these fanatics had been killed by mobs of angry subjects of King Tommen's capital. Kevan had been in talks with the Tyrells about how to get Margaery back from the Faith, and Lord Randyll Tarly had suggested having the combined Lannister-Tyrell forces storm the Sept of Baelor. While Kevan was ready for that, he was also worried about how this plan would fan out in the future. If this plan was, indeed, put into action, they would have to ensure that the High Sparrow is in their custody by the end, or, as Jaime said, "preferably dead." But Kevan was still unsure. However, the young king had made a decision on his own. He had met with the High Sparrow and formed an alliance between the crown and the Faith. And, in return, the High Sparrow had given him his Queen back. But that meant that the shoeless zealot held even more power than he already did.
The matter of how to abate the growing influence of the High Sparrow on the young king reigned supreme on Kevan's mind. He had been developing a plan to destroy the man altogether, but the first step was to make sure that his fanatics left the Red Keep, so that Kevan may breathe easy. Thankfully, the old fanatic did something that made it easier for Kevan to at least convince his great-nephew to abolish all the septas and the little sparrows from the Red Keep. In his hubris, the High Sparrow sent his men to retrieve Cersei from the Red Keep. Perhaps the old man thought that his power gave him the right to do anything he wished, or perhaps he simply wanted to humiliate Cersei. Either way, he did not know Kevan's niece. Cersei refused to cooperate with the little sparrows that had arrived to take her back to the Great Sept, and when they tried to take her by force, she had let loose her new sworn shield on them. Ser Gregor Clegane might have taken a vow to not speak, but that hadn't dulled his penchant for violence of the most abhorrent kind, as two of those seven little sparrows found out. But that whole incident gave Kevan the perfect base to motivate Tommen to abolish the occupation of the High Sparrow's people of the Red Keep. It wasn't easy, but he had managed to make the best of the opportunity that had been presented to him.
"The High Sparrow went back on his word to your mother, Your Grace," Kevan said.
"What do you mean, uncle?" asked the boy. "What has happened?"
"Your Grace, while you were at prayer in your chambers this afternoon, His High Holiness sent seven of his little sparrows to retrieve your mother from the Red Keep. He had promised her that she could stay here until her trial, but he went back on his word and sent his soldiers to forcefully bring her back to the Great Sept."
"But that cannot be right," Tommen said, his anxiousness reflecting clear as day on his face. "He promised….h-he wouldn't go back on his word…."
"Sweet nephew," Kevan said. "I understand that you are in a difficult position. Being king is not easy for a grown man, and you have been made to bear the full brunt of the crown on your head at such a tender age."
"What do you think I should do?"
"The man tried to take your mother by force," Kevan said. "His men tried to put their hands on her. As her only remaining son, it is your duty to protect her from all who would harm her. Now, you tell me what you want to do."
"I shall have them all killed," Tommen said, gritting his teeth as his eyes became glassy. "I shall have the Great Sept stormed by my armies, and I shall have the head of every single little sparrow decorating the walls of the Red Keep!"
"Your Grace, as the Regent, I must advise you to refrain from your desires for violence," Kevan said, taking a few steps forward to put a steadying hand on the boy's shoulder. He looked rather distressed. He added in a low voice, "However, we can use this to our advantage. The High Sparrow has had his septas and other fanatics occupy the Red Keep for some time now. Ever since you made peace with him in exchange for Her Grace, Queen Margaery's safe return. But now those septas abuse their leader's power by terrorizing the people in the Red Keep, and they harass none more than your own wife, Her Grace, Queen Margaery."
Tommen's eyes snapped to Kevan at the mention of Margaery, and so Kevan went on, "She hasn't told you? Well, she is one tough young woman, I'll give her that. And she knows her duty as the Queen is to keep the peace. But at what cost, my king? The fanatics of the High Sparrow are abusing their power. Oh, they might use flowery words to disguise their attempt at controlling the Queen, but the fact is, Your Grace, your lady wife is under a lot of duress. She might have been released from her captivity, but even as a free woman in the Red Keep, she is a prisoner in all but name."
Kevan saw that his words had taken effect, as the boy's handsome face morphed into a mask of fury. "Have all the septas and the little sparrows kicked out of the Red Keep by the end of the day, Lord Regent. And if the High Sparrow gives you any grief, tell him you are acting on my orders. And that if he so wishes, he can visit me in my chambers to discuss the matter any time he wants."
Smiling, Kevan nodded and left the king to his own devices.
The first thing he had done after leaving the king's chambers was summon all the captains of the Lannister forces. He gave them the king's orders, and they acted promptly on them. Before the sun was down, the Red Keep had been emptied of the High Sparrow's people. Perfect, Kevan thought. Now I can rest assured that my plan will not be hindered by those incessant fanatics.
But before his son could be rescued from the Faith Militant, his niece's trial arrived. Kevan had allowed Gregor Clegane to fight for Cersei in her trial. As expected, the High Sparrow had tried to spoil young Tommen's mind by bringing to his attention the violent and unreliable nature of a trial by combat. The High Sparrow had 'suggested' to the young king that the crown should have the custom discontinued altogether, but Kevan had been there to make sure that his king was not swayed by the fanatic's words. It had been difficult, but when Kevan had pointed it out to Tommen that his mother's freedom might depend on the custom, the boy had been more than willing to ignore the High Sparrow's suggestion. And so, as Kevan had predicted, Cersei had been found guilty of all the charges brought against her by the Faith, even though she had denied being guilty of any of them. Not that it mattered to the High Sparrow, of course. The whole trial, as Kevan understood, was a farce. The old fanatic knew he held certain power over the crown, and he just wanted to exert that power by showing everyone that he can do whatever he wished, even humiliate the Queen Mother in front of the masses. But Cersei was prepared, and so, she had asked for a trial by combat.
In the trial, the Mountain had fought a man nearly half his size. The fight had been absolutely one-sided, with Gregor Clegane emerging victorious after he crushed his opponent's head like a melon with his bare hands. Cersei had been declared innocent in the eyes of the Gods, and set free by the High Sparrow. And so, now Kevan had his niece to contend with. He had made sure to keep her confined to the Maiden Vault as much as possible. He did allow her to meet with her son, the king, on occasion. Mostly, for dinner. And even at these meetings, Kevan made sure that he was present there. When she tried to worm her way back on the Small Council, he had made it known that her presence was not welcome there.
"As far as I can remember, the last report from the far east said that the beast had left the Targaryen girl?" Kevan asked Qyburn now, as he sat in a chair beside Lord Mace Tyrell, who was sitting at the head of the ornate table as befit his position of the Hand of the King. He understood the necessity of keeping the Tyrells happy and content, for the crown needed the Reach's support now more than ever. And so, to appease the family of the Queen, Kevan had advised Tommen to name his goodfather the new Hand of the King. Two more positions on the Small Council had been filled with lords from the Reach. Lord Randyll Tarly had been named the new Master of War, whereas Lord Paxtor Redwyne had been named the Master of Ships and the Lord Admiral of the Royal Fleet. Ser Loras Tyrell, the Queen's younger brother, had already been named to the kingsguard by Cersei, before she had been imprisoned by the Faith. The young knight had then been sent to Dragonstone, to flush out the last remnants of Stannis Baratheon's forces from the island. The campaign had been a disaster for the royal forces. Nearly two thousand of the Lannister forces sent to capture the castle had been killed. Worse, Ser Loras himself had been so gravely wounded that the Grand Maester was unsure the lad would survive for long.
Nodding with that unsettling smile of his, the Master of Whisperers said, "Yes, that is true. The largest of Daenerys' dragons had left her some time ago. However, the new reports suggest that when she was ambushed in the fighting pits of Meereen by the radical organization called 'The Sons of the Harpy,' the beast appeared from the skies and came to the rescue of the Dragon Queen. It would seem that the rebellious son has returned to his mother."
That didn't sound good to Kevan's ears. The news of the largest of the three dragons being a petty child and flying off to Gods know where had come as a sort of a relief for the Small Council of King Tommen I Baratheon. Without her dragons, the Targaryen girl was just as much of a threat to Tommen's rule as Stannis Baratheon was at the Wall. She had two more dragons, and an army of eight thousand Unsullied slave soldiers, it was true. But by all reports, the two beasts were too small to be ridden, and no one in their right mind would even think of invading the Seven Kingdoms with an army of eight thousand infantrymen, no matter how formidable a force the Unsullied were rumored to be. But then again, Daenerys was the daughter of the Mad King, and Kevan hoped that she would prove just as unstable as her father. If she was foolish enough to cross the Narrow Sea and attack with just those eight thousand men, the Lannister army alone could throw her back into the sea.
The news of the Targaryen girl losing control of her largest dragon had given the Small Council of King Tommen time to deal with a new and immediate threat. The High Sparrow. The shoeless zealot had gained power from the destruction and ruin caused by the War of the Five Kings, along with the sudden and untimely death of Lord Tywin Lannister, and the unparalleled stupidity of his daughter, Cersei.
Kevan didn't claim to be the brightest of men, but he did understand why Cersei handed such power to the High Sparrow. The Tyrells. The Queen Mother saw them as a threat -and rightfully so- and did what she thought was right to deal with that threat. Of course, as with most of Cersei's brilliant decisions, this came back to bite her in the arse, along with all of the rest of Tommen's supporters in the capital.
"There's more news, my Lord Regent," Qyburn said.
Sighing, Kevan asked, "From where?"
The usual smile faded from the spymaster's face, as he said, "The North."
"The Boltons?"
Shaking his head, Qyburn said, "The Wall, my Lord."
"What of it?" Kevan asked off-handedly. "Is the Night's Watch asking for more men?"
"Worse," Qyburn said. "The Lord Commander has allowed a host of wildlings south of the Wall."
With a sharp intake of breath, Kevan said, "What does Jon Snow plan to accomplish with this? Does he mean to command the wildlings to take his father's castle back from the Boltons?"
"Perhaps," Qyburn said. "It is not clear what the intentions of the Lord Commander are, as of yet. However, if Jon Snow had wanted to take Winterfell back from the Boltons, he'd have asked Stannis to hold his attack, then merged his wildling army with Stannis'. That way, they would have had more men to counter the Bolton army, and a much greater chance of successfully retaking the seat of House Stark."
"The seat of House Bolton now," Kevan said, narrowing his eyes.
"But, of course, my Lord." Qyburn said, bowing his head.
A host of wildlings running wild in the North was indeed a problem. But a problem for the northerners. For Kevan, it was nothing but a piece of news. And besides, he had more pressing matters to attend to. Let the Boltons deal with this Jon Snow and his band of savages.
"Is there anything else?" Kevan asked the spymaster.
"Good news, my Lord," said Qyburn, the smile back on his face. "Stannis Baratheon is dead. He was defeated by the Bolton forces when he tried to besiege Winterfell."
"Well, that is good news, indeed," Mace Tyrell said.
"Yes, my Lord Hand," Qyburn said, but then his smile faltered, as he said, "However, there has been a problem."
"What now?" asked Lord Tarly.
"During the Battle for Winterfell, as the majority of the Bolton forces were busy fighting Stannis' men, Sansa Stark managed to escape Winterfell," Qyburn answered, and before Kevan could get a word out, he continued, "I believe she might try to run to her bastard brother at Castle Black."
"This is a problem," Kevan said, taking a deep breath. "The only thing that was keeping the northern lords from rising in rebellion against the Boltons, and in extension, the crown, was the fact that Sansa Stark had been married to the Bolton bastard. But now…."
"I may have a solution to that, my Lord," said Qyburn. "As I suggested to Her Grace, Queen Cersei, before she was imprisoned by the Faith, we shall send men to have Jon Snow killed."
