Welcome back everyone! Just wanted to say before we begin that I am planning on taking a week vacation coming up soon and honestly I don't know if I will have any time to write during my vacation (and I may not want too just to take a break). So, having said that, the next chapter will be released in either 4 or 5 weeks (July 23rd or July 30th).
Huge shout out to my beta reader and brainstorm partner Tellemicus Sundace. The help has been invaluable so far. And another huge thank you to everyone who has favorited, alerted or reviewed this story so far. Your support is what keeps me going! So if you feel so inclined to leave a review, please do! They really do help me get my mojo going and get the next chapters rolling on. And I also greatly enjoy reading your theories as to what is going to happen next. If you have any direct questions you want to ask me, please PM me as I am not the greatest in responding directly to reviews, but please still review lol. I like hearing from all of you!
Lastly, I do not own Disney, nor am I Lucas or Martin; so I have no ownership of A Song of Fire and Ice, Game of Thrones or Star Wars. This is purely for fun with no profit being made. And with that out of the way, let's get to the chapter! Stay safe out there everyone!
Chapter 20
Pressing his hands against the table dominating the center of the small council chambers within the Red Keep, Nox used his force sight to stare down at the large and incredibly detailed map of King's Landing that'd been laid out across the entire surface of the table. The map was littered with small flags, nearly a dozen in total. One was atop the Red Keep, another sitting on the Dragon Pit while a third rested on the Great Sept of Baelor. The other nine were scattered strategically around King's Landing, primarily residing in places with dense populations or those which held the city's food stores.
Directly across the table from him, sitting in a highbacked chair with his head in his hands was King Robert. The King was amazingly sober as he stared down at the map with no small amount of fear. Standing next to Robert was Ned Stark, the Quiet Wolf living up to his name as he remained completely silent while he too stared down at the map. Behind Ned and the King stood Barristan Selmy, the Lord Commander of the Kingsgaurd, as well as Jon and Robb. Even Queen Cersei was in attendance, though she too remained silent. Whether that was from fear of what was going on or the fear that Nox had instilled in her the night before he wasn't sure. He was just glad for her silence. The remaining members of the Small Council; Jon Arryn, Petyr Baelish, and Renly Baratheon all stared along in silence as Stannis Baratheon picked up yet another small flag and set it down on a spot near the harbor.
"Davos just confirmed another deposit at the harbor near the Mud Gate as well," Stannis informed them all, his voice like iron. "That makes thirteen stores of wildfire. And those are just the ones that we have found so far. Each store has somewhere between fifty to one hundred barrels. However, the greatest stores are the ones under the Red Keep, the Great Sept of Baelor, and the Dragon Pit. Each of which have perhaps two hundred barrels or more. And those are just the stores that we've been able to find so far. There is still the possibility that there are more scattered throughout the city."
"Fucking hells," Robert groaned as he stared down at the map. "The fucker's madness was well known… But this…gods. This is beyond fucking madness. And that dumb fucking Kingslayer knew this entire time!"
Cersei, clearly displeased with having her brother slandered, sat up straighter. "My brother saved this city from this plot from the Mad King. And in the confusion of the aftermath, it is understand—"
"Don't try and justify your brother's fuck up, Cersei!" Robert roared, rising from his seat in an instant and towering over his clearly frightened wife.
"Jamie Lannister can be dealt with later," Nox said, drawing attention away from the royal couple. "For now, we have a much bigger problem to worry about."
"Aye, that is true," Ned said, placing a hand on Robert's shoulder, which visibly calmed the man down enough for him to once again take his seat. "The question we have to focus on is how to deal with the wildfire. Does anyone know?"
No one spoke, though Nox could feel several sets of eyes turn to him. "Don't look at me," Nox said, feeling more than a slight bit of frustration creeping up within him. Being relied on was nice. But at times, it was a nuisance as people stopped trying to think for themselves. "Never even heard of this stuff until I arrived in the North. And since then I've only ever read about it. But what I've read is…concerning to say the least. Mostly that it grows more potent and unstable as it ages. To put that into words everyone here might understand, a single barrel of wildfire aged for ten years has the same destructive capabilities as five freshly made barrels. And we are dealing with perhaps several thousand barrels of wildfire that could potentially be approaching two decades in age."
"Perhaps, seeing as how we are currently lacking in the knowledge of wildfire, it would behoove us to bring Pycelle up from the black cells?" the Master of Coin, Baelish, suggested. "He did serve the Mad King. Surely, he mi—"
"I wouldn't trust Pycelle to wipe my own ass, let alone give prudent advice on how to deal with the wildfire," Robert growled. "Pycelle can stay rotting in the black cells until I have Payne take his fucking head off. What of the pyromancers that made this shit in the first place? Where are they? We didn't kill all of them after we put the dragons down."
"I've already sent the Commander Slynt and some of his best amongst the City Watch to collect the three Wisdoms of the Alchemist Guild this morning after I sent out the search parties for the wildfire caches," Stannis stated. "They should be arriving here soon."
The council chambers settled into an uneasy silence as those within the room could do little more than wait for the arrival of the pyromancers and hope they would bring some sort of solution to the problem. It took nearly an hour, but eventually a group of five elderly men reeking of strange chemicals and a general lack of proper hygiene were escorted into the room by a group of the City Watch. All of them were clearly afraid, one was just a hair's breadth from pissing himself. But it was the two in the lead that truly drew Nox's attention. For both men were surrounded by the dark side of the Force.
"I'm going to cut straight to it," Robert growled, rising to his feet as he faced the members of the Alchemist Guild. "All of you were alive and part of the Alchemist Guild during the Mad King's reign. So, I'm sure at least one of you recognizes what is laid out before you. What I want is answers, now. Specifically, how the fuck can we dispose of thousands of barrels of wildfire without turning all of King's Landing into an inferno to rival the Seven Hells?"
The feel of the dark side that was hanging off the two Wisdoms that stood in the front intensified as both men stood straight. "For the true King! King Aerys Targaryen!"
For the first time in a long time, Nox felt next to helpless as he watched in almost slow motion as a glass flask filled with a green liquid dropped from the lead Wisdom's sleeve and into his waiting hand. Wildfire. Acting on pure instinct, Nox lashed out with the Force not to attack, but rather to contain. The lead Wisdom froze in place as Nox wrapped him in bindings made of the Force. The container of wildfire still in his hand less than a few inches from the man's chest. But in his haste to catch the man, Nox made a mistake. He only grabbed one of the Wisdoms. And while his attention was fixated on the one in the lead, one of the other Wisdom's managed to smash the vial of wildfire against his chest before snapping his fingers and creating a small spark.
The spark was all that was needed to ignite the wildfire covering the Wisdom. In a fraction of a heartbeat the Wisdom that'd smashed the vial against his chest was engulfed in a bright green flame, the ignition forced Nox to take a step back and shield himself from the heat. But in doing so, his attention slipped, and the heat of the flames reached the second vial of wildfire, igniting the substance and setting the lead Wisdom aflame.
Forgetting about the Wisdoms, or even the others that were screaming in the room, Nox shifted his focus as he pulled heavily on the Force trying to contain the raging wildfire inferno before him. Using the Force to create a sphere around the flames, Nox felt sweat coat his face as he struggled to contain the flames. Even through the Force shield holding the flames in place, the heat of the flames was so intense he could feel his skin starting to burn.
'This is no ordinary chemical substance!' Nox thought quickly as he felt the green flames battering relentlessly against the shield he held around them. 'I can feel the Force within these flames…This shit is more akin to Sith Alchemy than it is to any naturally occurring or synthesized chemical compound.'
"Jon! Robb!" Nox yelled over the noise of the burning flames just beyond his outstretched hands. "Containment shielding now!"
He could feel two other Force shields being hastily formed over his own: one far more powerful than the other. 'Good, Jon still has the armlet on him. Otherwise, I doubt we'll be able to contain this shit for long.' "Follow my lead!" Nox yelled, fighting through the pain in his arms as he felt the sleeves of his robes begin to char as his skin began blistering from the heat.
Moving slowly to allow Jon and Robb to keep their hold on their Force shields, Nox led them over towards a large window that overlooked one of the many courtyards within the Red Keep. Pushing hard and fighting against the pain racing through his arms as the heat of the flames began to char the sleeves of his robes, the three of them managed to force the containment sphere filled with the burning wildfire out of the Small Council chambers and out into the courtyard. Once he felt the flames were far enough away, Nox released his hold on the containment sphere, prompting Jon and Robb to follow suit.
The flames spread across the courtyard, immediately setting nearly a third of the surface area alight in green flames that refused to go down. "Keep everyone out of that courtyard until the wildfire burns itself out," Nox said, his breath coming out in heavy pants as he quickly discarded his still smoldering outer robe.
"Master," Jon called out tentatively. "Your…Your arms ar –"
"Burned to hell, I know," Nox winced, holding up his arms. The skin on both his arms were red and glistening and even black in parts. But while they both hurt like hell, he took solace in the fact that they did still hurt. Which meant that the burns were still just superficial and there wasn't any long-term nerve damage in his arms. He'd be able to heal them soon enough, but it would still take days and they would undoubtedly hurt like hell until they were fully healed.
Leaving the wildfire to burn itself out in the courtyard, Nox took stock of the small council chambers. The two Wisdoms who'd ignited the blaze were both gone, leaving nothing more than ashes behind. One of the other Wisdoms had died as well in the inferno, but unlike the two who set the blaze, his chard corpse remained. A fate that was shared by at least two of the City Watch, judging by the still smoldering remains covered in armor that were on the floor beside the dead pyromancer. The last two Wisdoms were both still alive and cowering in the corners of the room, no doubt hoping that they would be forgotten in the aftermath of the blaze. Outside of the two idiots who suicided themselves, the unlucky bastards who were too close, and his own robe, there were no other casualties as the rest of the Small Council and others who were in the room began filtering back in.
Snapping his fingers, and ignoring the pain that the action caused, Nox used the Force to drag the last remaining Wisdoms screaming across the floor. Twisting his wrist so his palms was facing upwards, Nox lifted the screaming men off the floor and threw them hard against the ceiling before holding them there. "You two stay there for a moment," Nox hissed through the pain as he turned his attention to the City Watch who'd escorted the pyromancers into the Red Keep. Almost all of whom looked none the worse for wear. "Which one of you dumbasses is in charge?"
The members of the City Watch all glanced at one another before one of them stepped forward, a stout frog-faced balding man who looked far too full of himself. His armor was highly polished and a large pendant hanging from a heavy golden chain around his neck. "I am Janos Slynt, head of House Slynt and Commander of the C –"
"So you were the one in charge of escorting these men into the Red Keep to speak with the King and the Small Council," Nox said, cutting the man off and taking a step towards him.
"Yes," Slynt replied nervously. "Had we any indication that such a – a – ack – ahh –"
Slynt's eyes bulged as he began clutching at his throat. A completely useless gesture as Nox raised his hand, his fingers held like a vice as he used the Force to choke the Commander of the City Watch. "Then it was your responsibility to search these men before they were brought before the king," Nox growled, tightening his grip as Slynt's face began turning red and the man started clawing at his throat in a desperate bid to breathe. "Yet either because of your incompetence or pure stupidity, these men were able to bring not one, but two vials of wildfire into the Small Council chambers along with the means to ignite them! Men who were near fanatical in their devotion to the Mad King! Did it not cross your pathetic mind even once to think that they might have ill will towards the King or the Small Council?"
Falling to his knees, Slynt's nails started leaving small cuts in his neck as he continued trying to pry off whatever force was holding onto him.
"Sorcerer. Wait." Slynt's eyes shined with hope as Robert stepped past Nox, who'd released his hold just enough to allow the slightest bit of air to enter the man's lungs. The light of hope that was in Slynt's eyes though quickly disappeared as Robert unceremoniously yanked the necklace off that was hanging around Slynt's neck.
"Renly," Robert growled, tossing the pendant to Renly, who couldn't catch the heavy gold pendant before it struck him hard in the chest, doubling him over. "Learn how to fucking catch…Then, find me a new, competent, Commander of the City Watch. Nox…kill him. Slowly."
"As you wish," Nox smirked, tightening his hold once more on Slynt.
Gurgling, Slynt reached out desperately for the King as the pressure on his throat increased once more. But Robert had already turned his back on him and walked away. Closing his hand, Nox took the time to crush each vertebra in the man's neck one at time while making sure to leave his spinal column undamaged so as not to kill him too fast. Once the last of the bones was turned to near dust, Nox snapped his fingers closed and twisted his wrist. Slynt's head rocked back with a loud breaking sound as the back of his head touched the space between his shoulder blades.
"This doesn't happen again," Nox growled, letting the now deceased man fall to the ground dead next to the other members of the City Watch. "The next example I make will not be as quick or pleasant. Now get the fuck out."
The City Watch were all but tripping over themselves in their haste to leave the Small Council chambers, lest they too be made an example of. Once the room was free of the Watch, Nox flicked a finger down, dropping the two men from the ceiling and catching them only just before they went face first into the tiled floor. "Now, you two," Nox said, using the force to lift both men up before slamming them both face first onto the table next to the map. "You two are going to explain to us exactly how to neutralize the wildfire in the city without accidently setting it off and you are going to tell us now. Or I will start rearranging your bodies into abstract pieces of art. And trust me…I can be very, very creative when I want to be. Now talk."