There was utter silence in the room for a few moments, before Lord Randyll Tarly broke it. "You mean to assassinate the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch? Have you lost your mind, old man? You would unite the whole of the North behind Sansa Stark if the northern lords were to learn that King Tommen had Jon Snow murdered."
"Then we mustn't let them know," Qyburn said with that same unnerving smile of his. There was something very wrong with the man Kevan had learnt. But he had also learnt that his loyalties were somewhat flexible. He seemed loyal to Cersei to an extent, but ever since Kevan had promised to provide him with men and women for his secret experiments, the man had stopped asking for permission to see the Queen Mother. Instead, now he seemed completely loyal to Kevan himself. But Kevan knew not to trust the man completely, if at all. "We can send some 100 men from either the Lannister army or the Tyrell forces. These men will join the Night's Watch, as a gift from the crown to the ancient order, but their true mission will be to execute the Lord Commander."
"The idea does hold some gravity, my Lord," said Mace Tyrell. Oh, shut up, you fat oaf, Kevan thought. He had to suffer the man and his foolishness for the sake of maintaining the Lannister-Tyrell alliance. However, that did not mean that he would let him have any real power. "The Boltons are our allies. They hold the North in the name of our benevolent king. We must aid them in their hour of greatest need."
"While I agree with you, my Lord Hand, I do not believe that a man like Roose Bolton needs much help from us. He has the Bolton army, and he holds Winterfell. The castle is one of the strongest in the realm, and can withstand an army as large as a hundred thousand men," Kevan said, forcing a smile on his face. "No, we shall let the Boltons deal with the problems in the North."
I want to provide Roose Bolton with help, Kevan thought. I can provide him with a few thousand men from the Tyrell army. But I have much more pressing matters that need the Tyrell men. The Boltons will have to fend for themselves.
Then, before the fat fool could say anything more, Kevan quickly turned to Qyburn, asking, "Is there more?"
"There is, my Lord Hand." The man said, hesitating a little before saying, "The Queen Mother has made a request."
"And what does Cersei want now?"
"Her Grace has requested you to meet her for a short meeting."
"What for?"
"Her Grace didn't say. She only asked to convey her request to you, my Lord."
"Has the King been informed of this meeting that his mother has so suddenly called for?"
"Her Grace has also requested that the king shan't be made aware of this matter."
Gods, Tywin. Why have you left me with this incessant child of yours to deal with? Why couldn't you also leave me with Tyrion? At least, your youngest boy could have helped me keep his sister in check. Jaime tries, but he is but a doll that dances on the whims of his twin. Useless, both of them. Two annoying thorns in my quest to put the bloody Seven Kingdoms back to peace.
"Very well," Kevan said, sighing. "Tell my niece that her uncle is busy cleaning up the mess that she has created, and as such, he cannot meet with her."
"As you command, my Lord Hand." Qyburn said.
"This meeting," Kevan said, getting up from his chair, "is at an end, my lords."
As the rest of the men in the room got up and began to file out, Kevan asked Qyburn to stay back. "Do you need something more from me, my Lord?"
"Yes," Kevan said. "As a matter of fact, maester, there is something that I need. But you must keep your mouth shut."
"Very well, my Lord," Qyburn said, and with a bow he followed after Kevan.
"And one more thing, maester," Kevan said, motioning towards his bed. "How long till he wakes up?"
Taking a good, long look at the unconscious form of Kevan's son lying in his bed, the disgraced maester said, "I would say another hour, most likely. But there's a chance that the young lord may wake earlier than that."
Sighing deeply, Kevan looked at the peaceful face of his son. Son, he said, but the man before his eyes barely resembled his Lancel. There were bruises spoiling his once handsome face, which Kevan knew was the courtesy of Ser Bronn of the Blackwater. But nothing could make Kevan's stomach turn more than seeing the seven-pointed star on his son's forehead.
Remembering the events of last evening, Kevan found a ghost of a smile emerging on his face. His plan, though it had taken two weeks for it to finally work after Kevan had employed the services of Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, had been carried out quite well. Last evening, Bronn, dressed as a common sellsword, had been walking down the streets of the Hook, minding his own business, when a group of men had tried to rob him. Ser Bronn fought back, and the matter turned bloody. He slew two men of the group, before he raised his sword to strike down another. But just then, another group of men had arrived. This group of roughly six men -who were all dressed in black while they each carried a weapon, and had a painted seven-pointed star on their foreheads- were the little sparrows that were tasked with patrolling the streets in that area at the time. And the brother who was leading them was known, in his previous life, as Lancel Lannister. A tip from one of Qyburn's little birds had informed Kevan that his son was usually seen patrolling the streets nearest to the Red Keep during the night, and that had given him a brilliant idea on how to retrieve Lancel from the clutches of the High Sparrow.
As Brother Lancel and his men had tried to meddle in the brawl between Ser Bronn and his assailants, they instead got sucked into the violence. In the resulting fight, all six of the men of the High Sparrow were knocked down, with three of them being killed. But in the chaos, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater -with the help of three men of Kevan's choosing, who were standing nearby waiting to help the sellsword- had managed to run away with the unconscious form of Brother Lancel.
Clasping his hands in front of him, he said, "Give him another dose of the milk of the poppy. Make sure it is strong enough to keep him from gaining control of his senses for at least five more hours. That should be long enough for my men to safely take him out of the Red Keep and onto the ship bound for Oldtown."
"I shall see that it is done, my Lord," Qyburn said, bowing his head, before he turned around and walked over to Kevan's table, where he began to sift through the small bag he had brought with him. "And Qyburn?"
"Yes, my lord?"
"Before you give him the milk, erase that bloody star from his forehead."
The maester bowed his head, and did what he was bid. Kevan took a sigh of relief when he saw his son's face clean of the last sign of the High Sparrow's influence on him. But as Kevan leaned in closer, he saw that the seven-pointed star hadn't been painted over his son's forehead. It had been ingrained in his flesh, by a fucking knife. Still, Kevan ventured that the scars would heal within the month.
You can clean his body, said a voice in his head. But it'll take more than a wet cloth and a bit of soap to clean out the filth that the old, shoeless zealot has poisoned your son's mind with. Shaking aside those thoughts, Kevan tried to focus his head.
As the maester prepared to give Lancel another dose of the milk, Kevan motioned for the man that stood near the balcony. Clad in the red and gold and black armor of House Lannister, Ser Karlston Hill looked ready to do whatever Kevan asked of him. A loyal servant of House Lannister, he had earned Kevan's trust during the War of the Five Kings. He was a bastard born in a village on Fair Isle, and had risen up through the ranks of the Lannister army through his sheer skills with a blade. Karl was one of the men Kevan had tasked with aiding Bronn in getting Lancel back to him. He had never failed in any task that Kevan had given him until now, and so, he trusted the man enough to give him a very important task.
"By the time the maester is done, the sun will have gone down," Kevan said. "You will bring four of your most trusted men and take my son through this secret passageway," he said, motioning to a cabinet standing against the wall behind his bed, "which will lead you down beneath this blasted castle, to a short stretch of shore. Waiting there for you is a small boat. You will put Lancel in that boat and take him to a ship that will be waiting out in the sea. It is owned by me, and the captain of the ship will take you to Oldtown once you give him this note. Once you reach Oldtown, you will find some horses to carry you and your men, as well as a cart to hold my son. From there, it will be a short journey to Horn Hill."
Kevan wanted to send his son back to Lannisport, to be with his mother and siblings. The company of his family will surely put some sense in him, Kevan thought. But due to some other plans he held for one other person in his family, Kevan thought it best that his son shall be sent to Horn Hill. His wife and the rest of his children were on their way to the seat of House Tarly as of now. Kevan knew that soon enough, if his future plans found success, Lannisport would not be a safe place for his family. And Lord Randyll Tarly was kind enough to lend a helping hand, along with a solution.
Handing Karl a small piece of parchment, Kevan said, "You have served me faithfully for the past three years, Ser Karl. Do not fail me in this. My son will try to fight you when he regains control of his senses. He might even try to throw himself off the ship. You are to make sure that he gets back to Horn Hill safely, even if you have to gag and bind him."
"And the gates of Horn Hill will open for us?" Karl asked. "Once we get there, that is?"
"Yes," Kevan answered. "You will have three other men on the ship with you. These are the men of Lord Randyll Tarly. The castellan of Horn Hill knows them well, and will open the gates of the castle for you, once you get there."
Nodding, the man said, "You have my word, sire. Your son shall find himself safely at Horn Hill within the fortnight." And with a bow, the man dismissed himself.
"And where is my uncle now?" asked King Tommen, sitting at the desk in his solar.
They were in the king's personal chambers, Kevan and him. It had been a week since Lancel had been safely smuggled out of the capital, and in that week, some things had happened. Firstly, the High Sparrow had arrived at the Red Keep, his skirt hiked up and a scowl on his face, as he demanded to know the whereabouts of the Gods', as the man himself said, "most faithful servant." But Kevan denied having any knowledge of Lancel's current situation, other than the fact that he was "serving the Gods now." He had even offered the old man access to have the entire Red Keep searched for Lancel, but he had refused the offer. Wise, Kevan had thought. The man knows that anything could happen to him in some dark corner of the Red Keep. And so, the High Sparrow had returned to his Sept.
But the more troublesome matter was that of Kevan's own nephew. Ser Jaime Lannister had been caught at the hour of the wolf trying to escape the capital through the Iron Gate. Thankfully, Kevan had been alerted by Qyburn about his nephew's secret mission to rescue his niece, the Princess Myrcella, from Dorne. The Queen Mother had tasked her twin brother with this mission. But when Ser Jaime had got to the Iron Gate, he found some Lannister men, disguised as smallfolk, waiting for him. They promptly arrested him and brought him straight to Kevan. But what Kevan didn't expect was to see another man in chains alongside his nephew. Ser Bronn of the Blackwater. Under questioning, Jaime had admitted to have planned to board a ship bound to Sunspear from Duskendale. And Ser Bronn admitted to having been just helping "a dear old friend." Kevan couldn't help but laugh at that.
"You have no friends, ser," Kevan said. "Men like you only have one friend. Gold. So tell me, what did my nephew promise you in return for your services on this highly secretive mission of his? What could he possibly offer to give you that amounts to more than a castle?"
The sellsword remained silent. Kevan was growing impatient, so instead of asking him the same question again, he said, "You could have had Duskendale, if only you would have waited for me to deliver on my promise. But now…." Kevan turned to his guards, saying, "Have this man thrown into the Black Cells, and make sure there are four guards standing outside his cell at all times. I will deal with him later."
He watched as his men took Bronn away. Then, he turned to his nephew. "Aah, Jaime. I have always admired your courage and your unwavering commitment to your brother and your sister. It was you who set Tyrion free from his cell, am I right?"
Jaime looked conflicted, before saying, "What my father was about to do to him was unfair. He knew Tyrion had nothing to do with Joffrey's murder, and yet he was ready to blame it on him, just so that he could be finally rid of the son he never wanted."
"Yes, and so you released Tyrion from his captivity, and what happened then?" Kevan asked. "He murdered your father, and left the fate of this kingdom in the hands of your sister. And then, Cersei did what she wanted. And her stupidity is what has brought us on the brink of a civil war with the Faith Militant. The High Sparrow would never have been able to rise to power if your father had been alive. Tywin would have recognized the threat and squashed it beneath his feet before it could ever grow severe enough to harm us all. But now…..madness."
"At least, she has a spine to do what is needed," Jaime said through gritted teeth.