Sweat dripping heavily from his brow, Robb Stark, eldest son of Lord Eddard Stark and heir to Winterfell forced himself to fight through the pain racing through his arms and the heat of King's Landing beating down on him as he raised the weighted training blade above his head before bringing it down again in an overhead strike. Gritting his teeth, he raised the blade again and again as he strengthened his body with the Force so he could press on even when he wanted to do nothing more than fall over and die.
He'd been a fool in neglecting his training during Master Nox's and Jon's expedition. Granted, he hadn't skipped any days in the yard, but he hadn't been training as hard as he should have. And now Jon, his brother by blood and choice, was years ahead of him. Hells, his brother had faced down a member of the Kingsguard in a Trial by Combat without flinching and came out victorious. He knew that Jon was good, very good. But to see now just how far ahead Jon was in terms of skill…and Robb knew that he had a lot of ground to make up if he were to continue pressing his brother. It wasn't that he was jealous of his brother's skill… Well, maybe he was a bit. But what drove him was more the thought of being left behind. Of being helpless. He'd felt that way once already when he held his mother in his arms while she died and when his youngest brother died. He'd vowed that he would never feel that powerless again. And he'd had a lot of free time as it were.
After the discovery of the wildfire caches beneath the city, Lord Nox and Robb's own father had spent nearly every night overseeing the removal of the casks of the damned stuff from the city. Jon and Robb helped where they could but, in all honesty, there wasn't much that the two of them could do. Their father, even if he and Jon didn't share a father by blood Eddard Stark was their father, insisted that the two of them could not even be within eye shot of the casks while they were being moved. And after seeing the destruction caused by even a single vial of the stuff…gods. All he could think was that the Mad King had truly earned his name.
Finishing the last down strike with a cry, Robb dropped to a knee as he felt his hold on the Force faulter as his body gave out. 'Not enough,' Robb cursed, gritting his teeth and burying the tip of the training blade into the ground to keep himself from falling over. 'I need to press myself harder! I won't feel powerless again!'
Hearing a light wine and feeling something press on the edges of his mind, Robb gave up trying to start again and instead made his way over to the stone bench that was within a shaded section of the training grounds and sat down heavily. Letting his hand fall, he blindly scratched at the top of Grey Wind's head, his young wolf pup raising his head and licking his hand in response to the affection. "Sorry boy," Robb said breathlessly as he continued to scratch at Grey Wind's head. "I haven't had much time for you. But…you saw Jon. I can't afford to slack off like I have been. I need to keep up. I can't let myself fall behind our pack."
He could feel affection emanating from his wolf as well as…understanding almost. Followed up by a quick flash of Grey Wind and Ghost running side by side. The fleeting image was, strange and new. Ever since they'd claimed the wolves and their mother after the Wildling attack Robb, and the rest of his siblings, had felt a connection to the wolves. A beast bond, Master Nox called it. A simple trait that most Force sensitives could develop to bind a beast to themselves. But Robb thought that was under simplifying things and that in this one rare instance, Master Nox wasn't entirely correct. He truly believed that he, and more than likely his siblings, were what Old Nan described as wargs, skinchangers. Individuals who could slip into the minds of animals and become one with them. It was an amazing ability. Amazing and…terrifying. For Old Nan's stories of the wargs of old almost spoke of those same wargs losing themselves in the minds of their beasts.
Hearing Grey Wind whine again, Robb resumed petting his head. "That's right boy," Robb smiled, sensing that his wolf understood his inner turmoil. "I need to keep up with Jon. Just like you need to keep up with Ghost. So that we can stay by their sides. And if I can do this…warg thing. Then don't worry, boy. I won't ever push you aside. You and I…we'll always be together, boy."
Without warning, Grey Wind suddenly went still as his little body tensed and a sense of foreboding flooded into Robb's mind. Hearing a light clapping noise, Robb followed his wolf's line of sight and spotted a slim man in elegant robes with a neatly trimmed mustache walking into the training grounds. 'Lord Baelish, Master of Coin of the Small Council,' Robb thought, recognizing the man as he'd seen him several times during their stay in King's Landing but had yet to have spoken with him. "An impressive display, Lord Stark. In the yard since before the sun has risen and now it is well past midday with nary a break to rest. A true credit to your House."
"I'm not Lord Stark. Not yet at least, Lord Baelish," Robb said. Grey Wind's ill-ease of the man's presence and his tired state affecting his manners. "That title is reserved for my father. Lord Eddard Stark."
The Master of Coin stopped a good ten paces or so away from Robb, his face set with what seemed like a comforting smile, but there was something…off about the man. Grey Wind didn't seem to care for him. And something about him just…oozed wrongness. Like an infested wound, though for the life of him Robb couldn't figure out why. "Of course, I meant no offense," Lord Baelish said politely. "I was merely following proper court protocol in addressing the heir of the North as per his proper title."
"Courtly courtesies of the South mean little in the North, save for guest rights," Robb countered.
"So, I have heard from your mother on many occasions." That brought Robb up short and made him look at the man. "Oh, did your mother not mention me at all? We grew up together in Riverrun until just before the start of the Rebellion. And we have stayed in contact with one another ever since. Not very frequently, I'm afraid, but we did often exchange ravens with one another discussing various subjects. I was most…distraught when I learned of her death. Your mother was…She was a woman amongst women. One to be aspired to and worshiped."
The pain in his voice when he spoke of Robb's mother was real. Thinking back, Robb tried to think of any stories his mother had told him of her childhood that might allow him to corroborate the tale this man was spinning. "I remember…she did speak of you," Robb said, finally placing the man. "She said that you fought against my father for the right to her hand."
Lord Baelish smiled, a cunning smile that was very different from the comforting one he'd worn earlier. "Smart, young wolf. Very smart. It was not your father that I faced that day to ensure that Catelyn's future husband was a suitable match, but rather your Uncle Brandon. In hindsight, not my smartest move. Your Uncle was a demon with a blade. And it was only because of your mother's mercy that I managed to escape with only a token of your Uncle's esteem that I still carry from my collar bone to my hip. It was smart of you to test me, young wolf. King's Landing, and the court especially, is full of liars and cheats that will do and say whatever they can to gain a scrap of power."
"And you are not one of them?" Robb asked, narrowing his eyes.
The comforting smile returning, Baelish shook his head. "Some of us realize that there is a ceiling to power young wolf. I am a member of the Small Council and the Master of Coin and I control sixty percent of the brothels here in King's Landing and the surrounding lands. As it stands, I have climbed as high as I can. But I did not come here to talk boring politics with you, but rather to offer my condolences on the loss of perhaps the best woman to grace this Realm in all of its history."
Robb appreciated the sentiment, but at the same time it felt almost, well, much. His mother was a good woman to be sure and his mother. But she was not without her faults. "You have my thanks, Lord Baelish," Robb said, still trying to figure out if this man had some ulterior motive behind this talk, which every part of him was screaming to be the case.
"Your mother told me a great many things about you and your siblings, young wolf. So much so that I feel as if I am an uncle you have never met." The smile was back, and though it appeared comforting, Robb could find nothing of the sort while being next to the man. "She told me of the time you hid in the crypts covered in flour waiting to surprise your sister, Sansa. Quite the scare you gave her. And while she had to scold you for scaring your sister so, she said that it reminded her greatly of some of the antics herself, Lysa, and I got up to while we were growing up in Riverrun."
Robb couldn't help himself as he smiled fondly at the memory. "Aye… Mother certainly took Jon and I to task for that one."
Something changed in Baelish. His face didn't twitch a muscle, but something about him changed. "Ah yes…your newly legitimized brother. Quite the swordsman there. Apprentice to the Northern Sorcerer and now a full-fledged Stark who is your age. I can see now why you are here in the yard practicing so fiercely. Best not to let your 'brother' get too far ahead of himself, or else he and others might start thinking that…well… History speaks for itself in this matter."
Without thought, Robb lunged to his feet and found himself before the Master of Coin in the span of a heartbeat. "Jon is my brother, by blood and choice," Robb growled with Grey Wind behind him adding his own low growl to his words. "I know what people think of him because of his former status. But I know my brother. Better than anyone else alive. We grew up together. We took our first meals together. Our first steps were with each other. Or first time in the yard was with one another. Jon would never, never, do anything to put any of his brothers or sisters at risk. Unlike some, in the North a family is a pack. And packs stick together. Or die. And I will not stand to hear another ill word spoken about my brother or about his former status. Friend of my mother or no."
The Master of Coin held his ground throughout Robb's tirade, the light smile never once falling from his face. "I have given offense, and that was not my intent, young Stark. Your mother told me of the bond you held with your brother. I hope that his devotion to you is equal to your devotion to him." Robb was so blindsided that he was unable to formulate a response as the Master of Coin turned and started to walk out of the yard, only to stop and turn back towards Robb. "I merely wished to express my condolences for the loss of your mother, young Stark. And I have done so. But let me leave you with one last piece of wisdom so that history will not repeat itself upon the children of Catelyn Tully. It is the knife in the dark, the one you never expect to come, that goes the deepest."
Alone once more with Grey Wind, Robb could do little more than just stare where Baelish had once been standing while trying to figure out what exactly had just happened. "Any ideas, boy?" he asked, turning towards Grey Wind, who looked just as confused as he felt. "Yeah boy, me either."
Resisting the urge to drum his fingers against the table dominating the center of the Small Council Chambers, Nox was doing everything in his power to keep himself from simply bashing Renly Baratheon's head against the table as the man went on and on about the 'accomplishments' he and his squire, Loras Tyrell, had achieved in ending the reign of the slavers that'd taken root in the city while said squire stood beside him beaming. And he wasn't the only one who was clearly annoyed with how Renly was drawing this out. Sitting next to him, Ned was clearly trying to keep his impatience from showing while across the table from the two of them Stannis was openly ignoring everything his brother was saying as he stared straight ahead. The only one of the Small Council who actually seemed to be paying attention at all was King Robert, though Nox was fairly sure that that was only because Renly's tale was quite vivid on the details of Loras's 'slaughtering of the wretched slavers'.
"-Loras managed to track the rest of the slavers down to their hide out and without any need for aid proceeded to cut down every slaver within their holdfast. Clearing our city of their filth once and for all."
Sighing, Nox scratched lightly at his close-cut beard as he tried to keep his irritation from showing. Ideally, Nox had wanted to handle the situation with the slavers personally, but unfortunately he'd been forced to hand that responsibility off in favor of dealing with the fact that the city was sitting atop a bomb just waiting for some idiot to set it off. Now though, he wished that he had split his attention. Renly and Loras had managed to kill the slavers, but their inexperience was showing in spades.
"Well done Lord Renly, Loras," the Hand of the King, Jon Arryn, congratulated the two, causing both to puff out their chests. "You've both done Westeros and King's Landing a great deed in removing the slavers from our shores. I will be sure to send mine, and the crown's, complements to your family Loras."
Unable to take it any longer, Nox slowly and mockingly clapped for the two young men. "Yes…well done the both of you," he said, making both men smile as neither recognized his tone. "Tell me. How many 'slavers' were killed during the raid of their hiding place?"
Blinking, Renly shared a look with Loras. "As I said, Lord Sorcerer, there were perhaps a dozen or more in their hideout. Most of whom met their ends at the skilled edge of Lo-"
"And how many of those you killed were of Essosi descent?"
This time it was Loras who answered. "Umm, perhaps half, Lord Sorcerer."
"Half, meaning six," Nox finalized as he leaned forward and rested his forearms on the table. "And did you find any documents pertaining to their operations here in King's Landing? How about the gold they were using to purchase the slaves? Or cages? Were there cages in their hideaway? And if so, were they empty or full of people?"
The rest of the Small Council turned their full attention on Renly and Loras, both of whom were fidgeting and looking slightly less sure of themselves than they were a moment ago. "There…There were cages, but they were empty. And we couldn't find any gold tha-"
"Six slavers in an operation that spanned all of King's Landing and perhaps the land beyond," Nox said, cutting Renly off. "No gold. No documents. And empty slave pens. Which means that the slavers knew of your coming and cleared out well before you got to them. Stannis offered to help you two, I know because I heard him offer his own and Ser Davos's aid in tracking the slavers down. Yet in your arrogance you turned him down. And now because of your inexperience the slavers not only managed to escape us, but they managed to do so with Force only knows how many newly made Westerosi slaves. You two are lucky this is Westeros and not the Sith Empire, otherwise you two would be dead or worse for your incompetence."
Both young men had curled in on themselves as Nox laid into the both of them. Stannis, in a rare display, had a slight grin on his face as he watched his younger brother be firmly put in his place. Even Robert seemed mildly amused and while Ned didn't seem to care for the tone with which he was using, he could tell that his friend fully agreed with him as well. In fact, the only one in the room who didn't seem to agree with Nox was Renly, Loras and Jon Arryn.
"As you said, this is not your Sith Empire, Lord Sorcerer, but rather Westeros. And here in Westeros we do things differently," the Hand said firmly, no doubt trying to intimidate Nox, which honestly just made him want to laugh. "And Renly and Loras have done a fine job in ridding Westeros of these slavers."
"A handful of dead slavers with the rest fleeing the city with their captives…Yes…such a fine job," Nox scoffed. "The aim was to not only remove the slavers, but to take down their entire ring and make it so that they could never repeat what they've done here. Now we can't. The slavers will run and hide and lick their wounds. But because we cannot close up the gaps they used to get into the city in the first place, they will return after things have calmed down and your guard has lowered once more."