"And what, may I ask, was the need to rescue her daughter from the Martells?"
"She received a gift," Jaime said. "A necklace that she had given to Myrcella was sent to her in a box, wrapped around the fangs of a fake viper."
"And Cersei took it as a threat?"
"Of course, it was a threat," Jaime said. "The Martells hate us, and they have the king's own sister in their hands. They can do with her-"
"The Martells may hate House Lannister," Kevan said, cutting Jaime off. "But Doran Martell is not so foolish to murder a little girl to exact his revenge on our family. He is too cautious and clever to do something like that, knowing full well the consequences of such an action."
"And what if he-"
"Enough," Kevan said, not wanting to hear another word from his nephew's mouth. "You know, I pity you, Jaime. Cersei might be a fool, but she does what she wants. You, on the other hand…..you're so blindly following her that you can't even see that she'll be the end of you."
And then, Kevan walked out of his chambers, commanding his guards to bring Jaime along. Then, he roused the young king and requested an urgent audience with him.
And now, here they both were, sitting at a table in the king's own solar.
"Your uncle is standing right outside these chambers, Your Grace," Kevan answered. "Shall I have him brought in?"
"Yes."
Motioning for his guards, Kevan commanded them to bring his nephew in. Walking in, Jaime Lannister looked anywhere but at the king. Or, should I say, his son? Kevan was aware of just how deep his niece and nephew's relationship truly went. What the rest of the Seven Kingdoms thought of as only rumors, were facts to Kevan. And that is why it was very important that Cersei be separated from her twin. If Kevan tried to send her back to Casterly Rock, or wed her Willas Tyrell, Jaime would cause problems. He was sure of that. And as he looked at his nephew's face, a new plan formed in his head.
"What do you have to say for yourself, uncle?" Tommen asked, trying to make his voice sound deeper than it was. He's trying to come across as the king that he is, Kevan thought as he looked at his great-nephew. Good. That is good.
"I only did what I did-"
"I should have you hanged," Tommen said, his jaw set in a hard line. "You are the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, your duty is to protect your king. Instead, you were found leaving the capital to perform a task that, as I understand, was given to you by my mother."
Jaime remained quiet.
"Tell me, ser," Tommen said. "Whom do you serve? Me or my mother?"
"What sort of a question is that, Your Grace?"
"A simple sort. Answer me."
"Of course, I serve you. But I also love your mother. She's my sister, and when she felt threatened for her daughter's life by the Martells, she sent me to retrieve Myrcella -your own sister- from Dorne. Because she knew her words of caution would fall on deaf ears," Jaime's eyes flicked to Kevan as he said the last part.
"I ought to have you executed," Tommen said. "That's what I should do. That's what any just king would have done. But you are my family, mine own uncle."
The boy seemed to be having a rather difficult time coming up with a punishment for his uncle, and so Kevan decided to give him some advice. "Your Grace, I beg forgiveness if I'm overstepping some boundary here, but if I may, I might have the perfect solution for you in regards to your uncle's fate."
"Go on, Ser Kevan," said the boy. "Tell me."
"Your Grace, Qyburn had informed me last evening that the Tully rebellion in the riverlands has taken a turn for the worse."
"For the worse?" The king asked, frowning. "As I understand, Lord Walder Frey has had Riverrun besieged for almost over a year now, and the last report he sent us said that the Blackfish's men were almost on the verge of starving themselves."
"My king, the Freys might be a noble house, but they're little more than a bunch of sellswords. And their lord is an untrustworthy, lying weasel. He would have said anything to subdue your doubts in him, but the latest reports from Qyburn's little birds tell us that even after months and months of being besieged, the Blackfish is nowhere near to surrendering."
"That is grave news, my lord."
"Indeed, it is, my king," Kevan said, bowing his head, before his eyes glanced at Jaime for a fleeting moment. "But I think I may have a solution."
"Well, what is it?"
"Send your uncle, Your Grace. Ser Jaime Lannister may have lost a hand, but he's still a capable commander. Send him to Riverrun, to take over the command of the siege from the Freys. Ser Damion Lannister has written to me, and he claims to have raised new levies of 5,000 men from the Westerlands. I could have Qyburn send him a raven commanding him in your name to have those men sent to Riverrun, where Ser Jaime will take command of them."
"Very well," said Tommen, his gaze flicking to Jaime. "You have new orders, uncle. Go to Riverrun, take command of the siege, and crush this Tully rebellion as soon as possible."
Jaime looked conflicted, but Kevan saw as soon enough his spirit gave way. His shoulders sagged, his head hung, and he said, "As you command, my King."
"Is there anything else, Lord Regent?" the young king asked after Jaime had left.
Straightening in his chair, Kevan said, "As it happens, Your Grace, there is."
"Well, let's hear it."
Hesitating, Kevan thought of how best to put his thoughts into words. "I wish to discuss the matter of your mother."
Now, the king sat up straight in his chair, his expression turning grim. "What about her?"
"I'm not sure if you are aware of this, but your grandfather, before he died, had promised your mother's hand to Ser Loras Tyrell in marriage."
"I am aware, my Lord," the king said. "But I have decided to break that betrothal."
"Your Grace, the Tyrells-"
"Are a vital ally for us in this rather fragile situation we have found ourselves in. Yes, I know. And that is why I named my goodfather my Hand. But I will not sell mine own mother to my wife's family. I am their king, the husband of their only daughter. That should be enough to hold our alliance strong. My mother has been through enough already. I won't dishonor her by forcing her into a match that she clearly doesn't want. She is not at an age to bear children for a man who is neither old enough to have her, nor capable enough to sire any children on her." Then, he added in a mutter, "Or any other woman, for that matter."
"My thoughts exactly, my King," Kevan said.
"And besides, Ser Loras is wounded gravely. The Grand Maester tells me he's not sure my goodbrother will survive even a month."
"Your Grace, there is another matter I wished to discuss with you," Kevan said.
"What is it, uncle?" asked Tommen, seemingly irritated. He's still a child, Kevan thought. He'll learn to keep his patience.
"It is about your mother…and your wife."
"What about them?"
"Well, I am not sure how best to say it…."
"Just tell it to me."
"Well, Cersei is your mother, and she is my niece. And we have both loved her and will keep on doing so. However, others are not so prepared to forgive her actions in the past. The smallfolk of the city, for instance, are not happy that she was set free by the Faith. And as for Her Grace, Queen Margaery tries her best to form an amicable relationship with her mother-by-law. But Cersei is difficult. She's always been, ever since she was a child."
"Get to the point, uncle."
"I want to send her back to Casterly Rock," Kevan said, and before the boy could say anything to counter, he added, "To take her rightful place as its Lady. After your grandfather's untimely demise, your mother remains the only child of his who can take his place at the Rock. Jaime is a kingsguard, bound for life to celibacy. And Tyrion is a fugitive of the crown. That only leaves Cersei. Besides, I think the Rock needs a stronger mind than Damion Lannister to control it. Some of the lords in the Westerlands might see the absence of Tywin's own blood as a sign of weakness. There might even be a revolt. Those lords need a strong leader to rein them in, and your mother is Tywin Lannister's daughter, in more ways than you know. She can keep my brother's bannermen in line from Casterly Rock."
"No," Tommen said. "My mother wishes to stay here. She has made it abundantly clear that her place is here, at the Red Keep, by my side."
"But, my king-"
"That will be all, my Lord," the king said, pushing his chair back and standing up. "The Seven Kingdoms need to be brought back under our control as soon as possible. My uncle Tyrion had the good grace of thinking ahead when he brokered a betrothal between Myrcella and Trystan Martell. Their marriage shall keep the Dornish in check, and ensure that we will have their support in the wars to come. The rest of the kingdoms are under out control, and those that are rebelling will soon be put into their place. That is my decision, and my decision is final."
Seeing that it was futile to stretch the matter any further, Kevan bowed his head, saying, "Of course, Your Grace."
And then, without any more words, the young king left. Very well, nephew, Kevan thought as he exited the king's chambers. You now leave me with no choice but to do what I do not wish to.
Two days later, Kevan sought a private audience with the Queen herself. Margaery Tyrell was a comely girl, but she wasn't dumb. Behind her smirks and honeyed words, she was a player of the game. She was the granddaughter of the Queen of Thorns, after all. And thus, Kevan knew, as he climbed the steps that would take him to the tallest battlements of the Red Keep.
The sun was about to hover right over his head when he saw the young Queen walking towards him. She was dressed in a plain and simple blue dress, a pendant hanging over her chest. Her hair was let to fall freely around her shoulders, and her crown sat snugly on her head. Even with the rules imposed on her by the High Sparrow's authority, Kevan had to admit, she looked nothing less than a queen.
"My Lord Regent," Margaery said in a low voice, her eyes shifting slightly to look behind him, and Kevan noticed how, even though she had her usual smirk on her face, there was something strained about it. "To what do I owe this pleasure of such a secret meeting?"
"My Queen," Kevan said, bowing. "I was never very good at playing with words, so I'm going to come straight to the point."
"Oh? Very well, then. Say your piece, my Lord."
"I'm extremely concerned about the continued presence of a certain lady in the Red Keep."
"The Queen Mother."
"Precisely," Kevan said. "My niece has brought a great calamity upon us all. And no one has had to bear the brunt of it more than Your Grace…..other than Cersei herself, of course. Now, before I continue, I must have the assurance of the utmost secrecy on your behalf. No one can know what I am about to say, my Queen."
"Not even the king?"
"Especially not the king."
"I'm listening."
"Cersei has to go," Kevan stated. "Tommen is a sweet boy, one who has the potential of becoming one of the greatest men to have ever sat on that ugly chair they call the Iron Throne. But in order for him to come into that role, he needs good counsel. And that is something that cannot happen as long as his mother still dwells in the capital."
"What you speak of, my Lord, is a high treason. You could lose your head if the king were to find out that you are plotting about his mother's departure from his capital," said the Queen, looking to be repulsed by what Kevan had said. But he could see clear as day that it was a facade. Oh, her captivity and tribulations under the Faith Militant has made her lose her edge.
Kevan was prepared for this. And so, he said, "My Queen, out of all the people who hate my niece, none possess a more legitimate reason to do so than you. Yes, I know it is treason to plot against the king's own mother, but a treason that we must commit. Cersei is loathed by the smallfolk of the capital, and she doesn't care. She has tried to get rid of you, to have you murdered at the hands of the High Sparrow, just so that she could have Tommen all to herself. With you out of the way, Cersei will be the only influence on that boy's conscience, and that would make her the rightful ruler of Westeros. I do not intend to let that happen. I cannot let that happen. The future of the kingdom depends on it. And we must ensure that Cersei finds herself back at Casterly Rock sooner rather than later. Once she is out of the way, you and I can make sure that Tommen grows up to be a good, wise, and strong ruler."
"So, what do you suggest we do, my Lord?" Margaery asked. "She is the Queen Mother, we can't just ask her to leave. She might have fallen from grace and lost almost all authority, but she is still the king's own mother. And she has his ear…..to some extent. And to make matters worse, Tommen has his mind made up that his mother shall stay here for as long as she wishes, and he won't be swayed."
"You speak as if you've tried to talk him into sending my niece back to Casterly Rock?"
"Why, of course, I have," Margaery said, dropping all sense of pretense. "That woman was the reason I had to suffer under those fanatics. If it was up to her, I'd be a corpse at this very moment, as will you. But thanks to Tommen, I was spared that fate. But I want -no I need- Cersei gone."
"Then it appears we are of the same mind on this," Kevan said. "Cersei must go."
"But how do you propose we should convince my lord husband to send his mother away?"
"You leave that to me, my Queen," Kevan said.