"Eh, if they come back, I'll kill em myself," King Robert scoffed as he waved off Renly, "Renly, sit your ass down and let's finish this copper counting session before I shit myself. Sorcerer, what's the progress of getting the wildfire out of my city?"
"Slow," Nox answered as Renly took his seat as far away from Nox as possible with Loras awkwardly standing behind him. "The barrels are the size of a man's torso and have to be handled incredibly carefully and only at night due to their age. The men you assigned me have gotten the process down, but it will still take a long time before the city is clear of the danger. A few months at best. And that is from only clearing out the caches that we currently know about. Once those are clear, a much more thorough investigation of the city will need to be done just to make sure that there are no more surprises waiting to blow this whole place to the hells."
"Months?" Jon Arryn questioned, his brow furrowing as he stared at Nox.
"Yes, months." Nox reiterated, not backing down. "The men that I've been overseeing know what they are doing now and I'm confident that they can handle the task set before them. Especially if they're properly incentivized by the crown for their services. You are free of course to order them to move faster, however I would ask that you don't do so until after Lord Stark and I leave the city in a few days as I don't feel like dying in a wall of wildfire at the moment."
"Eh, if that's what you believe to be best, sorcerer, we'll follow your expertise on the matter," Robert shrugged, seemingly unconcerned about just how long the process would take as long as it was done.
"And speaking of the wildfire," Stannis spoke up. "We must decide on what is to be done with Ser Jamie. He knew about the wildfire caches and kept quiet about them since the end of the Rebellion. His silence placed the royal family and the entire city in mortal peril for years. Men have been executed for less."
The members of the Small Council sat in silence, their eyes darting at each other waiting for someone else to speak up first. "Jamie's silence was not meant out of malice, but rather ignorance." Nox said, breaking the silence. "I am not defending or condoning his silence on the matter, but he honestly did not think the wildfire to be an issue after a certain amount of time had passed. If he truly had thought the wildfire to be a substantial threat, he would've never allowed his sister, the Queen, to stay so close to the danger."
"There is also Lord Tywin to consider as well," the Master of Coin spoke up. "The crown owes the Lannisters a not so inconsequential sum of gold. Should anything happen to Lord Tywin's eldest son, there is a good chance Lord Tywin will not only call for a repayment of the debt, but also a prohibition on future loans. And those would be the lightest of reactions from the old lion, I fear."
"We can just dismiss him from the Kingsguard," Renly shrugged. "There are others who would be more than qualified to take his place. I can even give you a few recommendations."
That idea though was quickly shut down by Ser Barristan, who was standing just behind the King. "No man has ever been dismissed from the Kingsguard, Lord Renly. Our oaths are for life."
"And a dismissal from the Kingsguard would allow Lord Tywin to reinstate Ser Jamie as his heir of Casterly Rock," the Master of Whispers, Varys, stated correctly. "Such a move could be seen by many as a reward, not a punishment."
"Bah," Robert growled. "Can't kill the fucker, can't dismiss him from the Kingsgaurd, and we can't send him to the fucking Wall or Tywin would ensure he'd never make it there and he'd be in Essos before we knew about it. Hmm…Sorcerer. Back on Pyke, you left a lasting message on the squids. I think the same message needs to be sent here. That gold haired fuck kept silent for thirteen years…One lash for each year of his silence. I'll see to his punishment personally just to make sure the message is received. And if the queen bitch argues against it, I'll use a fucking iron whip. Anything else?"
"There is one more thing, your grace," Jon Arryn said, stopping Robert who was in the process of getting out of his chair. "One of the prisoners taken by…Lord Nox is a Septon. And I've received word from the High Septon wishing for his release into the custody of the Faith so that they might deal with him."
Nox would've rolled his eyes had he still the ability to do so. "In other words, the Faith doesn't want it to become known to the people that one of their own was supporting a slavery operation and was caught while balls deep in a young boy's ass. He broke several laws, most of which carry a death sentence. Why should the king even think of handing the man over when he was caught red handed?"
His comment drew a hard look from the Hand of the King. "Lord Nox, I understand that matters of the Faith might be handled differently in your homeland, but this is Westeros. Special consideration must be given to those who have sworn themselves to the Faith."
"Why?" Nox questioned, focusing on Jon Arryn. "Men and women of the Faith need to be held up as an example to the people. Not an exception. You hand him over, and the Faith will probably make him do some menial form of 'penance' by praying or whatnot and then send him away from the city with little more than a slap on the wrist and a 'don't do this again'."
"Lord Nox speaks true," Stannis nodded, throwing his voice behind Nox. "The man was caught in the act of raping a child while also supporting the operations of slavers. The law is very clear on what must happen now. Death or the Wall."
"He broke his oaths to the Faith with his actions," Ned added in, nodding with Stannis. "The punishment is clear. No matter be he noble, of the Faith, or smallfolk. The sentence is the same."
The Hand quickly looked towards the rest of the Small Council, trying to find some sort of support. But he was met with blank looks from both Varys and Baelish, neither of whom seemed particularly interested in the subject, and an unsure look from Renly. Seeing he was outnumbered, Lord Arryn sighed and backed down. "I will speak with the High Septon personally and try to…calm the fallout from this."
"Bah, if that fat fuck has any problems with a rapist and slaver losing his head, he can come to me directly," Robert scoffed, slapping his hand down on the table and rising, prompting everyone else to rise to their feet as well, "Enough counting fucking coppers for one day. Tell Payne to get his sword ready and get some fucking spikes set as well. We'll be decorating the walls with a few new heads tomorrow."
With the King's departure, the rest of the Small Council quickly filed out of the room. Renly was the first to leave with Loras right behind him, followed quickly by Baelish and Varys. Jon Arryn was slower to leave, and as he did Nox could sense the uneasy look he gave him as he passed.
"Lord Nox, Lord Stark. A moment if you would," Stannis said as Nox and Ned prepared to leave as well.
Sharing a look with Ned, the two men sat back down at the Small Council table with Stannis. "I have given the offer you presented to myself and my daughter back on Dragonstone serious thought, sorcerer," Stannis said emotionlessly. "And I have decided to take you up on the offer to train my daughter in the ways of your…magic. And I would have her leave with you and Lord Stark when you leave King's Landing."
'Another new acolyte, and one that is powerful. Excellent.' Nox thought, resisting the urge to smirk yet another piece started to fall into place. "As you wish, Lord Stannis. I will ensure that your daughter receives the best education in the ways of the Force."
"I will also send word to my daughter Sansa in Winterfell to begin preparing chambers for Lady Shireen as well," Ned added in. "I assure you, Lord Stannis, that while your daughter is in the North, I will care for her as if she were my own daughter."
"See that you do, Lord Stark," Stannis said, rising to his feet. "Lord Nox, I expect regular updates on my daughter's progress under your tutelage."
"And you shall have them," Nox reassured the man. "There is one more item I would wish to discuss with you. A matter of trade. There is a mineral that I am interested in obtaining. And I believe Dragonstone, due to it's volcanic nature, is an ideal location for mining of the mineral."
Stannis looked more than slightly intrigued. It was no state secret that Dragonstone offered little in forms of trade. So to discover that his island potential had a resource Nox wanted was tempting. "And what mineral do you wish to trade for?"
"Sulfur. Or rather brimstone as you might know it by," Nox answered, which garnered little more than a raised brow from Stannis. "Other's may not find much use for it. But I have a few projects that I believe it can be of use in."
Stannis thought the offer over for a minute before nodding his head. "I will send a raven to my steward to begin the mining process. Further details on the value can be discussed once the first shipment has arrived in the North. If that is all, I would spend this remaining time with my daughter. Lord Stark. Lord Nox."
Once they were alone, Ned sat back in his seat clearly deep in thought. "I will have to adjust how we will be traveling back North. We did not set out with the mindset that we would be taking a child back with us to the North."
"More than one," Nox countered, getting up from his seat and approaching the window that overlooked the sprawling landscape that was King's Landing. "There are a number of Force sensitives in this city. Some with only a glimmer of power. Others with a decent amount. And a select few that could potentially rival your own children, Stark. And it would ill-behoove us to leave such talent wasting away in this place without proper guidance."
Ned's impatience at wanting to return home started to seep out of the man. It was a feeling that Nox could understand. After all, he too was anxious to return to the North and to his wife. And they weren't the only ones. The other North lords and lady that'd accompanied them from the North were starting to grumble about wanting to return to their keeps. With or without the Starks as traveling companions.
"You have until the end of the week to find them," Ned said as he got up from his seat. "If they are not located and with us by then, then they will be left behind. And try to limit how many you bring back with us. With your aid the resources at Winterfell have grown substantially, but they are not limitless."
"Of course," Nox agreed, prompting Ned to nod back and then leave the room. Once alone, Nox allowed his head to roll back as he turned his body towards the back of the room. "I'm not one that enjoys being spied upon, Lord Varys."
There was a moment of silence before a small section of the wall moved, revealing a passageway which the Master of Whispers used to reenter the room. The man was a wall who kept his face impassive and his emotions well in check, but it was easy enough to tell that Varys, while he didn't despise Nox, was very much uneased when the two were together.
"Forgive the intrusion, Lord Nox," Varys said, his hands folded together and masked by the sleeves of his robes.
"If you truly hadn't meant to intrude or if you were sorry for it, you wouldn't have been spying on the three of us in the first place." Nox countered, returning to the Small Council table and motioning for Varys to retake his seat as well.
Smiling, Varys took the offered seat while taking care to arrange his clothes in a very specific manner as he sat down. "Ah, but I am the Master of Whispers. If I have no whispers to hear or speak of, then I would be a very poor Master of Whispers."
"True," Nox conceded. "Yet are you lucky that the discussion with Stannis and Ned was not supposed to be one that was kept quiet. Had it been, then I would've snapped your neck in your hiding place and left you to rot."
To his credit, Varys didn't seem phased at all by the threat. No doubt he received similar threats almost daily considering his position in the court. "I see you take after Lord Stark in your hatred of the game. A mentality that I fear will do you no good should you wish to venture outside the North, my friend."
"Is it any wonder as to why Lord Stark doesn't care for your 'game'?" Nox asked. "He lost his father, brother, and sister to the game. And as for myself…well. What you call your 'game' or 'great game' or 'game of thrones' or whatever you wish to call it, I have another name for it. Child's play."
That got Varys's attention. "You find the game…childish?"
"In comparison to the strata of Sith politics that I am used to dealing with? Yes. You may think you know what it means to play 'the game' against one like myself, Lord Varys. But I can assure you, you don't."
"I see," Varys responded, leaning back. "If I might, my Lord, may I pose a riddle to you? One that I often like to ask those who are players in the game. A sellsword stands between a King, a rich man, and the High Septon with a sword in hand. The King orders the sellsword to cut the other two men down and promises him positions of power. The rich man offers the sellsword double his weight in gold to cut the other two down. And the High Septon promises the man eternal peace with the gods in the afterlife should hecut the other two down. Who does the sellsword kill?"
Smirking, Nox could only shake his head. "Again, child's play, Varys. It's a trick question. The sellsword will take the offer of the one who aligns with his values the most. Or rather, power resides where men believe it resides. And each person you ask will give a different answer, and their answer will give you an insight into how their minds work. A clever way to set the game board to favor yourself, Varys. But as I said, mere child's play when compared to Sith politics."
Varys's face remained blank as he gave him a single nod. "Well spotted, Lord Nox. Perhaps your skill in the game will offset Lord Stark's lack of willingness to play."
"Time will tell, Varys. Time will tell," Nox stated as he got up from his seat and made to leave. "Oh, and by the way, Varys. You might want to get that boil on your inner thigh taken care of before it festers and ruptures. And if you want to keep them from coming back, I advise that you try and loose a bit of weight or wear something that will prevent your thighs from rubbing against one another."
Varys froze for but a moment before he nodded his head. "I see…Well played, Lord Nox. I have a feeling that your position in the future will make the game quite interesting indeed."
'Child's play, Spider. Simple child's play,' Nox thought as he walked out of the Small Council chambers, leaving the Master of Whispers to wonder just how he managed to know something of such a personal nature that Varys had only discovered this very morning.
Ignoring the sounds of whores applying their trade, Petyr Baelish the Master of Coin to 'King' Robert Baratheon first of his name, made his way through his largest establishment without acknowledging any of the whores or patrons who crossed his path. Entering his own private sanctum, Petyr immediately shut the door behind him and rest his back against the door. It took a conscious effort on his part to raise his right hand and unclench his fist, and as he did so he noticed four small punctures in the palm of his hand that'd been caused by his own nails. An effect of having to bear sitting in the same room as Stark and Nox. The only reason why he hadn't attempted to kill either of the two was because he knew it would be a fool's errand. The wolves and the sorcerer had just survived an assassination attempt and had uprooted a conspiracy amongst the Maesters, which meant that both were on edge and on careful watch for any assassination attempts. They would die, but not yet.
Pushing himself off the door, Petyr crossed his lavish office and dropped heavily into the feathered stuffed chair he'd purchased from Pentos for a King's ransom. Many would, and did, envy his position. He had come from next to nothing and acquired a fortune to rival even the greatest of Houses in Westeros. He was own of nearly seventy-five percent of the brothels in King's Landing alone. And he was Master of Coin. Yet still, all his accomplishments had only a single goal in mind. Reaching a point where he could have his beloved Cat by his side. And now, now that goal was gone forever. And all his accomplishments and plots and plans meant next to nothing.