"It seems you have already planned your move, my Lord."
"Indeed, I have," Kevan said, not feeling right about what he was going to have to do. "And when the time comes, I will need your assistance in those plans, my Queen. But rest assured that if those plans find success, Tommen himself will be the one to command his mother back to Casterly Rock."
The Queen still looked a bit conflicted, her hands wringing against her belly. But after a few moments, she straightened her shoulders and a determined mask came onto her face.
"What do you need me to do?"
First step was to remove the Grand Maester. Pycelle had always claimed to be House Lannister's ardent supporter, and had proven himself true to that on some occasions. But still, for what was to happen, Kevan didn't trust him to keep his mouth shut. And it was all too easy to get rid of the man. Qyburn was Kevan's weapon. Or, rather, his little birds were.
After the Grand Maester had perished of "old age," as Kevan informed the young king, Qyburn was chosen to fill his position for the time being, until the Citadel could send a new man to serve the crown. Within a week of Pycelle's death, Maester Qyburn informed the king of the most joyful news. The Queen Margaery was pregnant. His Holiness, the High Sparrow himself, arrived personally in the Red Keep, inviting the Queen to the Great Sept of Baelor so that she could receive the blessings of the Seven to ensure her term goes well and she and the babe both remain healthy. Kevan was ready for this. He advised the king against letting Margaery out of the Red Keep, making him aware of the dangers of the Faith Militant and what they might do with her. It wasn't hard to convince the boy, even though his mother was all too happy about sending her gooddaughter to the Sept. But when the High Sparrow asked her to come as well, the Queen Mother wisely moved her arse out of the throne room.
The two weeks following the High Sparrow's visit to the Red Keep and the king's refusal to send his wife to receive the Gods' blessings were even more tense than before. The streets of the city were brimming with the little sparrows, who continued to abuse their power. Good, Kevan thought. Let the smallfolk see them for what they truly are. Let these fanatics dig their own graves by bringing upon themselves the displeasure and hatred of the masses.
The king tried to dissuade the ever escalating situation by inviting the High Sparrow and all of his septas and little sparrows for a feast to the Red Keep, in honor of his unborn child. But His High Holiness declined. And so, to lift the king's ever worsening frame of mind, Kevan suggested that he might partake in a royal hunt. It took some convincing as the king felt it prudent that he shall remain in the city so that his people may not think of him as a ruler who runs away to hunt wild boars when things got difficult. But when the Queen Margaery talked with the king, he seemed to warm up to the idea. What she said to him, Kevan knew not. He only thanked the gods that it had worked. And so, Keva accompanied the king and queen to the kingswood, where they will stay for the next six days. Until a fast rider would arrive, bringing grave news to the king.
While Tommen I was absent from his capital, the city had been taken over by madness. The Queen Mother, Cersei Lannister, had seized command of the Lannister guards present in the Red Keep, and had ordered them to lock the Hand of the King, Mace Tyrell, into his chambers in the Tower of the Hand. Then, Lord Randyll Tarly, the Commander of the royal forces, had gathered all the garrisoned men of the Lannister and Tyrell armies in the city. It was a force of some twenty thousand men. And with that, acting under the orders of the Queen Mother, he had stormed the Great Sept of Baelor. The High Sparrow and all his little sparrows were taken by complete surprise, for the attack took place during night when most of the city was asleep. The men of the Faith Militant, though they had weapons, lacked armor. And even the weapons they possessed were no match to the castle-forged swords and armor worn by the men of the royal forces. It was a slaughter. Lord Tarly was a capable commander who believed in swift and brutal action, and his actions that night reflected that attitude. His army was disciplined and his moves were well-planned. And within hours, the Faith Militant had been quashed once again. The High Sparrow had been butchered.
When the news was brought to him by a Lannister man-at-arms, Kevan couldn't help but smile. His plan had worked beautifully. Now, all that remained was to pin the blame on his niece. He informed the king, who had been struggling to find any game in the woods where his 'father' had met his own death, and the boy had gone pale as soon as he heard what had happened. But Her Grace, Queen Margaery, was able to calm her husband down, and the boy immediately ordered for her to get back into her wheelhouse and begin her journey back to King's Landing, while the king planned to ride on his horse along with Kevan back to the Red Keep.
Upon arriving, the king ordered all the parties responsible for the storming of the Great Sept to be arrested and imprisoned. When Lord Tarly was brought before Tommen, the aged warrior confessed that it was the king's own mother who had commanded him to attack the Faith Militant.
"The Lady Cersei is your own mother, my King," Lord Tarly had said, standing before the Iron Throne. "She was my Queen for fifteen years before King Robert's demise. So, when she commanded me to gather the army and storm the Great Sept, I thought she was acting on your own wishes, and thus, I did what I was bid."
At first, the king was confused, before downright refusing to believe a word of it. But then, one by one, all of the main commanders from both the Lannister and Tyrell armies were brought forward, and each of them confessed to the king that it was the Queen Mother who had ordered them to do what they did. But what finally convinced the king of his mother's guilt was the testimony from his Master of Whisperers, Qyburn himself. The old man, when he finally presented himself in the throne room before the king, gave Kevan some fright. He had included the disgraced maester in his plans, too, albeit begrudgingly, along with Lord Tarly and Queen Margaery. But now, when the moment came for the old man to give his account of events as they happened, Kevan feared he might turn on him and side with his old employer. But, surprisingly, Qyburn had no qualms about giving a false testimony against the woman who had brought him to the royal court in the first place. And so, when Qyburn told the king about how Cersei had seized command of the Lannister and Tyrell forces by exerting her authority as the rightful Lady of Casterly Rock and the Queen Mother, to lock the Hand, Lord Mace Tyrell, in his own chambers, before ordering the royal army to attack the Faith Militant, the king finally seemed to believe that his mother might be guilty. Though, Kevan wasn't sure if the boy completely believed it. Most probably, he didn't. But the pressure was on him.
Already, riots were breaking out all over the city, the smallfolk were enraged. According to Qyburn, many of them were angry at the king for what he did to the High Sparrow, how he sent his men to the Great Sept and defiled the holy place of the Gods by spilling the blood of his servants on it, while others were revolting for the shortage of food. Moreover, the members of the Faith Militant who were absent from the Great Sept during the attack had been reported to have taken up refuge across King's Landing, hiding in places unknown. These men had vowed to avenge the death of their holy leader and all of their slaughtered brothers, and were now launching surprise attacks on the men of the royal forces and the gold cloaks that were trying to maintain the king's peace in the streets of his capital. Darker news still came to Tommen I, as the Lords and Ladies of the Seven Kingdoms who followed the Seven were now demanding that the perpetrators of this heinous attack on the Great Sept and the High Septon be punished severely. And thus, the king, without even giving his mother the chance to make her case, commanded her to go back to Casterly Rock, to assume her position as the rightful Lady of the Rock, as well as the Wardeness of the West.
Cersei had been ordered to present herself before the throne by her own son, and she had received strict commands from the king to refrain from bringing her sworn shield, Ser Gregor Clegane, along with her. All through the time during which the men of the royal army presented the king with their testimony, Kevan's niece remained quiet. It was strange, as if she already knew what was about to happen. But what was even stranger was the fact that she didn't say a word in her defense. She just stood there, quiet as a statue, and when her son commanded her to go back to Casterly Rock, she merely nodded and let the four Lannister guards escort her out of the throne room.
As Cersei was being taken away, Kevan saw her looking at him with a snarl on her lips. As she walked by, she stopped beside him. "You can try, uncle," she whispered with barely contained rage. "But you will never, ever be able to fill the hole left by Lord Tywin Lannister."
"That may be so, sweet niece," Kevan answered, feeling a new surge of anger taking over him. "But I just managed to take out two birds with one stone. And now, with you and the High Sparrow out of my way, I can finally concentrate all my resources on bringing this city, as well as this kingdom, back under the control of our beloved King Tommen."
Then, turning to the guards holding his niece, he said, "Take her away."
Two weeks later, Kevan called a meeting of the Small Council. In attendance were Lord Randyll Tarly, who had been pardoned by the king for his role in the Storming of the Great Sept; Lord Mace Tyrell was there as well, along with Qyburn. The Master of Whisperers had given him a piece of information that his little birds had brought him from the North. And the news was grave, so grave that Kevan thought it prudent to involve the young king in the meeting as well.
"Well, my Lord Regent," said Tommen from the head of the table. "What is the reason behind this surprise and urgent meeting of the Small Council? Did the Blackfish yield Riverrun to the Freys?"
Kevan sat up straight in his chair, handing the piece of parchment in his hands to the king. He watched as the boy read over its contents, and with each word, how his face began to get paler.
Dropping the parchment onto the table before him, the king gripped the armrests of his chair. Hard. "What is it, Your Grace?" asked Mace Tyrell. "You look very distressed."
"Is this true?" Tommen asked, looking at Kevan.
"I'm afraid so, Your Grace," he answered, before looking at the confused faces of Lords Tarly and Tyrell. Letting out a sigh heavy with fatigue, he said, "Robb Stark is still alive."
ROBB
"Smack me in the face," Edd Tollet said.
Jon's two closest friends, along with the wildling raider, Tormund, were already in his solar when Robb had arrived. Dacey Mormont, as always, was with him like a shadow. It was quite early in the day, and the sun had not been seen yet. There was a thick cover of clouds over their heads, and it filled Robb with a sinking feeling. Especially with what he had planned on talking about with his brother. But seeing Jon having a few laughs with his close friends, his former brothers in black, Robb's resolve fainted, and he instead decided to sit back at Jon's desk and have a mug of the terrible ale that the brothers of the Night's Watch made. It was not good at all, but it did the job in getting him a bit drunk and taking away some of the cold.
"What? Why?" asked Samwell Tarly.
The two men of the Night's Watch were sitting by the rusty old cage that was the home of the baby dragon for the time being, while the wildling raider, Tormund, was standing in the middle of the room with his hands folded over his chest, warily looking at the beast. But Robb also saw the feeling of awe in the eyes of the redhead.
"So that I know that this is no dream," Edd said, as he knelt before the cage, watching the dragon with his usual grim face. The beast was staring back at him curiously, pale smoke rising from its tiny maw and nostrils. Ghost and Grey Wind were laying on the floor behind the cage, dozing. The direwolves had been very curious about the dragon at first, but now, after a week of being around the beast, they seemed to have lost interest in it.
"This is not a dream, Edd," Sam answered, sitting cross-legged beside Edd. "The dragon is real. It's as real as you and I."
Jon stood beside Robb, leaning against his desk, a mug of ale in his hands as well.
"Mayhaps," Edd said, his eyes darting towards Jon for a brief moment, before landing on Sam again. "But that's what you'd say if this was a dream."
"I'm not going to smack you in the face," Sam said.
"Dammit, Sam, just do it. Hit me!"
"No," Sam said, looking a bit nervous. "I will not."
"Yes, I thought as much. Now I know for certain this is not a dream."
"How'd you come to that conclusion?" Sam asked, raising a brow.
"Because," Edd answered, his tone suggesting that whatever he was going to say was the most obvious thing ever. "The real Sam the Slayer will never dare touch me, not even in his flowery, wet dreams."
"If I was having a wet dream," Sam began, his tone sharp, "you'd be the last person I'd find there, let me assure you."
"Fuck off."
"And what would you know about fucking?" Sam said, seemingly feeling brave.
Unable to help himself as the meaning of what Sam had just said dawned on him, a soft laugh escaped Robb's lips. Jon's shoulders shook as he laughed softly, while Sam didn't hold back, laughing loudly. And all Edd could do was stare at his brother in black with a death glare.