'Fucking Starks,' Baelish fumed, taking a breath as his anger, now free to roam, began to get the better of him. 'It was bad enough when Brandon Stark was supposed to take my love away from me. And with his death there was hope that Cat would be mine…but then Eddard Stark took her from me on the command of Hoster Tully who sold her like a fucking broodmare instead of the queen she truly was. Then she was forced to rot away in that cold hell for years while pumping out wolf pups. And now, right when my plans were about to start, she gets taken away from me! Again!'
The day Petyr learned of Cat's death was the day that he died as well. All of his hopes and dreams for the future meant nothing if Cat was not by his side. 'Stark, Nox, Tully, Baratheon, Arryn, Lannister…hell even the Tyrells I hold responsible for her death!' Petyr thought, his anger mounting as he thought of each of the 'Great Houses' that were responsible for taking his Catelyn away from him. 'They will all pay. I will make sure of it.'
Leaning back, Petyr began playing out several fantasies in his mind revolving around the destruction of each of the Great Houses of Westeros. Of the country falling into pure and unadulterated chaos. And of him climbing the ladder of the chaos to reach the top and watch as the realm that'd scorned and taken everything from him burned to dust. But as pleasing as the fantasy was, he knew that there were many obstacles that stood in his path. Namely the Old Lion, the Queen of Thrones, the Crippled Prince, the Old Falcon and the most dangerous of the lot…the Northern Sorcerer. Only a fool would take on even of those five let alone all of them. And he was no fool. He would not 'face' them. Instead, he would arrange it so that they faced each other. And destroyed each other.
And he was already on his way to achieving that goal. While the wolves and the sorcerer might have brought a time of 'justice' to King's Landing, they did so like a battering ram. And in doing so made more than a few enemies. And power enemies at that. All he needed to do was to stroke the fires of their hatred to the point where it became an inferno that non could control.
And while he set the foundation in place, he would have time to solve the riddle that was the removal of the sorcerer. If even half of what he was heard was true, the man was a one-man walking army unto himself. Conventional means of defeating him would not work. His fall would not be on the battlefield. But he did have a weakness. His wife. A common girl. One that could be exploited in much the same manner as had already happened. And despite his prowess, the man's magic was not infallible. Trant's death, while unfortunate because it meant that he had lost an easy pawn that was close to the King, did bring about one useful piece of information. And that was that the sorcerer could not read minds directly, but he could sense a person's desires or their hate.
With that in mind, Petyr had been working very carefully to keep himself completely calm and devoid of all emotion whenever he was within the vicinity of the sorcerer. And it seemed to have worked. The blind sorcerer seemed completely ignorant of his existence even though he was standing just a few paces from him. Was it truly that simple? That one needed to simply abandon all emotion to become a blind spot in the man's vision? He doubted that it was that simple, but it was a start none the less.
Grabbing a quill, ink and his private book that he hid in a compartment under his desk, Petyr began writing down a list of all of those that would gladly see to the sorcerer's demise. 'Once the sorcerer falls, the rest will fall with him,' he thought with a smile as he began writing down the enemies the sorcerer had made in his years since coming to this land. 'It shouldn't take much to get them to work together towards the common goal of ending the sorcerer and his line permanently. And who knows, if Nox is as slightly capable as I believe him to be, then he will be able to take down more than a few of my other advisories on his was down.'
The Street of Steel within King's Landing was without a doubt a place that earned its name. The street ran from Fishmonger' Square and climbed up one of the three hills, Visenya's Hill, that the city was built on until it reached the steps of the Great Sept of Baelor and was littered with smith's and metal workers for nearly its entire length. And while some might not notice the hierarchy in place, it was obvious to Nox that the better the smith, or rather the more expensive the cost of one's services, the higher up the hill they were placed. And like many of the streets scattered throughout King's Landing, the Street of Steel was a hive of activity with so many people milling about that one could hardly take a few steps without bumping shoulders with someone.
Not that Nox had that problem as the denizens of King's Landing seem to be doing all in their power to stay out of their way, though not all had the same reason for doing so. He could feel genuine awe and admiration from some with a brave few even working up the courage to come forth and show him respect by bowing to him or offering words of blessing. But for most, their fear drove them from his path. Feared what he was, what he could do and what he had done since arriving in this city. While he could, and did, enjoy the simple no-nonsense lifestyle of the North, it was refreshing to once again be able to part a sea of people just by walking down a street.
It'd been over a week since they'd first arrived in King's Landing, and to say that their arrival had shaken things up would be an understatement. The day after Nox had berated Renly and Loras in the Small Council chambers all of the prisoners that'd been caught during the raiding of the slaver's bases along with Grand Maester Pycelle and the fallen Kingsgaurd Meryn Trant were brought out before the people of King's Landing and executed by the King's Justice, Ser Ilyn Payne. The foreign slavers didn't put up any resistance as they were forced down onto the block, they knew the price of being caught and knew that it was futile to try and escape their fate. The same though could not be said for the former Kingsguard, Pycelle or the Septon that'd been caught with the slavers.
Pycelle had broken down and was begging for his life and swearing his undying devotion to the crown even as he was being forced down onto the block. His pleas fell on death ears as Payne calmly stepped up and, with a nod from the King, severed the old man's head from his shoulders with a single blow. Trant had been next, and while the man had managed to keep a bit more dignity than Pycelle, he still cried out one last plea for mercy from the King before his head was removed. The last to be executed was the Septon that'd been caught with the slavers. And it was his death that caused more than a slight stir amongst those present to watch. The man went to his death with his head bowed low and mumbling a constant stream of prayers that was only ended when Payne's sword sliced clean through his neck.
The executions were quickly followed up by Ser Jamie Lannister being brought out before the people. He was stripped of his armor and secured to a post in the middle of the courtyard in front of the Red Keep. Then with all to see and hear, Robert loudly proclaimed that Jamie had known about the wildfire caches stored away by the Mad King and had for thirteen years kept quiet on the subject, putting everyone who lived in the city at risk. He then proclaimed that as punishment for his inactions, Jamie would be lashed thirteen times, once for every year of his silence. And perhaps most surprising, Robert declared that he would be the one to hold the whip. Despite his lack of physical activity, the King was still deceptively strong. And he proved it then as each last of the whip against Jamie's flesh was enough to tear it. And once the last lash had been delivered blood was freely flowing down his back and legs and Jamie could barely hold himself upright and had to be dragged by to the Red Keep by no less than three Lannister guards with the Queen immediately trialing behind them, her eyes burning with hatred as she glared at the King while she passed him by.
After the executions and whipping, things started to settle down slightly. All traces of the slavery operation within King's Landing were gone. The barrels of wildfire were still being disposed of at night by taking them far outside the city and igniting them, a process that would take months or perhaps years considering just how many barrels of the shit was beneath the city. Which meant that, with those two tasks handled and being handled, Nox had quite a bit of time on his hands. Time which he intended to use wisely, hence why this very morning he had awoken his apprentice at the crack of dawn and told him that they were going hunting in the city.
"Master," Jon said from his place just behind him as the two were nearly to the top of Visenya's Hill with the Great Sept of Baelor coming into full view. "I – I can sense…something nearby. No. Someone. A force sensitive. But, untrained."
"Good," Nox nodded, knowing exactly what it was that Jon was sensing seeing as how it was why the two were even out here in the first place. "You're learning. Now watch and learn further as we collect our newest acolyte."
Following one of the many force presences he'd sensed within the city, Nox led the two of them to the last blacksmith shop on the Street of Steel just before the towering Great Sept of Baelor. The shop was massive in comparison to the ones that came before, showing off the wealth and prestige of this smith. The double doors were composed of weirwood and ebony if he had to guess and were carved with an intricate scene depicting a hunt. And on either side of the entrance were two stone knights fully suited in stone armor that were designed to mimic the likeness of a griffon and unicorn.
Pushing open the doors, Nox felt the heat of the smithery wash over him as the steady rhythm of a hammer on metal reached his ears. "Welcome, milords," a young girl who was standing behind a counter spoke up the moment the two entered the shop. "If you are here to request an order, then I – I – by the Seven! You – One moment, milord!"
The girl all but bolted from her spot behind the counter and disappeared behind a curtain leading deeper into the shop. "Um, does that happen often, Master?" Jon asked, looking more than slightly confused at the curtain the girl disappeared behind.
"Only when one's reputation proceeds them," Nox answered as he made his way towards one of the display walls were a variety of daggers, short swords and pieces of armor were put up for sale.
None of the weapons or armor displayed were of remarkable quality, they were good, but they were clearly not this smith's best work. Those pieces were no doubt kept safe until they could be brought out to be shown off to potential customers who could afford the man's best work. Though, despite the quality of the weapons displayed, there was one that caught his eye, so to speak. On the surface it didn't look special, merely a well-made dagger with a hand-length straight edge and no identifying markers. But it was what couldn't be seen that drew his attention to the dagger. The faintest of traces of the Force laid within the cold metal blade. Echoes of both the light and the dark side of the Force.
"Lord Nox, this is a great honor to have one such as yourself as a patron. I am the master of this forge, Tobho Mott."
Turning his attention from the dagger, Nox focused on Tobho Mott. The man was a quintessential blacksmith. A black velvet coat hung over his shoulders and open just enough to reveal the heavy leather underneath that protected him from the heat of the forge. His bald head and face were spotted with sweat and soot while his greying beard was singe in sporadic places from the embers of the steel. "Master armor," Nox nodded in greeting, "Your reputation proceeds you. And from what I can see so far, it is a reputation that is indeed well earned."
"Thank you, my Lord. Your reputation proceeds you as well, my Lord. King's Landing has been all abuzz since you're and the North's arrival to the Red Keep. But enough flattery, this is a shop, my lord, and I am a busy man. I doubt you have need of a sword, given the tales of the blade you carry. Are you in need of new armor? The people compare you to the Stranger himself… Hmm, I could fashion a set of armor in its likeness for you. Yes, armor so terrifying and realistic that children would run in fear just at the sight of you."
"Tempting, especially seeing some of your work here," he said, motioning towards a midnight black pair of gauntlets that were covered in red markings and spikes.
The offer was tempting. After all, Sith armor was more than just a means of defense. It was also meant to intimidate one's foes. And while the armor he wore upon arriving in this world would not show its age for some time yet, he was interested to see just what this man could create for him.
"You know quality when you see it, my lord," Mott said, picking up the gauntlets and holding them out for Nox to inspect. "I am the only armorer you will find in King's Landing and perhaps all of Westeros who can add such a tint to the metals without using paint. The pigments are infused during the forging process and will never fade until the metal does. But such work does have it's costs my lord. But I can guarantee you that the cost will be well worth my work."
"Good," Nox nodded as he ushered Jon forward. "This is Jon Stark, newly legitimized son of House Stark and my Apprentice. I want to see what you can do for him on a limited timetable. Gauntlets, vambraces, reembraces and perhaps even shoulder pauldrons so long as he can keep full mobility of his armor movements. And seeing as how he's still young and has room to grow, they'll need to be easily adjustable in the future. "
Jon's head snapped towards him. His eyes wide in shock while Tobho merely grinned. "Ah yes, word has spread around the city about Lord Stark's bastard son being recently legitimized by the King himself after defeating a member of the Kingsguard during a Trial by Combat. And he is your Apprentice you say, Lord Nox? I take it that is something akin to a squire then. Hmm, yes…I believe that I can come up with something. Incorporate the wolves of the North and perhaps outlined in your House's colors, Lord Nox…Umm…Forgive me, Lord Nox. But I fear I do not know the colors of your House."
"Red on a field of black." Nox answered, drawing a quick look from Jon.
"Hmm, yes…Yes, that would do the trick. Black tinting with red and white accents…yes. Though I fear I do have many orders currently in process, my Lord. To get your order done quickly, I would have to disappoint a fair number of influential members of court that—"
Reaching into the folds of his robes, Nox pulled out a forearm length dagger made of Valyrian steel with a thumb sized ruby imbedded into the crossguard. "I believe that this will be more than enough to pay for the disappointment your other patrons will face when their orders are delayed by a few days."
Taking the offered dagger, Tobho carefully inspected the blade and the ruby in the hilt before giving it an approving nod. "A fine piece. No need to melt it down and re-forge it in order to sell it. No doubt one you collected during your now infamous expedition, Lord Sorcerer. Well, lad, hold your arms out to the sides and let's get some measurements. Girl, bring the length rope."
Standing back, Nox remained silent as he watched Tobho take a length of rope and begin the process of measuring Jon's arms from every conservable angle while the serving girl quickly wrote down each measurement as the master armorer read them off.
"There, that is all I require from you, lad," Tobho said, handing the rope back off to the serving girl who made a hasty retreat. "Give me a few days and your order will be ready."
"Good," Nox nodded before pointing towards the dagger on the wall that'd caught his eye. "And out of curiosity, this dagger here. It was not forged by your hand, was it?"
Tobho hesitated as he saw the dagger Nox was talking about. "You…would be correct, Lord Sorcerer. That blade was forged by one of my apprentices."
Nodding, Nox stood before the dagger, giving it his full attention. "He went through several iterations, each one you thought was sellable, but he scrapped each one because they didn't 'feel' right."
He now had the smith's undivided attention as the man started oozing unease. "Aye…You are correct, Lord Sorcerer…but how—?"
"I would like to meet the one who forged this dagger," Nox stated plainly, turning towards Tobho. "I have no ill intent towards your apprentice nor towards yourself, Mott. He has merely piqued my curiosity, that is all."
Mott still didn't seem to fully trust him, or at least he was suspicious of his motives. But the man showed he had more sense then most as he nodded and moved towards the back of the shop. "Gendry! Get up front now. There's someone who wants to speak with you."
A young boy, perhaps on age with Jon or a year younger at most, came forward from the back of the shop. Just like Mott, the young lad was wearing a thick leather apron and his skin was covered in sweat and soot from the forge. But that was where the similarities ended. Despite being at age or younger than Jon, this new boy was easily a head taller and broader than his Apprentice and was built like a dreadnaught despite his age. And his features were…reminiscent of the King Robert. Though he looked more like the youngest Baratheon, Renly. There was some sort of family relation there. One that he would have to investigate when time permitted. But honestly, that was but a secondary thought to him. His primary thoughts were centered around the fact that the boy before him was quite powerful in the Force.
"Master…um…milord," the boy, Gendry, greeted him awkwardly, seeming to find his shoes and the dirt on the floor quite interesting.
"This is Lord Nox, boy, the Northern Sorcerer," Tobho introduced him, causing the boy, who was on height with Nox, to shrink in a bit on himself. "He wishes to speak with you about your work."
Holding out his hand, Nox wordlessly summoned the dagger through the air without saying a word. "This is your work, is it not?" he asked rhetorically, not waiting for an answer before continuing. "An interesting piece. To the normal eye, it would seem just like any other dagger. But not to mine. You spent quite a lot of time making and remaking this dagger, never quite finding it just right. Until your last attempt your anger started to get the better of you. Frustration over the flaws you saw that no one else could clouded your sight and you hammered without thought or reason. Beating the metal into submission, bending it to your will and forcing it to take the design that you wanted. And then, as if it were by an act of magic, the dagger was finished. And the flaws you saw were gone, though no one else seemed to quite understand why you thought this iteration was better than your previous works. Am I right so far?"
The boy's nervous disposition faded, replaced with confusion as his eyes widened as he stared at Nox. "Umm, yes, milord. You're right."
"Of course I am," Nox said without hesitation. "Tell me, have you ever known that something was going to happen before it happened? Have you ever moved your hand just before a hammer fall could strike it without even seeing the blow coming? And mostly, when you hold this dagger you made, can you feel the life within calling out to you?"
Gendry was looking more and more uncomfortable with each word he spoke. "Um, I –"
"I'll take that as a 'yes' as well," Nox nodded, already knowing the answer. "I'm going to be honest, and blunt with you, young man. You can manipulate the Force, just like myself and my apprentice here. Though unlike my apprentice and I, your abilities have manifested in a rather unique way. You use the Force to guide your hands while you work, and in doing so you saturate the metal with the Force creating something that, while not quite to the level of Valyrian steel, is definitely above the grade of normal forged steel."
Gendry looked positively shocked, his mouth hanging open slightly as he stared at Nox. Tohbo however, Nox could see the gears turning in the man's head as he was no doubt working out the best way to use Gendry's gifts to his advantage. "Now then, having said that you have two options, Gendry," Nox said, pressing on before either Gendry or Tohbo could say anything. "First, you can stay here in King's Landing and continue to work. You'll continue to learn under your Master here and you'll more than likely even start learning how to consciously use the Force in your crafting. And in a decade or so, you will perhaps take his place as the best smith in the city. You're second option is to come with me. I will teach you the ways of the Force, and how to incorporate your powers into your craft. And while I am no smith and cannot help you in that regard, there are others who can help you. And in time you will become both a warrior and a Forge Master, capable of creating weapons and armor that can rival even the best of Valyrian steel and using them with a skill few possess. Make your choice, Gendry. And know that I do not offer my hand twice."
Gendry's mouth hadn't closed, if anything it had only dropped lower by the time Nox had finished speaking. Tobho though was obviously very conflicted. If Gendry stayed with him, he could take credit for training the boy and make quite the profit off him. But if Gendry stayed, his work would be nowhere near where it could be. "Close your damn mouth, boy," Mott sighed, coming to a decision. "And pack your bags, Gendry. You'll be leaving with the sorcerer to head North with him."
Gendry spun and faced the master armorer. "But – Master Mott, I, what of my appr –"
"This man can teach you far more than I can, as much as it pains me to admit," Mott sighed. "You have a gift, lad. I've always known this. Now we know just what that gift is. And it is a gift that I cannot help you cultivate. Go with the sorcerer, learn what you can. And once he's finished teaching you what he knows, come back and my doors will be open for you to complete your apprenticeship."
The young lad's head snapped back and forth between Nox and Tobho several times as he tried to come to grips with what was being presented to him. "I – Milord, I –"
"I have much patience, Gendry, but it is not infinite," Nox stated, to which he could've sworn he heard Jon scoff silently at. "It's a simple offer requiring a simple response. Will you come North? Yes, or no?"
Closing his eyes, Gendry breathed deep, his large chest moving and straining the thick leather covering him. When he opened his eyes again, Nox could see the determination in them and knew that he had his answer. "Yes, milord. I will come with you. But I cannot leave my work half done."
"Of course, you can't," Nox nodded. "You have until we leave the city. When we leave, you will either be with us, or this offer will be closed to you permanently."
"I will be there, milord," Gendry said with conviction.
"Good," Nox smirked as he turned to the master armorer, "Master Tobho, Jon and I will be back to collect his armor pieces in a few days' time."
"Of course, my lord," Tobho said, bowing his head slightly. "I thank you for your patronage, my lord."
With nothing more to be said, Nox turned and made his way quickly out of the shop, leaving Jon hurrying to catch up with him. "Master," Jon said lowly once the two were out of the shop. "That…That wasn't like you."
"How so?" Nox asked, curious for Jon's supposed insight.
"You're not one to leave a potential resource behind, Master. You've told Robb and I that enough and shown it frequently as well," Jon said factually. "Back there, though…Gendry, he has the Force and you – you were going to let him not join us? That is—was—unlike you, Master."
Shaking his head, Nox begun homing in on the next significant Force presence he could sense in the city. It was faint, but dense. A young one. And a powerful one at that. "If that is the way it seemed to you, my Apprentice, then you were clearly not paying close enough attention. There was no way that Gendry was not going to be joining us. The offer was too good to pass up. And even if he wavered, the armorer Mott would've pushed him out the door after us."
"Why?" Jon questioned as the two resumed walking through the crowded streets.
"Because as Gendry gains prestige, so too shall he. Especially if Gendry's skill as a forger grows to the level's I predict they can."
Jon stared off into the crowd, pondering what he'd said. "Tobho Mott, as the first to take Gendry under his tutelage will be able to claim him as his student, even when he is in the North. And if Gendry becomes as skilled as you believe…then the nobles of the land will be seeking out Mott even more then they already do because he can be credited for training Gendry in the art of forging. Which means that the moment you made the offer, you already knew it was going to be accepted."
Smirking, Nox nodded. "As whole, people are simple. Study them carefully, learn what motivates them, and you will be able to correctly guess which actions they will take. Both on the field of battle and in the ring of politics. Now, there is another that I am very, very interested in. Their presence is small, yet dense. Search the city and find the disturbance, then lead the way."
Nodding, Jon gained a far-off look in his eye as he stared straight ahead. Slowly, his Apprentice began turning slightly until he was facing towards the presence Nox had indicated. "This way," Jon said confidently, leading the two of them through the crowded busy streets.
It took the two of them nearly half the day to track the presence down, but as the sun began to set, they finally managed to locate the one they were searching for. Within a brothel of all places. The brothel stood two stories tall with leaded windows to prevent any from peaking inside and getting a free show. The girls that stood just outside the entrance were scantily dressed in flowing silk robes that were cinched at the waist and left very little to the imagination. To his credit, Jon didn't hesitate or blush or even look at the girls twice as the two of them stepped into the brothel, the smell of flowers and perfume so powerful in nearly caused Nox to sneeze.
"Well, well, this is a pleasant surprise," a sultry voice floated towards them almost as soon as the door shut behind the two of them.
The speaker was a dark-skinned woman with a thick and sultry ooze whose every move screamed seduction. "We here at Chataya's have serviced many a fine Lord and Lady. Even the King himself has named my home as his favorite in the city. Yet we have never had the…pleasure of having a sorcerer, the sorcerer, in our midst. I can assure you, my lord sorcerer, you have chosen very wisely. My girls will ensure that you and your…young companion here will leave more satisfied then you have ever been in your entire life. And if none meet your expectations, then I shall personally see to your satisfaction."
"A tempting offer, madam. But I fear that should I partake in the pleasures of the flesh without my wife present to do the same, she would serve me my balls on a silver platter."
The madam, he presumed to be Chataya, smiled sensually at him. "I see, that is a pity then. But when you return with your wife, come again and we will see that the both of you are thoroughly satisfied. But if not for you, then perhaps you wish to have one of our girls spend some time with your young companion then? There is, after all, no better gift one can gift another other than an evening with one of my girls."
That caused Jon to stiffen, in more ways than one. "Alas, I fear young Jon Stark here has his heart set on another for his first time."
The name 'Stark' caused Chataya's brows to raise, but when she realized just what he'd said, her friendly demeanor faded slightly. "Then if you are not here to find your relief, then I must ask for you to make way for those who are, my lord sorcerer. Time, even time spent talking, is coin."
Reaching to one of his coin purses he had on his person and tossed the leather pouch to the madam, who caught it with an expert's skill and quickly gave it a shake to verify its contents. "There is a child in this establishment. I would meet with the child and its mother to discuss a few things."
Chataya's eyes narrowed as suspicion flared within her. "Mhaegen!"
A young girl wearing a mostly transparent yellow silk dress quickly rose from one of the couches nearby and sauntered over towards them. "Yes madam?
Tucking the purse into her own dress, Chataya nodded towards Nox and Jon. "This is the Northern Sorcerer, Lord Nox. And this is Jon Stark…I presume the newly legitimized bastard son of Lord Stark. They wish to have words with you…and your daughter."
Fear spiked within the girl as her eyes widened. "Um, of – of course milord. Please – um…this way."
Keeping a slight distance from the girl as to try and calm her, Nox and Jon followed the young whore into the back portion of the brothel where it looked like a few of the whores lived when they were not applying their trade. Leading them back to one of the rooms, the young woman opened the door and stepped in. The small apartment within was sparsely decorated with only a bed, a dresser, a small cradle near the bed and a rocking chair that was currently being occupied by a second young woman who was holding a bundle in her arms and singing softly.
"Thank you for watching her, Yaya," Mhaegen greeted the other young woman before taking the small bundle from the dark-skinned young woman. "Milord, sorcerer…This is Alayaya, daughter of Chataya. Alayaya this…this is Lord Nox and Lord Jon Stark. They – They wish to see my daughter."
"Ma'am," Nox greeted the young woman by inclining his head.
The young woman rose from the chair, suspicion screaming with each move she took. "My lords," Alayaya returned their greeting with a crisp accent.
Paying the daughter of the madam no further mind, Nox approached the only slightly shaking Mhaegen as she held the young child in her arms. "This – This is my daughter, Barra," she said, turning just enough so that the child would be in his view.
The action wasn't needed though as Nox already knew everything that he needed to know. The dense Force presence he'd felt ever since arriving in this city was coming from this child, who could only be a month old at best. For her to hold such a presence at such a young age…she was something special. It would still take some time for her powers to truly mature. But once they did, he could easily see her as becoming on par with Arya. Perhaps even Jon in terms of raw power.
"Interesting," Nox said quietly as he continued to carefully observe the young child.
"In – Interesting…milord?"
"Yes," Nox nodded to the young whore as he took a step towards her and her child, causing her to flinch in an involuntarily protective manner. "There is no reason for you nor your daughter to fear me, girl. I would risk no harm befalling your daughter. She is special, very special. It is still too early to tell the full extent…but there is no doubt in my mind that your daughter is powerful in the Force. Given time and training she could become a powerful Force Adept, a Sorceress. Perhaps even on par with myself."
Mhaegen's fear fled and Alayaya's suspicion vanished as each young woman turned and stared down at the child in wonder. "Are – Are you certain, milord sorcerer?" Mhaegen asked, a desperate sense of hope filling her. A hope that her child would have a better life.
"I am," Nox nodded. "Despite being only a babe, her presence in the Force is incredible. With time and training, she will have few equals."
The young whore's face nearly split as she smiled lovingly down at the young babe in her arms. "I knew she was special, milord. A gift from the gods. After my time with – with her father, I took moon tea but—but the will of the gods would not be denied, and she began growing in my womb and I – I couldn't deny her life. I don't know why but – but I had to bring her into the world. Now I know why."
'It was not the gods who kept the child alive, but the Living Force,' Nox thought, his interest in the girl rising. 'There have been a few in the past who have survived the womb when they were not supposed to. And those few have left lasting marks on history. This girl will no doubt be one to do so as well.'
"I have an offer for you then, young Mhaegen," Nox said, drawing the girl's attention back to himself. "Young Barra here will need to be trained when she comes of age. To that, I extend the invitation to both yourself and your daughter to return North to Winterfell with myself and the Stark contingent when we leave in a few days' time."
"You – me…to the North?" Mhaegen asked incoherently while the young Alayaya watched on from near the back of the room, her eyes narrowing as she took in everything. 'A sharp mind there.'