"I can punch you in the face," Tormund said to Edd after the laughter had died down, which made Sam laugh even harder. "If you want it so bad."
"Gods, no," Edd said, his eyes shifting to Sam for a fleeting moment, as he muttered, "This is a nightmare as it is."
And with that, he stood up and walked over to Jon. "The mutineers are all ready for the execution. I can have nooses prepared for them whenever you're ready." And just like that, Jon's good mood faded instantly. Gone was the faint smile, now replaced by the familiar brooding mask that Robb was all too familiar with.
"I'm not a brother of the Night's Watch anymore, Edd," Jon said, placing the mug of ale on the table before him and getting up. As he picked up his sword and was in the process of tying it to his waist, he said, "Ser Denys Mallister is the Lord Commander now, and so it'll be up to him to decide upon the fates of the traitors."
Ser Denys Mallister had arrived from the Shadow Tower the same day as Cotter Pyke had arrived from the Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. Four days ago now. For the next three days, the Watch had deliberated as to who should be their next leader. Robb always thought the voting would take only a few hours to complete, the men who wanted to put their names forward for the post would do so and the rest of the black brothers would vote soon after.
Only when he witnessed the whole process did Robb understand how many more there was to it. There were only two real candidates for the position of the Watch's Lord Commander, but the thing was, a tie took place between Ser Denys and Cotter Pyke. And so, it took much longer than necessary -in Robb's opinion, at least- to choose a definite winner. Finally, it was Jon's own vote that turned out to be the deciding factor. Though both Ser Denys and Cotter Pyke had heard the story about what had happened to Jon, and were both convinced that Jon should now be set free of his vows to the Watch, it was Maester Aemon who suggested to his black brothers that Jon, as the former Lord Commander who gave his life for the Watch, must be given a last token of honor. That of casting his own vote. And so, as it happened, Jon put in his vote for Ser Denys Mallister, who emerged as the victor.
"He has already decided upon their fates," Sam said. "They're all to be executed in a mass hanging."
"Good. Then why do you want me there?" Jon asked.
"You swore a vow to the Night's Watch," Edd said, his tone sharp.
Jon looked at him, confliction and anger swirling in the violet that lay beneath the gray of his eyes. "Aye, I swore a vow-"
"For all nights to come!"
"They killed me Edd! My own brothers! You want me to stay here after that?"
"You swore to serve the Night's Watch until the end of your days," Sam said, walking up to stand beside Edd. "Or have you forgotten?"
"Aye, I did. I swore to serve the Watch. I remember the words. 'I pledge my life and honor to the Night's Watch, for this night and all the nights to come,' it said. But it also said, 'It shall not end until my death.' Until my death, it said. And I gave my life for the Watch."
"'For all the nights to come'!" Edd said, desperation in his voice. "You know what's out there, what's coming for us. How can you leave us now?"
"I'm not abandoning you," Jon said, and Edd looked at him in confusion. "I won't abandon you."
"Then why are you leaving?" Sam asked.
"To help my brother and sister retake Wintefell from the Boltons," Jon answered. "I know what's out there, Edd. I was there with you at Hardhome. I faced a White Walker. I killed him, but not before he almost got me first. And I saw as the Night King raised all of those Free Folk that were dead. I saw as they stood back up, thousands of them, living corpses, with blue eyes. So, yes, I know exactly what's out there."
There was a moment of silence then, with no one able to speak. Edd seemed rather cross with Jon, who looked at Robb with a reassuring expression in his eyes. Tormund just stood where he had been standing, his face set in hard lines as he looked at Jon. Finally, it was Samwell Tarly who broke the awkward silence.
"Winterfell is the key to reuniting the North," Sam said, his eyes shining with understanding. Jon was thankful for that, it seemed, as he said, "Exactly."
But when Edd still looked a bit confused and upset, Jon explained further, "The Boltons hold Winterfell. With them sitting there, right in the middle of the North, its people cannot come together as one. And we need the North, all of the living North, to stand together behind the Night's Watch, if we are to have any hope of fighting the dead."
"Your brother can do that by himself," Edd said, looking at Robb. "He's the rightful Lord of Winterfell. The northern lords put a crown on his head and named him King in the North. He can rally their support and win his castle back himself."
"He needs my help," Jon answered before Robb could say anything. "And there's something I have to do, something that will help us in the coming fight against the dead."
"And what might that be?" Edd asked. "You gonna march south and take the bloody Iron Throne for yourself? Are you gonna reunite the Seven Kingdoms again? You gonna fight the fucking Lannisters with a few thousand, tired northerners?"
Robb cast a worried glance over at the wildling raider. Apart from Edd and Sam, Tormund also knew about Jon's secret now. But while Robb had protested against letting the wildling man in on the truth, Jon had insisted that he trusted Tormund well enough. And so, Robb had gone along with it. But still, he was skeptical.
"No," Jon said. "But I am going to go east, to Meereen. I'm going to find Daenerys Targaryen, and I'm going to bring her back to Westeros. She has three large dragons. Dragons that can breathe fire. They can help us against the army of the dead better than any number of living men can."
They argued for another half hour then, before there came a knock at the door. It was Maester Aemon. Robb stepped aside to give the old man some space, and watched as he went straight to the cage that held the dragon. Jon quickly bent down and pulled the beast out of its rusty enclosure, and the dragon let out a shriek and spread its wings as it climbed onto Jon's hand, but then it seemed to almost purr in joy when Robb's brother soothingly stroked its head with a finger in affection.
"Aah, come here, little sweet," Maester Aemon almost chirped in happiness as Jon placed the dragon on the table where the maester was now seated in a chair. The maester called upon Colrin, his new steward, to bring forth a bowl. The bowl contained small bits of chopped up goat meat. Maester Aemon began to stroke the dragon's neck affectionately as he fed the tiny bits to the beast.
Robb made sure that he stood far away from the beast. Apart from Jon, Maester Aemon was the only man who could touch the dragon without fear of being harmed. The beast was small, so small that it was nearly the same size as Grey Wind had been after his first two weeks at Winterfell all those years back. Not large enough to seem to be able to hurt any man. But the beast was still a dragon, with all the ferocity of the legends of the old Targaryen dragons that Robb and Jon had so enthusiastically read about when they were children. Robb had learnt that lesson the hard way. The third day after he had come back to life, Jon had suggested to Robb that he should try to pet the dragon. It was a mistake, as Robb looked down to his right hand now, at the forefinger which was wrapped in soft linen to cover the cuts and slight burns that the dragon had given him. Its teeth may be little but they were razor sharp. And though it could not yet breathe real fire, its breath was still hotter than the embers of a dying fire. Robb shuddered to think how hot its fires would be when the beast would be able to conjure it in reality.
It had all been an elaborate joke by Jon. He knew his dragon was going to react the way it did, and Robb was its victim. Although, Jon did apologize to him afterwards, admitting that he hadn't realized the dragon would react so harshly. Robb liked this new side of Jon. He smiled more than he used to, he even laughed sometimes, and played jokes on anyone around him. But there was also another side to his brother now, the one that concerned Robb more than anything. Along with being slightly cheerful and happier than before, Jon was also prone to severe outbursts. It was like he was always on edge. One moment, he'd be laughing and joking and the next he would be angry and cursing. It was like two sides of the same coin, but worse. And that was what concerned Robb.
"He just needs time," Sansa had said when Robb had brought up their brother's erratic behavior. "He died and came back to life. His own men killed him, and he thought he should have died. And yet he's here, alive and well as if nothing had happened. It would take him some time to adjust, to make peace with all that has happened to him. We just need to be patient with him, that's all."
"Time is what we don't have, Sansa," Robb had said.
"I know," she had said, coming in close and putting a hand on his arm in comfort. "But we need to be there for him. He's our brother, and he needs us now more than ever."
Robb also liked this new Sansa. Gone was the girl who dreamt of knights and princes. His sister was now a woman who had gone through so much that it had changed her completely. And for the better, he thought. There was nothing naive about Sansa now. She was a woman who used her wits in tandem with her courage. And Robb liked that. And what he liked even more was the fact that she had been treating Jon like a brother again. Her image of Jon wasn't tainted with the fact that he was a bastard anymore, and it wasn't because of the fact that she now knew he wasn't truly a bastard, either. No, Robb knew she would have treated him well even if she hadn't known that Jon was a trueborn Targaryen. She had changed, indeed.
"Have you thought of a name for her yet?" The maester asked, and Robb noticed how his voice had changed over the last few days. Ever since Jon had introduced his dragon to the old man, it seemed like he had found a new spirit in his dying days. He looked stronger than ever to Robb, nothing like the man of over a hundred years that he truly was.
"How do you know the dragon is a female?" Jon asked, mimicking Robb's own thoughts. "You told me that a dragon can be distinguished as a male or a female by their ability to lay eggs. Now, I don't know much about dragons aside from the things you've told me about them, but I do know that she is a long way from being able to lay eggs."
"I can't explain it, Aemon," said the maester, petting the dragon's head. In return, the dragon seemed very content as it let out a low trill. "But I feel like this is a female dragon. And so, I ask again. What have you decided to name her?"
"I have decided upon a name, yes," Jon answered.
"Well, let's hear it then!" Sam said, excited like a little child.
"Lyaxes," Jon said, and the dragon's head tilted, her eyes of molten gold finding Jon. "That's what her name shall be, for my mother who I never got to know." Robb couldn't help but notice the slight tremor in his brother's voice as he talked about his mother.
Lyanna Stark. Robb's own aunt. His father had never really talked about his sister, certainly not in front of his children, and thus, Robb knew little to nothing about her. But still, he imagined she must have been quite the woman, for how many women in this world could claim that a bloody war had been fought for their hand? In the end, it was Rhaegar Targaryen that his aunt had chosen. It had always been Rhaegar Targaryen. And the result of their love was standing right before Robb's eyes. And as he looked at Jon, Robb's heart filled with guilt and regret. He thought back on all those years that he spent with Jon as children, and how he never truly saw his mother's hatred for the bastard son of her husband. Robb felt guilty about not having seen it. Or mayhaps he had seen it and had just ignored doing anything about it. But now, he regretted not having stood up to his lady mother in all those years, for not having defended his brother from her glares and words that cut deeper than a sword. Robb knew Jon held none of it against him, but he still felt guilty all the same.
"A most fine name, dear nephew," said Maester Aemon. "Though I never had the pleasure of knowing her myself, the way people talk about her, the Lady Lyanna seems like she had a fire in her. So it's fitting that a creature made of fire should be named after her."
It truly was a good name, Robb thought as he looked on at the dragon, who was very caught up in gobbling down all the meat from the bowl.
Soon after, Edd, Sam, and Tormund left, and Robb found himself alone with Jon, Maester Aemon, and Dacey. This seems like the proper moment, he thought as he said to Jon, "Brother, there is something I want to discuss with you."
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Robb saw as Jon's expression lost its warmth once again. He seemed like he knew what Robb was going to say, as he said, almost in a snapping manner, "I already told you, Robb, I don't want it!"
"But you're the son of Rhaegar Targaryen!" Robb said, intent on not letting his brother get away with it this time. Over the past week, he had spent hours trying to convince Jon that the Iron Throne was his by all the rights of gods and men. But to no avail. Jon was adamant in his belief that it should be his aunt, Daenerys Targaryen, who should be the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.
"I might be the rightful heir to that damn chair," Jon had said. "But I know nothing about ruling. I have no experience in ruling a castle, how am I supposed to even think about ruling seven bloody kingdoms? Daenerys, on the other hand, rules as the queen of Meereen. She has the experience for it, and she should be the one to rule Westeros."