"Yes," Nox answered simply. "Your daughter's power, or at least the power she will command when she comes of age, is nothing to scoff at. She has it within her to become one of the more powerful beings I have met since coming to this land. But she must be trained. There are none outside the North who can truly help your daughter reach her full potential. And unlike some Force sensitives that I share a distinct disagreement of philosophy on, I do not believe in separating a child from its mother. Especially a child so young. So, I'm offering you the chance to travel with us and find a new home in the North. It won't be an easy life. Despite your daughter's status, you will still have to work to make your way. But there is a brothel near Winterfell that sees a relatively brisk business. Or if you wish to find another path, I will personally see to your placement wherever you wish."
Mhaegen was struck silent, her mind unable to process just was being presented before her.
"Mhaegen," Alayaya said softly, walking towards her fellow whore. "Take the offer. You may act the part well, but I know you, I know what is in your heart. And this life, this life is not the life for you. Nor do you wish this life for your daughter. So, go. Go North and make a life for yourself and your daughter."
Tears started forming at the corners of the young whore's eyes as she nodded. "I – I accept, milord Sorcerer."
"Very well," Nox smirked, knowing that he had secured a very powerful future acolyte. "We will leave in a few days' time. Conclude whatever business you have before then. For it is doubtful that you will ever again return to this city."
Ignoring the cries of agony and pleas for mercy, Tywin Lannister watched dispassionately as the old Maester of Casterly Rock and his replacement were both slowly and methodically sliced by a team of butchers he'd brought up to the main keep. Tywin had given implicit instructions to the butchers that the men were to be carved up one piece at a time starting with their limbs and that they were to be kept alive as long as possible. And so far, the butchers had done exactly that. As he watched, one of the butchers finished severing what was left of the younger Maester's right leg from the rest of his body. The butcher then placed the portion of the severed limb onto a platter and handed it off to one of the guards, who then brought it over to a nearby cage where House Lannister had kept a pride of lions. The sigil of House Lannister eagerly licked the muzzles and fought against the bars of their cage as the guards threw the bloody pieces of the Maesters to them.
He did feel a slight pang in his chest as he heard the elder Maester cry out to him by name, but he crushed that pain immediately. The man had been a constant in his life ever since he had been but a boy. He had helped teach him and his siblings their letters and numbers. Had provided decent consul over the years. He had even seen to the birth and education of Tywin's own children. But he would not allow his sentiment for the man to overcome the fact that he was a traitor and the murderer of his wife Joanna by making sure that she did not survive the birthing of Tyrion.
Confident that the butchers were doing their work per his instructions, Tywin turned his back on the execution of the Maesters and traversed his way back through the halls of his home towards the small meeting chamber he'd had converted to a meeting hall when the small gatherings he'd had with Tyrion, Gerion, and Kevan became more frequent. Entering the small room, he found his son and brothers already seated along with his sister Genna.
"Sit," he said as the four started to rise to their feet while he made his way towards the chair reserved for him at the head of the table. "Tyrion, I assume we have received another raven from King's Landing."
"We have," Tyrion nodded, who'd taken up the task of dealing with the ravens after the Maesters' treachery had been revealed. Something which almost brought a smile to Tywin's face as he thought of Tyrion's struggle in trying to reach the ravens. "The wolves and the sorcerer have finally left King's Landing after delivering a rather rough paddling to those within the confines of the city. And Cersei is once more demanding that you head for King's Landing immediately to demand retribution for what happened to Jamie."
The thought of his first-born son and what he'd been hiding caused no small amount of rage within Tywin. Had his idiot son opened his mouth at the end of the Rebellion, then he would've been heralded as a hero and House Lannister's name would've been elevated to heights unseen since the founding of the Seven Kingdoms. But instead, Jamie had kept his mouth shut about the Mad King's last plan. And in doing so had put the entirety of King's Landing in harm's way. Including the royal family, the very foundation upon which House Lannister would create a legacy to last a thousand years. And now his son was stuck with that ridiculous moniker that followed him like a bad rash no matter what deed he did.
"The only reason I would go to King's Landing in regard to Jamie's punishment would be to see it revisited upon him several times over." Tywin stated coldly, eyeing Tyrion who he knew greatly looked up to his older brother. "And you will send a letter to Cersei stating exactly that. Gerion, is Joy ready to depart?"
Upon learning that the Stark bastard had a sword identical to Nox's, Tywin's intent to get one of his own under the tutelage of the sorcerer had intensified. Once Joy, or any other of the Lannister name, proved themselves worthy in the sorcerer's eyes he would no doubt grant them a blade as well. A blade that would then be promptly handed over to the Lannister main line. While Brightroar was still a tremendous find and a symbol of prestige, it was still but a child's toy when compared to these 'lightsabers' the sorcerer wielded.
"She is," his youngest brother nodded. "And she knows what your expectations are for her as well."
"Good," Tywin stated with a note of finality.
He knew that his brother did not like the idea of using his young daughter as a pawn, but that mindset only proved that while his brother had grown during his failed expedition to Valyria, he was still but a child. Wants and desires of the individual did not matter. All that mattered was the family name, for that was what lived on. And through Joy, House Lannister would be able to incorporate the sorcerer's powerful magic into their family line and be next to unrivaled.
"Did the sorcerer do anything else besides dealing with the wildfire caches before he left the city?" Tywin asked, very interested in what exactly the sorcerer had been up too during his brief stay in King's Landing.
Tywin was no fool. He knew that the sorcerer was ambitious and had plans to further his standing, though to what level was still unclear. But Tywin knew that one day he would have to face off against the man. Not on the battlefield of course. From what he'd seen of him, it would take nothing short of an entire army catching the man by surprise to even have the possibility of defeating him. No. Rather, this war he would wage against the sorcerer would be one fought with words and deeds. And he needed a solid foundation underneath him for when that confrontation came. A foundation that was now weakened with the loss of Pycelle.
"Beyond dealing with a group of slavers that'd somehow managed to take root in the city, no," Tyrion replied. "What information we have of his movements is limited at best. It is widely known however that when the Northerners left the city, they did so with the young Lady Shireen Baratheon riding along with them. Along with a handful of other smallfolk that'd once called King's Landing home."
Stannis's daughter going with the sorcerer was expected. The man would've been mad to not take the offer presented to him. But the fact that several smallfolk left with the northerners was concerning to him. After all, while he still found Stark predictable, the sorcerer was anything but. But while he was unpredictable, Nox was much like himself in that he never did anything without reason. There had to be some benefit towards House Nox to allow those smallfolk to follow them back North. "When you are in the North you will expend every effort to discover why Stark and Nox allowed those smallfolk to travel with them back to the North."
"Of course," Tyrion nodded before turning pensive. "And…if it turns out that those smallfolk who caught the eyes of the wolves and the sorcerer turn out to have the same power as themselves?"
It was a possibility and one of the few reasons why he could think of that would explain Nox's interest in them. "If they have the same power, you and Gerion are to do all in your power to discover their parentage in King's Landing."
If these individuals did indeed have the same power as Nox, which was a good possibility, there was opportunity to be gained. Not by trying to collect the individuals themselves, he had no means of training them. But rather he would go after their families. Arrange for better living conditions, positions within keeps perhaps even a marriage or two should the individual be of high enough status. He would allow Nox to train these individuals and make them strong. But in the end, he would be the one holding onto their leashes as he collected their families under his banner.
"There is much work to be done," he said, rising from his seat. "And you all have much work to do. Tyrion, Gerion. You two will set sail at first light for Winterfell and make sure Joy finds a place either by the sorcerer's side or within the Stark Household. Kevan, continue your work renovating some of the abandoned mining houses around the Rock for when they return with the North's improvements. And Genna, inform your husband to send a letter to his family. The Starks will no doubt be heading for Riverrun so that Lord Stark may pay his respects to his late wife's family and from there they will head North to the Twins. Inform the Freys that I will be most…displeased should they do anything to anger or delay the sorcerer and the wolves."
Olenna Tyrell had lived a long life. A very long life. One that had seen the fall of the Targaryen Dynasty and the rise of the Baratheon reign. She'd lived through the War of the Ninepenny Kings and survived escaping a betrothal to a Targaryen Prince when she was eight-and-ten. And now, she was the leader of the Reach in all but name. She had fought and clawed her way through everything the world had thrown at her and come out the other end stronger than ever. She'd negotiated trade deals. Arranged betrothals. Settled disputes both petty and significant. And she'd even arranged more than a few unsavory acts of murder and theft all in the name of keeping House Tyrell in power. And through it all she'd lived a life without regrets. Until now.
Overlooking the sprawling gardens that were scattered throughout Highgarden from the balcony connected to her private study, Olenna was overcome with the one feeling she hadn't felt in some time. Regret. But not regret that stemmed from actions that she'd taken. Quite the opposite as the regret that was currently gnawing away at her came about because of her inactions. Resisting the urge to smash her head against the stone walls of Highgarden, Olenna forced herself away from the pretty landscape below and back into her room so she could start thinking properly.
She'd blundered, though in her opinion that was far too soft of a word to describe it. She'd known about the Order of the Guiding Hand for years, ever since the Maester here in Highgarden had arranged for her late husband to have the riding accident that claimed his life, thereby setting up her oaf of a son to take over rulership of the Reach. But in her youth and arrogance instead of putting the man to death she had instead confronted him and turned him into one of her agents. It was her hope that through him she could gain control of the organization that was spread throughout Westeros and had the ear of every Lord and Lady in the land. She used the knowledge she had of the Maester's role in the death of her husband to gain control of him. His task was simple. He was simply to relay the plans the Order had regarding the other noble Houses to her so that she could take advantage of said plans. And for a time, it had worked. She'd managed to use the system the Order of the Guiding Hand had in place to help further the prosperity of the Tyrells and to ensure that their place as Wardens of the South and Lords of the Reach went unquestioned.
But now it had all come crashing down around her. Her little spy in the Order either hadn't informed her of the conspiracy against the Starks, or he hadn't known about it. Either way, he had utterly failed her and the task she had set before him. Had he informed her of the conspiracy, she could've curried much favor with not only the Starks, but the sorcerer and the entire North by revealing the plan to them and helping the wolves crush the dissenters within their ranks. But that was not what happened. Instead, the Maesters had incited an attempted coup of the North, a coup that failed epically. And then, they'd made the mistake of leaving a trail behind that the Starks followed right to their doorstep. And now the entire realm knew of the Order and the Lords and Ladies across Westeros were currently decorating their keeps with the heads of Maesters.
The exposure of the Order left her with another problem as well. She couldn't allow the fact that she knew about the Order to become general knowledge to the people. She could think of more than one upstart House that would try and use the knowledge to try and unseat House Tyrell from their place of power. Which was why she'd had Left and Right…encourage the Maester of Highgarden to down his entire supply of poisons before leaping out of his tower right onto a rather conveniently located rack of spears. But while she'd managed to cover her insight into the Order, the people of Westeros were still looking at House Tyrell and blaming them for the Maesters being able to act so brazenly right under their nose. They were the Wardens of the South after all, and the Citadel fell within their jurisdiction. It'd been their responsibility to watch over the Maesters, and they'd failed at that.
In time this whole debacle would be forgotten, but until then House Tyrell would have to be vigilant with their vassals. 'Gods, what a simplistic fool I was,' she cursed herself as her regret at having failed to act reared its ugly head once more. She should have just exposed the Order of the Guiding Hand the moment she learned of them and started decorating Oldtown with their heads. But no. She hadn't done that. Instead, she had tried to use them. And now the Starks and the Sorcerer were being heralded by the people for uncovering the conspiracy of the Maesters and cleaning up their mess. The 'Second Hour of the Wolf' the people were calling it, in reference to the first 'Hour of the Wolf' when Cregan Stark took over governance of King's Landing after the Dance of Dragons. And just like his ancestor had before him, Stark swept into King's Landing, oversaw and performed a few beheadings, and then left to head back North.
Unfortunately, her failure to take proper action against the Maesters was not her only blunder, or even the biggest of her blunders. No. That honor lied with her inaction in trying to coerce the Sorcerer to come south. She should've acted years ago when Mace had returned from the Greyjoy Rebellion with tales of a so-called 'sorcerer' in the employ of the Starks. But instead she simply assumed that, if the man was even half of what her oaf of a son claimed him to be, he would grow tired of the boring North and the Starks who were hosting him. After all, what was there in the North besides cold, snow, trees and constant threats from the Wildlings? She assumed that he would grow bored and eventually head south to seek his fortune, and when he did that was when she was planning on striking. Offering him a place of honor at Highgarden's court, perhaps even offering him a lady from the Tyrell family line to keep him here. But had he done that? No. In complete defiance of what she thought he'd do, he stayed in the North. And not only had he stayed put, but he had helped turn the North into a thriving land that while not quite at the level of wealth held by the Reach or the Westerlands, was far from being the poorest land in all of Westeros.
Looking down at her desk, she glanced over the pair of glass wine chalices that she'd had commissioned from the North. The cups themselves were in the shape of roses with the petals acting as the cup and a green stem below. The pieces were incredibly detailed to the point where they almost looked exactly like a rose. The man who'd made them even managed to tint the glass to give the peddles a light red coloring while the stem was a dark green. They'd cost a small fortune, but they were worth it to see just how truly talented these Northern glass smiths had become. And they were talented. It had only taken a few years, but now the North had completely replaced the Myrish as the principle supplier of glass in not only Westeros, but also the northern parts of Essos as well.
'If it was just glass they were making, I would be able to deal with that,' Olenna thought ruefully, sitting down and spying the next item on her desk, a bowl of exotic fruit grown in the North, and only in the North. 'But no. The sorcerer not only helped the North to create their glass trade, he also helped them set up numerous other ventures as well. New forms of alcohol. A way of copying books in days rather than weeks. New medicines that can even cure greyscale. New food stuffs unseen in all of Westeros. And a new place of learning…a place that will now surely see quite the uptake in members thanks to the actions of the moronic idiots in the Citadel.'
Forcing down thoughts of the Maester's once more, Olenna focused more at the problem at hand. Had she acted when she'd first learned of him, she could've enticed the sorcerer south and all the gifts he'd given House Stark and the North would belong to House Tyrell. But because she had hesitated, the North was now the primary recipient of the man's gifts. Hells, he'd even begun teaching the children of House Stark how to use his magic. And doing a damn fine job of it considering Eddard Stark's bastard son was able to handily defeat a member of the Kingsgaurd during a Trial by Combat. The man had even taken a northern woman as his wife. The fact that the girl was a former serving girl might be a fact that some houses would try to exploit to break their union, but that was a fool's errand. The girl, from the tales she'd been told, was said to be her northern equivalent. Which was something that would insult a lesser lady, but Olenna was not insulted. The girl had earned her place. And even if she wasn't born a noble, she now was one with her marriage to the sorcerer.
'He is a full Northerner now,' Olenna thought with dismay. 'With everything he has set up in the North, he will never leave. But, when the gods close one door, they open another. The sorcerer may be lost to House Tyrell, but the game is far from over.'
Pulling out several pieces of parchment, Olenna grabbed her ink well and best quill and started getting to work creating a few drafts. "Left," she called out, not bothering to raise her head from her work as she addressed her guards. "Wait until my son has finished stuffing his face and then bring him here. Right, see to the assembly of a proper escort for a long voyage and have the servants begin packing enough for several months. Shoo."
By the time her son finally arrived, Olenna had gone through no less than a dozen drafts of what she had been working on and two full ink wells. Pausing from her work, she took a moment to gaze at her son. Which proved to be a mistake as she couldn't contain her scoff. The Fat Flower he was called. And unfortunately, it was an apt name for her son. And it was a name that he had unfortunately done nothing to try and dismiss or counter. Thank the gods her grandchildren at least gave her hope for House Tyrell's future. Willias, despite his crippled leg, would make for an excellent future Lord Tyrell. Hells, if she could truly have her way, she would ship her son and his wife off to some villa in the hills and leave the two there until Willias could formally take over. Garlan was the Warrior reborn with Loras proving himself as well and aiding to repair relations between the Tyrells and Baratheons. Though she did wish he would do so without biting a pillow. And Margaery, her sweet flower, she carried with her the hopes and dreams of House Tyrell. And thank the gods that she had the mind and the body to see those dreams come true.
"Mother," her son greeted her, a food stain on his shirt directly below his mouth. "Was there something that you wis—?"
"Sit," Olenna commanded, pointing to the chair directly across from her as she slid the two finalized documents she'd spent all day drafting. "Sign these."
Frowning, Mace reached over for her quill before thinking better of it and reading what she'd handed him. 'At least not all of my lessons have been for not with him.' "Mother," Mace said, his brow furrowed as he read over the first document. "This is a…recruitment drive for the Night's Watch?"
"Congratulations, Mace, you have a pair of eyes and can use them," she scoffed.
The writ called for all the cells in the Reach to be emptied of all who were willing to take the Black. But that wasn't all it called for, otherwise she wouldn't have needed her son's name on it. It also called for every able-bodied man, young or old, to take the Black as well. And knowing how well that would go over, she added a clause that, pending on the man's age and ability, their family would be compensated a set amount of gold for them joining. An old man joining the Watch would give a family enough coin for a few years. A young man joining the Watch would earn his family enough coin to last a decade if spent wisely.
"This…This will put quite the dent in our coffers mother. And some of our vassals may not take heed of the writ given their own limited coffers." Mace stated, amazingly correct for once. "Why should we—?"
"Because while most of the kingdoms of Westeros find the Night's Watch to be little more than a penial colony to send our undesirables. The North find the place as one of honor and respect those who voluntarily take the Black. And given recent events with eyes towards the future, it would behoove us to curry some favor with the North." Olenna lectured her son. "And while this will hurt our coffers a touch, it is nothing that we will not be able to recover from in a few years."
Setting the parchment down, Mace scratched at his immaculately trimmed beard. Honestly, if the lad spent even half the time he spent in front of the mirror dedicated to his studies, then he could be an Archmaester by now. "But why should we care about gaining favor with the—?"
"What is this?" Olenna asked, pointing towards the twin wine glasses on her table.
"Umm, a pair of wine glasses."
"Very good. Now, where were they created?" she pressed, making her son squirm.
"The North."
"Good, now these?" she said, pointing towards the bowl of exotic fruit on her desk. "Where do these come from?"
"Um…?"
"The North as well," Olenna sighed. 'Honestly, he doesn't even realize which food comes from which province?' Reaching into her desk, she pulled out a small book and a flask of strong wine and set both on the desk before her. "I won't bother to ask this time, seeing as how you don't appear to know, but both of these also come from the North as well. Glass, ornate and practical. Strong wine and ale. New types of fruits and vegetables. And books. All coming from the North. Not the Reach. Not the Westerlands or any of the other kingdoms. Only the North. Now, tell me again why we shouldn't bother to try and gain favor with the North?"
Mace made to speak, but Olenna cut him off. "Have you looked at the taxes for the past year? The past three? No? Of course you haven't. Not unless they were written on a sweet roll. The North, while not our primary consumer of food, was second behind ourselves. But in the last few years the income from the North has been steadily declining. The glass gardens of Winterfell are numerous enough to feed the entirety of Winterfell on their own. And more and more glass gardens and farm steads are popping up all over the North, reducing their dependency on buying our crops. When they don't buy our crops, that means that our people don't get their coin. And if our people don't get their coin, then neither shall we through taxes. For too long the Reach has relied on the fact that we supply most of the food to the realm for our coin. Well, times have changed, and we need to change along with them. And what better example is there to emulate than the way the North has changed? Supplying men to the Night's Watch is a minor way to start getting into the North's good graces. The other is through this, which will also conveniently enough aid in our long-term goals."
Taking up the second piece of parchment, her son again read over its contents with wide eyes. "This…?! But I thought it was decided that—!"
"That is a betrothal contract, correct," Olenna said, answering her son before he could ask his question. "Granted, the terms greatly favor the North. But we must look past the short-term losses and towards the long-term gains."
"But – But why–?"
"Who are the most eligible girls in all of Westeros that are at least within marriageable age with Crown Prince Joffrey?" Olenna asked before holding up three fingers. "I'll tell you. There are three that could be betrothed to the Prince without issue. Princess Arianne Martel. Though given the history between House Martel, House Baratheon, and House Lannister such a union is highly unlikely. Which leaves two front runners. Our own flower Margaery. And Sansa Stark. Now, given the nature of King Robert, who do you think he will choose for his son's queen? The daughter of the man he considers to be his brother in all but blood? Or the daughter of the House that fought against him during the Rebellion and held his brothers under siege and nearly killed them both. Who do you think the King will choose? Hmm?"
Mace swallowed, clearly uneasy. "Well, Loras has ensured us that he has Renly's ear and –"
"Oh, Loras has much more than Renly's ear, Mace," Olenna scoffed. "And, in the end, it doesn't mean shit. Give them a few more years and the North will perhaps be able to match the wealth of the Westerlands and the Reach. And make no mistake, when they reach that point, Robert will betroth his son to Sansa Stark. Once that happens, House Tyrell's hopes of gaining access to the royal family dies for at least another generation. There are only two ways to prevent this from happening. The first, well, the dragons and the Maesters have both learned what it means to anger the wolves so we will not be doing that. The second though is to make it so that Sansa cannot be betrothed to the Prince because she is already betrothed to the future Lord of the Reach."
"But – But Willias is twice the girl's age an–"
"Willias has just celebrated his one-and-twenty nameday while Sansa has recently turned one-and-ten." Olenna countered. "There have been far greater age disparities, just look at Jon Arryn and Lysa Arryn, for example. Plus, the girl will not wed until she has reached the age of six-and-ten and is a full woman. By marrying Sansa to Willias, we remove the primary competition for our Margaery becoming the next queen of Westeros. And we also gain access to the growing power that is the North. And, if rumors are to be believed, Sansa is not only a great beauty despite her age, but she also apparently has the same powers as the Sorcerer and her siblings. Powers that apparently can be passed down to her children, the future of House Tyrell. Now, do I need to keep holding your hand about this situation? Or will you sign the damn contracts already?"
Her son was clearly not pleased with the way the conversation had been going, but she honestly didn't care seeing as how half of her days were spent cleaning up her son's mess and making sure that their lords didn't get some crazy idea in their heads like thinking that they would perhaps be better Wardens of the South. The staring contest between her and her son was over before it could even truly begin as Mace quickly went about putting his name at the bottoms of each contract. "I can have riders sent out first thing in the morning to deliver the terms to Winterfell."
"That will not be necessary," Olenna said, dusting both contracts to dry the ink before rolling them up and securing them. "The betrothal between Sansa Stark and Willias is far too important to leave in the hands of some idiot rider. This requires an experienced hand to make sure that the Starks agree. So, I will be heading to Winterfell myself and deliver these terms in person. And Willias, Garlan and Margaery will be accompanying me to the North as well."
"What?" Mace stammered. "W–Why would you nee—?"
"Because it will be good for them," Olenna countered, getting up in order to pour herself a glass of wine, purposefully not pouring a second for her son. He didn't need more to addle his brain. "The Starks are the oldest remaining family in Westeros and have held rulership of the North since the beginning of recorded history. Perhaps longer. It will be good for Willias to learn for a time under the man who will, hopefully, be his good father within the next few years. As for Garlan, our gallant son of House Tyrell might be considered one of the best knights in the realm but there is still much he can learn. Especially from men as skilled as Lord Stark and Lord Nox. And as for Margaery, our goal is to place her as the next queen of Westeros. And a part of her future kingdom will be the North, a land that is at the best of times willingly ignorant of the South. Giving her time in the North will give her the foundation for how to bring the North better into the fold when she takes up her crown. Also, I've received a letter from House Forrester all but begging for one of their daughters to be taken in as one of Margaery's ladies. And considering all the advantages, I've decided to allow it to further our relations with the North. Now, is there anything else you want to say? If not, then go. I have a lot to think about and do before we leave for the North."
Whistling a light tune as he strolled through the gardens surrounding Sunspear, Oberyn Martell found himself feeling lighter than he had in sometime. The sole reason for his elation could be boiled down to a single word. Revenge. Not the revenge he was hoping for of course, after all, the old lion and his mad dog and the fat king all still drew breath while his beloved sister did not. But it was revenge nonetheless. Revenge against the foolish Maesters who had spent decades, perhaps centuries, making fools of all the people of Westeros.
When word had first reached them about what had transpired in Winterfell the reaction of Dorne was, mixed to say the least. The Starks, while acknowledge to perhaps be the primary reason why the Rebellion was able to succeed, had earned the respect of Dorne because they'd gone to war after the unjust execution of Rickard and Brandon Stark and the kidnapping of Lyanna Stark. So, when word reached them that several of their vassal houses had attempted a coup, there were some who said that the wolves deserved their fate, but many more who were outraged by what had transpired. Oberyn, for his part, was one of those who were outraged.
He would never call Ned Stark a friend, but he did at least respect the man. Whatever sins Stark had committed, his children were innocent of them. He did not deserve to have his wife and youngest son murdered in his halls. But while he would not call Stark a friend, he did consider Nox to be a friend. A friend who nearly lost his wife and did lose his child in the coup. It took his brother Doran all but placing him under arrest to prevent him from taking the first ship he could find and sailing North to kill any and all responsible for the atrocity. And he wasn't the only one either. His niece Arianne had also been visibly upset by the news. Though he was positive that her anger was direct solely at the fact that her recent interest had nearly lost his life.
'She's got good tastes, even if he is a Northerner,' Oberyn thought, his mind straying towards the young lad he had spent over a moon's time with during the expedition to Valyria. 'She could certainly do worse, that's for sure. Though she might not be given the option to choose if Doran's plan comes to fruition. She'll be queen of Westeros… Though perhaps taking the boy on as a paramour could help bridge relations with the North when the time comes…but that is an issue for another time. Nothing has been set in stone yet. And I have something much more interesting to discuss with Doran other than his daughter's love life.'
While he might've been powerless to act when word had first arrived about the coup in the North, he certainly hadn't been when the next bit of news arrived at Sunspear. Nox and Stark had found out who the true force behind the coup was, and it turned out to be a secret organization within the ranks of the Maesters. An organization that even Oberyn wasn't aware existed, and he'd nearly forged several links during his stay at the Citadel. But that wasn't all that was uncovered. Apparently, this group of Maesters wasn't content with merely trying to control the North, they were trying to control all of Westeros by spreading their agents within the Maester order to various nobles houses and whispering into the ears of the Lords and Ladies they were sent to serve. And there were two such Maesters here in Sunspear.
Once their treachery had been revealed, courtesy of an envoy sent by Archmaester Marwyn who'd taken control of the Citadel, Doran had immediately ordered the arrest of both Maesters in Sunspear and demanded they be questioned extensively. While the letters they received from Archmaester Marwyn confirmed there was no great conspiracy to set the Houses of Dorne against House Martell, the Maesters were still trying to weaken House Martell. Their main plot was to not cure or even aid Doran, but rather make his condition worse through subtle poisons guised as medicine. The fact that the two Maesters had tried to kill his brother slowly did not sit well with Oberyn, and he had insisted on taking over the questioning of the two men.