Nothing Robb, or Maester Aemon, or even Sansa, could say had managed to convince Jon. And so now, he again said, "And I know nothing about ruling anything!"
"Do you think the people of the North would bend the knee for the daughter of the Mad King?!" Robb asked, his voice getting louder with frustration now.
"And you think they will bend the knee for his grandson, do ya?" Jon fired back.
"They might," Robb said. "In fact, they will. They will bend the knee to the son of Lyanna Stark. They will bend the knee to a man who has Stark blood in him."
Jon didn't say anything. He just stood there, his breathing ragged, a scowl on his face. But then, he seemed to lose all the fire in him, as his shoulders sagged, and he said, "I will ride with you into the battle that's coming. I will fight beside you. I will help you retake our home from the Boltons. But do not ask me to be king of anything."
And with that, Jon left.
"He needs time, my Lord," said Maester Aemon. "He just needs some time."
"That's all that everyone keeps telling me," Robb said.
He wasn't ready to give up yet, and so, he followed his brother out. When Robb got down to the courtyard of Castle Black, Jon was talking to Sansa. As he got closer, Robb saw the determined and vigilant face of Lady Brienne, who gave him a small nod as she stood behind his sister.
"Gods, Jon," Sansa was saying. "Aren't you freezing in that tunic and leather you've put on for clothes?"
Jon let out a chuckle, watching as their sister pulled her furs closer around her neck. "You're in the north now, Sansa. The real north," he said, looking up at the huge structure of ice that was the Wall. "Or, at least, as close to it as you can get without having to keep a sword in hand at all times. And besides, after living so close to the Wall for so long, one gets used to the cold that is way worse than what we used to have back at Winterfell. I mean, look at it," he pointed to the Wall, "we're so close to the damn thing we could be practically living inside it."
"It is bloody cold up here," Robb said, and as soon as Jon saw him, his smile died and his relaxed demeanor shifted into a guarded one. Robb didn't like that his brother felt that way, but he needed to do what he needed to do. However, Jon was a step ahead of him.
"My Lady," he said, looking past Robb at Dacey.
"My Lord," said the Lady of Bear Island, as she shifted ahead to come stand beside Robb.
Robb watched as Jon pulled out his sword, and couldn't help but be awed when he saw the dark swirls that were distinct to a steel that has been folded in on itself many a thousand times. He had seen the sword before, but the blade was Valyrian steel, the rarest steel found in the world, and it still amazed him to know that his brother wielded a sword forged from it.
Walking up to Dacey, Jon held up the sword and said, "Your uncle gave this to me when I was just a green boy in the Watch. I saved his life when a couple of wights tried to kill him, and so he deemed me worthy enough for this blade. But now, he's gone, and I have left the Watch. Longclaw is the ancestral sword of House Mormont. It's not right for me to have it anymore."
Dacey looked as if she had lost her ability to speak for a few moments, her eyes wide and her mouth slightly agape, as she took in the sight of her family's sword. Finally, she said, "My lord, I….I don't…"
"You're the Lady of Bear Island now," Jon said. "The head of House Mormont. It's only right that you should have Longclaw."
"But my uncle gave it to you…."
"Lord Commander Jeor Mormont bestowed this blade on me, for he was grooming me for command, and he hoped that I would succeed him as the Lord Commander," Jon said. "And I did. But now…..now I'm no longer a brother of the Night's Watch. And so, I have lost the right to wield Longclaw."
"But, my Lord-"
"I've killed a White Walker with that blade," Jon said, cutting Dacey off, and Robb's eyes widened. "Normal steel does not withstand the ice swords of the Walkers, but Valyrian steel does. I've seen you training in the yard, my lady. I've seen your skill with a sword, and this blade shall serve you well when the war against the dead finally catches up with us."
"You have my thanks, my Lord," Dacey said, accepting the sword that Jon was offering to her. Holding it up, she examined the blade that shone in the pale sunlight cutting through the cover of clouds above. It truly was a magnificent blade, Robb thought. "I shall wield it with honor and courage in the wars to come."
"I know you will," Jon said with a smile. "Now, if you will all excuse me, I have another matter to attend to."
"Where are you going?" Sansa asked, just as Jon had turned to walk away from them.
"Beyond the Wall," he answered. "Don't worry, I won't go far. There's just something I've been meaning to do."
"You can't go alone!" Sansa said. "Take someone with you."
"Sam is coming with me," Jon answered. "And so is Edd."
And sure enough, Robb saw the two men walking up to them, having emerged from the door that led to the common hall. "But where are you going, Jon?" Robb asked.
"There is a grove of weirwoods a few leagues north of the Wall. That's where I took my vows of the Night's Watch. I need to…I need to pray."
And with that said, he walked off, heading straight towards the iron gate that led to the tunnel through the Wall, with Ghost quietly padding alongside him, followed by Sam and Edd. As Robb watched his brother walk off, he looked at Sansa, and saw that her sworn shield was making her way over to him.
"My Lord," said Lady Brienne, unsheathing her sword from its ornate scabbard. As the faint sunlight hit the blade, it shone dark and deadly. Holding the blade up in both hands, the lady said, "This blade was given to me by Ser Jaime Lannister."
Robb stiffened as soon as he heard that name. But before he could say anything, Brienne continued, "I've named it Oathkeeper, for it was given to me by Ser Jaime to help me in my quest to find Lady Catelyn's daughters. I swore an oath to her that I will find her girls and protect them from harm. I couldn't find Arya, but I did find Sansa."
"That you have, my Lady," Robb said, his eyes shifting to his sister for a fleeting moment. "But why are you giving it to me?"
"This blade was reforged from Ice, the ancestral sword of House Stark. The Lannisters took it from Lord Eddard Stark when they murdered him, and Tywin Lannister had the sword reforged into two blades. This is one of them. And it's only right that it should go back in the hands of a Stark."
Robb looked down at the blade once again, his eyes getting glassy. The hilt was all gold, and the cross-guard and pommel were shaped in the likeness of a golden lion head. My father's sword…..
"It is right that I should have it, my Lady," Robb said, breaking from his emotions. "But it's yours now. My mother tasked you with protecting my sisters. And you've been doing a great job of it, and you will continue to do so. You might have failed to find Arya, but you did find Sansa. And you will wield this blade and shield Sansa from all those that would harm her."
Brienne looked at Robb for a few moments, before her gaze shifted to Sansa who gave her a reassuring smile and a nod. "My Lord, I…." Brienne seemed lost for words as she looked at Robb. But then her face took on its usual steel, as she straightened her shoulders and said, "I will protect the Lady Sansa, even if it means giving my own life for hers. This, I promise you."
Nodding slightly but firmly, Robb said, "Go on, now. I see that your squire needs more training."
Chuckling, Brienne looked at Podrick, as she said, "He's a good lad. He just needs discipline."
"And he has a good teacher in you, my Lady."
"My Lord," said Brienne, giving him another nod, before she was off to the training yard where her squire waited for his lesson.
Night had fallen when Jon finally returned from beyond the Wall. They were in the common hall now, Robb and his brother and sister. The supper for that night was beef-and-barley stew. They had all waited for the common hall to be cleared of all the brothers of the Night's Watch, before filing in and sitting at a table in the middle of the room. But soon enough, they were joined by others. Sam, Edd, Tormund, Ser Davos, Brienne, Podrick, and Dacey. The last to arrive was Lord Reed.
Theon sat at a table towards the end of the hall, away from them all. Robb caught him looking at him, before the Ironborn traitor looked away quickly. Looking at him -shivering and shaking all the time, muttering under his breath in words only he understood, always afraid that Ramsay would come out of the shadows and hurt him again- Robb could almost feel pity for the man who was his friend once, if only he could forget what the man had done to his family. If it hadn't been for him, Bran and Rickon would never have had to leave Winterfell, and the Boltons would never have been able to capture the castle. Sure, they might have tried, but they would have failed. Even if their plan to kill Robb had been a success, they would have still failed. Ser Rodrick was a good commander, and he knew Winterfell as well as any man, and would have defended the castle against any number of men the Boltons could have thrown at him.
Sighing deeply, Robb shook his head. Now, it was madness. He had asked Jon for a suggestion as to what to do with Theon. His brother had told him to make Theon take the black. It did seem like a good idea, but Robb wasn't sure yet. His anger towards his father's ward was still too heavy, and even though Sansa kept asking him to show mercy on Theon, Robb still had half a mind to execute him. But he wasn't sure entirely. And as his father used to say, "When you execute a man, you must be sure that he deserves the punishment of death. If you're not sure, then you shouldn't kill the man." And so, Theon Greyjoy was stuck with Robb and his party for the moment, until he could decide what to do with him.
"So, you know about my true parents," Jon was saying to Lord Reed. "How is that?"
"He was there at the Tower of Joy," Robb piped in. "Where you were born."
"Is that true?"
"It is, my King," Howland answered, and Robb stiffened. He knew Jon mustn't have liked being addressed as such. "I was one of the men that Ned had brought along on his quest to find Lady Lyanna. In fact, I was the very third person to hold you in my arms."
"The third?" Jon asked, seemingly trying to lighten the mood and doing his damndest to ignore that he'd just been addressed as a king.
"Second was Ned," Howland said.
"Well, who was the first?" Jon asked.
"Why, the midwife, of course, Your Grace," The Lord of Greywater Watch said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, and Robb and Sansa couldn't contain their laughter at Jon's expense.
The subject changed then, turning serious. They began talking about the White Walkers and the Night King. As Jon and Sam and Edd were all telling them about their experiences beyond the Wall, a man of the Watch arrived.
"Lord Snow," the man said, coming to stand behind Jon, handing him a small piece of parchment. "A raven arrived from Winterfell, my Lord."
Jon took the rolled up parchment and dismissed the black brother, before turning around to open it. Robb, who was sitting across from his brother, waited patiently for Jon to say something. As he watched him read the contents of the letter, it became clear to Robb that the letter didn't hold any good news.
"Well, what is it?" Robb asked.
"It's from Ramsay Bolton," Jon said, his jaw set in a hard line, and everyone at the table fell quiet. All pairs of eyes landed on Jon, who continued, "He is now fashioning himself as the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North." As Jon said it, his eyes shifted to their sister.
"He must have killed his father," Sansa said in an even tone, as if she expected nothing less from her husband. "Roose Bolton's new wife was with child. And she birthed him a trueborn son. Ramsay has been legitimized by Tommen Baratheon, and Roose Bolton even named him his heir. But he still feels threatened by his trueborn half-brother. Something must have happened, and he must have used the opportunity to murder his father. And you can be sure that the babe and his mother are also dead."
"Sansa," Robb said. "Surely, that bastard must not be so-"
"You don't know him like I do," Sansa said, cutting him off, her tone sharp. "None of you do. I thought Joffrey was evil….but I hadn't seen what true evil means until I met Ramsay Snow."
Gods, Robb thought. What sort of a monster would murder his own baby brother? What sort of a man would murder a babe? As he thought that, his gaze shifted to Jon for a moment. Robb was always so sure, even when they were children, that Jon would never do anything to harm him. He might be a bastard, but he had all the values of the Starks, and Starks didn't murder their kin for a castle or a lordship. They never harm their own blood.
There was an awkward silence around the table for a few moments then, before Jon broke it, "He also claims to have Rickon in his hands."
As soon as he heard those words, Robb's heart seemed like it might stop. His breathing beginning to get heavy, he looked at Lord Howland, who was ready with an answer. "My Lord, my men assure me that they saw Lord Rickon and his direwolf at the Last Hearth. The Smalljon Umber has personally written to you saying that he has your brother safely in his castle."
That was true enough. Just two days before, the men that Lord Reed had sent to the Last Hearth, to make contact with the Smalljon, had returned. With them, they carried good news. The Smalljon had sent Robb a letter, explaining how he had found Robb's youngest brother, Rickon, along with his direwolf, Shaggydog, at Last Hearth when he had returned from the Neck. The Smalljon also wrote that he had one thousand men ready to help him retake Winterfell, and was raising new levies even now. But still, a faint doubt still remained in his mind. What if Ramsay had somehow managed to get to Rickon, and was now holding him prisoner at Winterfell? But as soon as that thought came to his mind, the logical answer also presented itself. How could Ramsay possibly know that Rickon was with the Umbers? According to Theon, Ramsay knew that Bran and Rickon were alive, but there was no way that he could have possibly predicted that Rickon would go to the Umbers for protection. No, this was a ruse.
"That's a ruse," Sansa said, her voice firm and expression determined. "That's Ramsay's way of playing with our minds. He likes to do that. But this time he has failed. He doesn't know that we already have Rickon."
No one said anything to that. But then, Jon crumpled up the piece of parchment. Throwing it away, he said, "We need to move. We need to go to the Last Hearth, we're not safe here. Ramsay might just be foolish enough to attack us here at the Wall, and if he does march his army all the way here, we have no way to defend ourselves against his armored and disciplined men."
"I've already written letters to all the lords of the north," Robb said. "All that remains is to send them."
"Right," said Jon, looking at him. "Well, you do that first thing in the morning. As soon as you've sent the ravens, we'll leave for the Last Hearth."
Turning to Dacey, Robb said, "You'll go to Bear Island. Go there, take command, and see how many men you can find to help us in the coming fight."
Dacey nodded without a word, her expression one of steely resolve.
"But Houses Mormont, Reed, and Umber aren't enough to make up an army large enough to withstand Ramsay's force. Are you sure that the northern lords will pledge their banners to House Stark once again?" Sansa asked Robb. "And even if they do, how many men will they be able to provide us? Will they be enough?"
"How many men are there in the Bolton army?" Robb asked his sister. "Do you know?"
"I heard him say five thousand once when he was talking about Stannis' attack."
"How many do you have?" Jon asked Tormund. The red-haired man, who had been passing unsavory looks to Lady Brienne for the last half hour, looked at Jon with a serious expression now, as he said, "That can march and fight? Two thousand. The rest are children and old people."
Robb was surprised by the readiness with which the wildling answered Jon, and even more by his willingness to help them in the fight against the Boltons. Robb had half-expected Tormund to refuse lending the Free Folk for their army and to tell Sansa that she should just go back to the Boltons. But here he was looking at Jon with reverence and ready to stand behind him in battle. Robb knew that was a mark of a true friend, and a man that he could respect.
"Two thousand Free Folk," Robb said, careful not to call them with the derogatory term of 'wildlings' in front of Tormund. "One thousand Umbers, and an unknown number of Mormonts."
"Not enough," Jon said.
"Not nearly enough," Ser Davos piped in. looking at the old man, Robb still failed to understand why his brother insisted on keeping him here. The man had been Hand of the King to Stannis Baratheon, for Gods' sake! And he mustn't have been a very good advisor, or Stannis would not be dead right now. But still, Jon insisted on keeping Ser Davos around, claiming that he had 'other areas' of expertise that might help them in the future. And so, Robb went along with it. "We need the rest of the northern lords to side with us. I heard the Karstarks have already pledged to House Bolton?"
Nodding, Robb said, "I lost the Karstarks' loyalty the moment I chopped off Rickard Karstark's head. Now, his son Harrion would be all too happy to see mine on a spike. No, the Karstarks will not fight for us. They'll fight for Ramsay, that we can be sure of."
"Well, that leaves House Manderly as the only other house in the North that can provide us with at least three thousand men," said Ser Davos. "And even if Lord Wyman were to declare for us, I'm not sure we would have a force large enough to counter Ramsay's."
"How many men can you give us, Howland?" Robb asked, turning to Lord Reed who was sitting quietly beside him.
"Five hundred," the lord answered quietly. "But most of them are archers. They won't miss their mark, but they're not built to fight in the vanguard of an army."
"Well, that's alright, my Lord," Robb said. "Archers are just as important for us as foot soldiers and mounted fighters."
"You say Ramsay had five thousand men before Stannis' attack?" Jon asked Sansa, who nodded. "He doesn't seem like he lost too many men against Stannis."
"No, he probably didn't," Sansa said. "I was watching the start of the battle from Winterfell. Stannis didn't have nearly as many men as Ramsay, nor did he have any horses. I don't claim to know much about battles and wars, but it looked like the Bolton cavalry cut through Stannis' army like-"
"Like a hot knife carving through a cake," said Tormund, finishing for Sansa. "Aye, I remember when that fucker Stannis' knights attacked us in the Haunted Forest. We stood no chance against them. Sounds to me like that bastard got what he deserved."
No one said anything to that, although Ser Davos Seaworth looked like he might give Tormund a piece of his mind, but he seemed to refrain from speaking at the last moment. So, Robb continued, "The Karstarks may be able to provide two thousand men to the Boltons, maybe more. We can't be sure. But what I know is that even with the men from House Manderly, we cannot hope to form a large enough force to counter Ramsay's army. Even if he has five thousand men, he still has Winterfell. We need at least eight thousand of our own, and that's assuming that we can get him to leave the safety of Winterfell and come out to face us in the open."
"If he does that, he'll be exposing his men to unnecessary harm," Jon said. "He doesn't need to do anything. Even if we manage to gather twenty thousand men, we cannot hope to starve the Boltons out of Winterfell. We'll all starve long before them out in the open snows."
"So, what do we do?" Sansa asked, looking at Jon. "We can't just sit here and hope for a miracle, or for Ramsay to be stupid enough to attack us first. Because he's not stupid. He's one of the cleverest men I've ever known. He knows he has the upper hand here, which is why he is trying to goad you into acting rashly by claiming to hold our brother in his hands. He doesn't need Rickon to provoke us into anything though. If we can't gather enough men to fight him, he doesn't need to do anything. And he knows that."
"So, what-" Robb began but was cut off by his sister, as she said, "But what we might use to our advantage is the fact that he's also extremely proud. He knows that no matter which houses come to the aid of House Stark, all of them will be watching the battle. And he knows that if he wants to ensure that all those lords and ladies fear him after he's ended the Stark line -something which he seems very sure he'll be able to do- he needs to make a show of force. He needs to squash this rebellion against his House's rule in such a way that every northern house would fear him after he has defeated us."
"And that will make him rash enough to leave the safety of Winterfell's high walls and fight us in the open," Jon said, connecting the dots. Sansa nodded at him, a faint smile on her lips.
"So," Robb said, trying to do the math in his head. "By my count, we have one thousand Umbers, two thousand Free Folk, and five hundred crannogmen. That makes it three thousand and five hundred. We still need many more."
"Where are we going to get the rest?" Sansa asked.
"I know not, sister. All we can do is send the ravens to all the lords of the North, declaring that I am still alive, and hope that they remember the oath they once swore to me. If not, then we're doomed."
They all fell quiet after that. Robb had lost his appetite, and it had nothing to do with how terrible the food was. But then, Jon got up and spoke, "Well, we won't know anything for sure unless we get off our arses and move."
"Jon's right," Sansa said, straightening up, a new determination hardening her face. "We need to go to the Last Hearth. We're not safe here."
Nodding, Robb also got up from the table. Walking over to Jon, he said, "But are you sure the wildlings would help us?"
Jon's gaze flickered to Tormund, who was still gulping down the stew. "Time to find out."
Robb was worried that even though Tormund had promised to fight for Robb and Jon, the rest of his Free Folk brethren might not be so willing. However, he was proven wrong. Sure, at first, the chieftains looked skeptical, some were even downright disrespectful and refused to help them in the coming fight. But then, when Tormund reminded them of what Jon Snow had done for them, how he, the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, had let them all south of the Wall to protect them from the White Walkers and how the 'crows' had killed him for it, they seemed to realize that they owe Jon something. Also, Robb used his authority as the rightful Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North to assure them that after he was in control of the North, he would make all of the Free Folk a part of the North. That was something that Ramsay would never do, the chieftains knew as much when Tormund told them about the letter the bastard had sent to Jon before the mutiny. And that seemed to finally convince them. If they needed to make the North secure for their children and women, they needed to fight for it. And thus, one by one, all of those chieftains made promises to Jon, to fight for House Stark and help them retake Winterfell.
Out of all the things during the meeting with the Free Folk, nothing shocked Robb more than seeing a giant. A creature from the stories of Old Nan that Robb and Jon used to be regaled with as children, and there he was, standing in the presence of one. But the novelty of getting to see a giant with his own eyes was dampened by his nervousness about the Free Folk's response.
"Will they keep their promise?" he asked Tormund as they were riding back to Castle Black.
Chuckling, Tormund said, "We're not clever like you southerners. But when we say we'll do something, we do it."
"That means your people have honor," Robb said, and Tormund nodded.
The next day, Robb washed up and got dressed quickly, leaving his quarters and making straight for the rookery. He found Clydas, one of the stewards of Maester Aemon, who was kind enough to send ravens carrying Robb's missives to the lords of the North.
After that, Robb found Jon in the courtyard of Castle Black. He was getting ready to leave, dressed in riding leathers, a common longsword strapped to his waist. But what was strange was he was also carrying a shovel in his hand.
"Good morrow, Robb," Jon said.
"Good morrow, brother," Robb answered. "Ready to leave?"
"Aye. I'm all packed up. There's just one thing that remains for me to do here."
"Oh? And what might that be?" Robb asked.
"Come along," Jon answered, holding up the shovel, a smile on his face. "I'll show you."
Wordlessly, Robb followed his brother to the stable, where they each mounted a horse, before making for the iron gate that led to the tunnel beneath the Wall. Ghost and Grey Wind were following behind them, padding along without a sound. The passage was narrow and winding, and cold. It gave Robb a sense of doom, but he managed to stay upright on his horse, following Jon who led the way, a torch in his hand. As they got closer to the end of the tunnel, Robb saw a massive oak door.
"Don't be too long out there, Jon," came the voice of Samwell Tarly, startling Robb as they came to stand in front of the oak door. Where had he come from? Emerging from the shadows from Robb's left, Sam's rotund form became visible as Jon held his torch up. "We don't know if the woods are already filled with the dead."
"I won't be long, Sam," Jon answered, handing Sam the torch, who in turn crossed over to the other side of the tunnel and pulled a lever that seemed like it had been frozen into the tunnel's wall. As Sam pulled the lever, the great oak door began to ascend, and Robb's vision was blinded by the white light that assaulted through the tunnel. As soon as the door was half open, the two direwolves bolted, running freely.
Letting his eyes adjust to the brightness, Robb looked at Jon, who said, "Well, come along now. We haven't got much time."
And so, Robb set his horse in a steady trot, riding just behind Jon. The wind was blowing white and cold, and Robb felt his cheeks beginning to burn. Pulling his furs closer around his neck with one hand, he held the reins with the other, squinting his eyes to be able to make out what was in front of him.
Soon enough, they entered the treeline and the winds let off a bit. Jon said not a word as he led Robb on and on, until he stopped. As Robb dismounted, he saw before his eyes the beauty of nine weirwood trees. Walking ahead, slowly, he breathed in the air and was immediately comforted by the presence of the gods of his forefathers. His gaze shifted to the right as he saw movement, his hand immediately going to his sword. But it turned out to be Grey Wind. Ghost was nowhere to be seen, but Robb was sure his brother's direwolf was close by, blending perfectly into the white snows all around them. The presence of their direwolves put Robb's beating heart at rest a bit.
"This is where I took my vows of the Watch," Jon said, as he tied his horse to a nearby chestnut. He then removed his sword belt and hung it over his saddle, before walking over to one of the nine weirwoods. Robb tied his horse next to Jon's, and made sure to stay close to him. Circling around and coming to stand behind the weirwood, Robb saw as Jon had begun to dig into the knee-high snow. Instead of pestering him with questions, Robb took a look around the woods, making sure there was nothing that could be perceived as a threat. He was yet to see his first wight, and he was not looking forward to coming across one now.
As Jon dug through the snow, he finally got to the dark brown mud beneath. And yet, he still kept digging. And digging. Until, finally, a half an hour later, he let out a small chuckle. "There you are."
Walking over to him, Robb peeked into the small hole that his brother had dug. Jon was breathing hard now; sweat had broken through his hairline and was trickling down his temples, his face had gotten red from the cold and all the effort, and a few strands of black had got loose from the small bun in which he had tied his thick and curly hair. But as he bent down and threw a hand into the hole, he pulled out a long and narrow object that was wrapped in a dirty and ragged roughspun brown cloth.
"What is that?" Robb asked.
But Jon didn't answer. Instead, he unwrapped the ragged material, which had been folded many times. As Jon unfolded the cloth, Robb's curiosity was at its peak. "Will you just tell me?" he asked in a sharp tone. He didn't like to wait for things.
"Just a moment,' Jon answered, as he finally peeled away all the layers of the roughspun cloth, letting it fall to the snow below. And as Robb looked on, he was stunned at what he found his brother holding in his hands.
"A sword?" he asked. "A bloody sword?"
"It's not just any sword," Jon said as he pulled the blade from its sheath and held it up for Robb to see. As Robb looked at it closely, he saw that it was dark, so dark that it might have been black. And it had familiar rippled patterns across it.
"It's Valyrian steel," he murmured.
"Are you jealous, Stark?" Jon said in jest.
"What, of a bloody sword?"
"It's not just any other sword, you know," Jon said, looking at the blade which looked sharper than any other blade Robb had seen. "This is Dark Sister," his brother said, and Robb's eyes widened, his breath beginning to quicken as his eyes were glued to the blade. And it was just now that he focused on the cross-guard, which was also made of steel and shaped in the likeness of a dragon's wings. "The blade of Aegon's sister-wife, Visenya Targaryen."
Gulping as he looked at the sword, Robb muttered, "Alright, consider me jealous."
Jon just laughed out loud, as he put the blade back in its sheath. Walking over to his horse, he tied the sword to his belt, before wrapping the leather around his waist again. As Robb mounted his horse, he asked, "How'd you know it would be here?"
"When I came here yesterday, I was praying before that tree," Jon answered, motioning towards the tree from behind which he had just dug up the sword. "It's the same tree before which I knelt as I said the words of my oath to the Night's Watch. I wanted to pay my last respects to it before I move on with this new life that has been granted to me by the gods. And as I knelt, I was taken into another vision by the Three-Eyed Raven."
Robb was not taken aback by this revelation. After Jon had come back to life, he had told Robb, along with Sansa, Edd, Sam, and Maester Aemon, all about what had happened when he was dangling between life and death. It was still so surreal to Robb, knowing about the White Walkers, and greenseers and visions. Knowing that magic was real. For, that was the only way he could describe it all. Magic, it was. Plain and simple. But apart from what Jon had told them about the vision that he had been sucked into by his ancestor, Brynden Rivers, the one now known as the Three-Eyed Raven, Robb cared more about the fact that his younger brother Bran was still alive. From what Jon had told him, their brother was with this Three-Eyed Raven in a cave somewhere in the vast and dangerous lands beyond the Wall. As soon as he had heard about Bran, Robb had wanted to go and find him, to bring him back to safety. But it was Jon who had told him that it was Bran's own wish that no one shall come to find him, for he was training to become the next Three-Eyed Raven. Madness, it all sounded to Robb. But it wasn't as if he could do anything about it. For he knew nothing about the exact location of this cave that his little brother was supposed to be in. And so, Robb had killed his desire to go find Bran, and instead was trying to focus on retaking Winterfell.
"Lord Brynden was the last man to ever wield Dark Sister," Jon continued. "And he had buried it behind that weirwood tree before he went further beyond the Wall, to answer his calling of becoming the Three-Eyed Raven. And when he pulled me into that vision, he bestowed his sword on me, and told me where I could find that sword."
"Well, that blade is made for a Targaryen," Robb said. "It is fitting that you should wield it….Aemon."
Jon looked at him, his expression unreadable. Robb heard the crunching of snow behind him, and was greeted with the sight of Grey Wind and Ghost. Both the wolves were following their masters without making a sound, like the silent protectors they were. After a few moments, Jon said, "It sounds strange, hearing you call me that."
"Well, you are a Targaryen," Robb answered. "Like it or not, you are the son of Rhaegar Targaryen. That dragon of yours is proof of your heritage."
Jon didn't say anything to that. He was quiet for a long time, and the only sound was of the wind and the horses. Then, Jon spoke in so low a voice that Robb almost didn't hear him. "I was always jealous of you, you know," he said, looking down at his hands that held the reins. "All our lives, I've been jealous of you. I wanted nothing more than to be named a Stark."
"I know," Robb answered. Yes, he knew it. And he didn't fault Jon for that. He was always treated according to his station: the bastard of Lord Eddard Stark. Robb, on the other hand…everything came easy to him.
"You were always better than me at everything," Jon continued. "Better at reading, hunting, riding. Better with a sword, as well. And the girls…..Gods, the girls loved you."
Chuckling softly, Robb said, "They only loved me because of who I was. The heir to Winterfell. They'd have loved Theon the same if our father had named him his heir." Jon looked at Robb then, and the two brothers just stared at each other for a moment, before Robb said, "But yes, they also loved me because I'm much better looking than you."
Shaking his head, Jon let out a soft laugh. Then, he pulled on the reins of his horse and kicked his heels into the creature's sides, urging it on into a sprint, his cloak whipping in the wind behind him. Robb followed suit.
Returning to Castle Black, the two brothers joined the farewell party that had gathered to see them off at the gates. Among the group were Edd and Sam, and Maester Aemon, along with several other brothers of the Night's Watch, as well their Lord Commander. Lyaxes had already been secured safely in her cage, which was covered with sheets of linen and thick wool to keep the dragon warm. She might be a creature made of fire, but Jon insisted on giving her all the protection from the cold as was possible. Her cage was put in a wagon that the Watch was able to spare for their party, alongside the food and other supplies that they will need on their short journey.
They were to meet the wildlings in the Gift, after which they would continue on with the two thousand wildlings down south to the Last Hearth. As Robb looked at his party, a flash of red caught his eye. The Red Woman was mounted up on a horse as well, standing right next to Ser Davos who looked as if he wanted to be anywhere else but there. Robb didn't like the priestess, but she had saved Jon from death, and for that, he would allow her to accompany them. But he had made it clear to her that he wasn't Stannis Baratheon. "I won't give you innocent men and women to feed to the fires of your god," he had told her. And she had only nodded, that unsettling smile on her face.
Dacey was all ready and mounted up on her horse, as well. Lord Reed had spare two of his best men to accompany her on her journey west to Bear Island. Dacey had refused to take the two crannogmen with her, claiming that she moved better and faster alone. But Robb was having none of it.
As she saw Jon and Robb approaching, she dismounted and walked over to them. "My Lords," she said, nodding at Robb and Jon.
"Safe travels, my Lady," Jon said. "I hope you find your family well when you get to Bear Island, and that you don't have to use Longclaw on the way there."
"Thank you, my Lord," Dacey answered, before looking at Robb.
"I wish you good luck," he said, and was surprised to see there were tears in her eyes. "Dacey…."
"It's been so long since I've seen my home," Dacey said. "And so much has happened since then."
"Aye," Robb said, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. "But it's not over yet. We need you. I need you."
"I know," she said, sniffling, before she pulled herself together. And just like that, gone was the woman in her, replaced by the sworn shield that Robb had come to know and care for in the past six years. "I'll raise as many men as I can find, and bring them to fight the Boltons. And I'll fight beside you. We'll put every last one of those traitorous cunts to the sword."
"Yes, we will," Robb answered, his voice firm and strong.
And with that, Dacey turned around and mounted her horse once again. And then, she was off to the east, the two crannogmen following close behind her. As Robb watched her leave, he heard the sound of snow crunching beneath someone's feet. Turning around, he was greeted with the sight of the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch.
"Safe travels, my Lord," said Ser Denys Mallister as he walked up to Jon and Robb, and shook their hands. "I wish you both good fortune in the wars to come, and I hope that you retake Winterfell and reunite the North. Gods know that we need all of its might for the coming fight against the dead."
"Thank you, Ser Denys," Jon answered in a firm voice. "I cannot tell you what will happen, but know this, I will try my best to help Robb reunite the North."
"And once we have retaken Winterfell from the Boltons, and have the support of the northern lords," Robb said to the Lord Commander. "I will gather every man, woman, and child that is able to wield a weapon and bring them to help you in defending the realms of men."
Nodding at both Jon and Robb, the old man stepped aside to let Sam and Edd come through. Robb moved away and proceeded to mount his horse, giving his brother a moment alone with his closest friends. But try as he might, he couldn't help but hear them.
"Well," Jon said to his former brothers in black, motioning to the structure of Castle Black behind him. "Don't knock it down while I'm gone."
"That'll be up to Edd," Sam said, smiling. "Me? I'm off to Oldtown on the morrow."
"Oldtown?" Jon asked. "What for?"
"Oh, it was Maester Aemon," Sam answered. "He told Ser Denys that he was getting too old now to act properly as the Maester of Castle Black. And so he convinced him to send me to the Citadel, to become a maester, so that…"
"So that you may take his place when he's gone," Jon finished for Sam, who nodded.
"Well, that's good, Sam," Jon said with a faint smile, patting his friend on the shoulder. "Your true skills always lay with your wits. But you do know that the Citadel makes you swear off women, too, right?"
"Oh, they'll bloody try," Sam said and laughed along with Jon and Edd.
"Well, I'm glad the end of the world is working out well for you," Jon said, before he pulled Sam into a hug.
After that, Jon embraced Edd, and then mounted his horse.
"Well," he said to Robb, looking back at their party, before his eyes landed on Jon beside him. "Let's go, then."
Endnotes:
I know, I know. It is frustrating to hear Jon say the words, "I don' wun it!" Lol. But don't worry, he'll come around, especially when he meets our Dragon Queen. Dany will make him want it.
So, I know that the Kevan POV moved a bit too fast, but I wanted to be done with it, so that I can concentrate on the next events. In the books, Varys kills Pycelle and Kevan because he knows that the two of them -or, at least, Kevan- could actually put Westeros back together at peace. Which was something Varys didn't want to happen. He needed Westeros in chaos for his secret Aegon to swoop in and conquer the Seven Kingdoms once again. But I chose to go with the TV show storyline, where Varys is across the Narrow Sea. I am aware that the events in King's Landing needed a little more plotting and scheming, especially on Kevan's part, but I wanted to finish with this chapter before my exams start.
Speaking of which, I apologize to you all in advance, as I won't be able to post the next chapter until the first week of December, as my midterms are starting this week. If only I could keep on writing this story….but sadly, life comes in the way, as always.
Until we meet again then! And oh, please let me know in the comments what you think of the name of Jon's dragon!