Neither man had lasted long, barely an hour each into their questioning before they were both spilling everything, they knew from what types of poisons they were using against Doran to his brother's boot size. It was satisfying watching the two men suffer. But at the same time, it was rather, well, boring. No challenge whatsoever to get either to talk. And after only two days Oberyn was ready to send both men to be mounted on the spears lining the walls of Sunspear when the elder of the two let something slip. Something he had kept silent even from the other members of this Order of the Guiding Hand. A letter from his sister. Written in code that he and his sister had developed as children and received at a time that corresponded with the Sacking of King's Landing. His sister's last words.
The Maester had hid the letter from Oberyn and Doran, trying his best to decipher the cryptic language Elia wrote it in. But after being unsuccessful for some time, the Maester had simply put the letter aside and forgot about it. That was until Oberyn pride its location, as well as the Maester's teeth, out of him with a pair of tongs. After learning its location, Oberyn tore the Maester's chamber apart, looking for the last letter sent by Elia. It hadn't taken him long to find and it took him even less time to decipher the short message Elia had sent them. But while he could decipher her writing easily enough, that was only the first step. His sister had not only written in the secret code that the two of them had developed, but she had also made her message as cryptic as possible to the point where even if one could decipher the code, it would read as pure nonsense. Which was why Oberyn was now heading towards for Doran. While Oberyn could easily decipher the writing, he knew that Doran would be the one to truly understand the cryptic language she was using.
Passing by his brother's guards and entering his solar, Oberyn found Doran standing with his hands resting against the railing of the balcony that overlooked the yards of Sunspear. Along with the missive revealing the Maester's duplicity, Marwyn had also sent them a new recommendation for how to handle the symptoms of his brother's gout. Primarily a change in his exercise routine and diet. And while it would take years to undo the damage that had been done to him, Doran was starting to show some recovery.
"Did they have anything useful to say, Oberyn?" Doran asked the moment the door closed behind him, sealing the two in the room.
"Not much, mostly what they have been attempting to do to you. And neither had any inclination of your plans with the exiled Targaryens," Oberyn stated before pulling out the rolled-up scroll. "However, it appears that our Maester did keep a secret from us. Our sister's last words, sent to us just before the Sack of King's Landing."
That got his brother's attention as he turned away from the balcony and, albeit with a noticeable limp, retook his usual spot in his wheeled chair. "And what did she say?"
"She wrote it in the code that the two of us developed as children and as an added layer of protection made the message within so cryptic that even I cannot fully understand it. Whatever she had to tell us, she was deathly afraid of it falling into the wrong hands." Oberyn said as he began reading sections of the message. "First was a true fire before the farce came into being to spin a tale of deceit for time."
Doran seemed to mull the message around in his head before sighing. "That part of the message is easy enough to figure out, though it is a secret that was known to only a few. Elia's pregnancy with Rhaenys was…difficult as you well know. After she gave birth, Pycelle stated that she would have a difficult time carrying a second child to term. This did not sit well with Aerys, who threatened that if she lost a dragon child that he would see to it that his son had a 'proper' wife through whatever means he deemed necessary. When she became pregnant with Aegon, Rhaegar took her to Dragonstone to try and minimize the stress Aerys placed on her so that she could carry the child in peace."
"And it worked," Oberyn nodded. "She gave birth to Aegon on Dragonstone."
"No, she didn't," Doran replied, stunning Oberyn. "Aegon, the true Aegon, was stillborn. And the birthing permanently damaged Elia's womb to the point where she became barren. Knowing that Aerys would order Elia's death for her failure to carry the future heir to the Iron Throne, Rhaegar ordered this information kept silent by the Maester of Dragonstone and a child of a common girl with Valyrian features was found and passed off as Aegon until Rhaegar could set his father aside."
Feeling weak in the knees, Oberyn sat down across from his brother completely stunned. "Why didn't she…Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you were in Essos at the time," Doran countered, which was true. "And after her death, it didn't really matter anymore. What else is in the letter?"
Not caring for Doran's answer, Oberyn proceeded to read through the rest of the letter that he didn't understand so that the two of them could work out what she was telling them. Most of it was sentimental, her wishing to see the two of them one last time but knowing that it would more than likely not happen with Rhaegar's defeat at the Trident. However, when they came to the end of the letter, her writing seemed to change.
"This part is…strange," Oberyn said, sitting upright and reading the passage to himself once more before reading it aloud. "'Follow the path to the dawn and find the untamed vicious bitch at the end. Save my beloved LyS from the chains that bind by oath and see them to safety.' What is this 'path to the dawn' she speaks of? And the vicious bitch? And why would she care about one of the free cities?"
Doran however had a very pensive look on his face. "Let me see the letter," he demanded, all but ripping the letter out of his hands. His elder brother read the last part of the message repeatedly before something seemed to click in his mind as his eyes widened and the letter fell from his hands. "I was wrong, brother…So very wrong." Doran said, seemingly shaken by whatever epiphany he'd had. "I assumed he was the most dangerous man in all of Westeros…but that is incorrect."
"What?" Oberyn asked, lost as to where his brother's mind had taken him.
"Your friend, the sorcerer Nox," Doran clarified. "After meeting him, I labeled him as a remarkable player of the game and perhaps one of the most dangerous men in all of Westeros. But I was wrong. He isn't the most dangerous man in all of Westeros. He's the most dangerous man in all of the known world."
Leaning forward, Oberyn rested his elbows on his knees. "I could've told you that, brother. Especially after seeing just what he was capable of doing in Valyria with his magic."
"I'm not talking about him in terms of his fighting prowess or his ability with magic. Those would be cause for concern enough. But no, I'm talking about his head for the game that makes him so dangerous."
"How did you come to that conclusion from our sister's letter?" Oberyn asked, scratching at his beard. "Surely, he didn't have a hand in the events that happened during the Rebellion? Does he have some connection to the 'path to the dawn' or to Lys?"
"No, I doubt he had any hand in the Rebellion. But he is taking advantage of the secrets that were created from the Rebellion." Doran said, confusing Oberyn even more than he already was. "As for our sisters' message… The path to the dawn was meant to be taken literally. As in travel to the Dawn, or rather the one who held Dawn. Ser Arthur Dayne. And to further this message, she tells us to find the untamed vicious bitch. Or, if taken in context, she's asking us to find a wild untamed female dog, which could be related to a –"
"Wolf. A she-wolf," Oberyn finished for his brother, connecting the pieces of the puzzle in his mind. "She wanted us to find Lyanna Stark? Why? And what about Lys? Oh, I see…clever. The 'L' and 'S' were capitalized in her writing. She wasn't referring to the city of Lys, but rather Lyanna Stark. But still, why would she want us to find the woman her husband ran off with?"
"Whoever said that Lyanna Stark ran off with Rhaegar?" Doran asked, making Oberyn frown. "You know as well as I our sister's true preference in bed partners. And a girl like Lyanna Stark? She would've found the She-wolf irresistible. And based on the way our sister claimed that Lyanna was her 'beloved'…perhaps her feelings were reciprocated. And Rhaegar's action would also make a bit of sense when combined with the fact that our sister was secretly barren. If he was looking for a second wife at Harrenhal, our sister would want to make sure that it was one that she could get along with."
"This…answers a number of questions, but creates even more Doran," Oberyn stated, to which his brother just nodded.
"That it does. Namely, why did Brandon Stark charge into King's Landing and demand Rhaegar show himself and face justice for the kidnapping of his sister. If our thoughts that Rhaegar had chosen Lyanna as a second wife are true, then why did Stark behave in such a manner? Surely having his sister as the future, even a second, queen was far better than her becoming the future Lady Baratheon."
Shaking his head, Oberyn got up and poured himself and his brother a glass of chilled wine. "These…theories of yours, brother. They still don't answer why you now hold such fear of Nox."
"Because of a single question Nox asked me while he was here without any pretext." Doran answered, taking the glass of wine. "He asked me what the duties of the Kingsguard were. Such an easy to answer question and one that he should've already known. Yet he asked it of me anyway. And ever since, I haven't been able to get the question out of my mind. And now I know why. Tell me Oberyn, what is the duty of the Kingsguard?"
Retaking his seat, Oberyn took a small sip, the cool wine doing wonders for his throat. "To protect the King and the royal family from any harm that may be set upon them."
"Indeed," Doran nodded. "Seven members, no matter how large the royal family becomes. The king is always assigned one if not two of the kingsguard at a single time, and the heir to the throne usually always has a kingsguard assigned to him. For the rest of the royal family, however, it is not uncommon for them to remain unguarded. Elia, despite being the future queen, rarely had a kingsgaurd assigned to her. Yet when Rhaegar returned to King's Landing to deal with the rebels he did so without the accompaniment of Lord Commander Hightower, Ser Dayne, or Ser Whent. Those three were left with the Stark girl. Why? Even if she was his second queen, at most she would've been assigned a single guard. And a call to arms would require the kingsguard to follow the Crown Prince into battle no matter the orders given. So why did they stay behind? And why did they not immediately seek out Viserys once Rhaegar and Aerys were killed?"
The question was…disturbing. And for the life of him he couldn't help but wonder why he had never questioned the actions of the three kingsgaurd before. Had they followed Rhaegar to the Trident, it is very possible that they could've turned the tide of the war by helping Rhaegar slay Robert. And Ser Arthur Dayne was known to be Rhaegar's close friend and confidant. So why? Why leave such capable men behind? And why didn't they leave the Stark girl to attend Viserys after Rhaegar and Aerys were killed? The young boy was the heir by—!
"Gods," Oberyn gasped, the wine falling from his grasp. "They weren't staying to protect or keep Lyanna hostage. They were protecting the next heir to the Iron Throne. A child still in the womb of Lyanna Stark."
"That is my thought as well," Doran nodded, finishing off his wine and setting the empty cup down.
"Where is the child then?" Oberyn asked, picking his cup off the floor.
"I'm surprised you haven't realized yet. You do have quite the high opinion of him, after all," Doran stated with a slight grin on his face, drawing Oberyn up short. "There is only one other person, no, two others who know what happened at the Tower of Joy. And do you really think Stark would harm a child? Especially one born by way of his sister? The same sister he fought a war and overthrew a dynasty in order to reclaim?"
It took Oberyn a moment to catch up, and once he did, he couldn't help himself as he threw his head back and laughed. "Oh gods," Oberyn laughed. "The one who publicly hates the game more than any other has outmaneuvered the old lion, the queen of thorns, and my brother while he was still barely into manhood."
"In my defense, Lord Stark's honor provided the perfect shield," his brother countered. "While the idea of the honorable Lord Stark fathering a bastard was farfetched, the idea that he would hide the true heir of the Iron Throne and the son of his sister from the world by claiming him to be his bastard son is even more unbelievable."
Finally getting himself under control, Oberyn began pacing the length of the room. "And you think that Nox knows and has plans to put the boy on the Iron Throne?"
"Yes to Nox knowing the boy's true identity. However, I will not begin to say that I understand the mind of the sorcerer or his long term goals," Doran said, as he turned his wheeled chair around so he could face out over the Sunspear. "Brother, I do believe that it is time for your wanderlust to strike you once more."
"I see," Oberyn nodded, already knowing that game that his brother was playing at. "And where will my wanderlust be taking me this time?"
"Winterfell," Doran answered without hesitation. "You are good friends with the sorcerer, are you not? I do believe that it is considered polite to visit and wish your friends well after a traumatic event. And I do believe that perhaps your paramour and your daughters might like to expand their horizons as well."
Smirking, Oberyn leaned back in his seat and rested his hands behind his head. "I do believe that my daughters will relish the chance to see the world, even if it is the frozen lands of the North. And with Lady Dacey and Jon serving as an example of northern men and women, then I doubt that it will take much to convince Ellaria to come."
"Good," Doran nodded. "You will head out on the first trade vessel heading North. And…there is one more thing. Arianne will go with you as well."
"Arianne?" Oberyn repeated, staring hard at his brother.
"Yes," Doran nodded. "She has taken an extreme interest in learning how to be a proper ruler, just as I had planned. And while she is in the North, she will be representing Dornish interests regarding an expansion of our trade relations with the North. And…should her affections for the boy reach a certain point, you will encourage her to pursue them."
'So that's his angle.' "You're thinking of trying to use the boy in place of the Beggar King. Do you think that is what Nox intends as well?"
His brother remained silent for a short while as he stared out over the landscape. "The Targaryen's may yet still serve a purpose in our plans. But who do you believe will be better to rally the lords of the realm to his banner? The Beggar King and son of the Mad King who's spent his entire life in Essos? Or the son of Rhaegar who has been raised like a son by the honorable Lord Eddard Stark? Just his presence alone would be enough to bring the North under his banner. And with them will come the Riverlands and potentially even the Vale."
"But there is still the issue of Lord Stark actually declaring for Jon over Robert or the whore King's spawn." Oberyn countered, making his brother turn around and face him.
"This is where we must have patience. First, we must begin to erode the bridge between the Starks and the Baratheons. Though given what my eyes in King's Landing have seen, the bitch lion queen has already started doing our work for us. But you will leave that to me. For now—"
"Head North and learn what I can of the boy and of Nox's intentions towards him," Oberyn finished for his brother. "And should your daughter find an urge to bed the boy, I'm to do all I can to encourage said urges. Shouldn't be too hard. Those two could hardly go a moment without being in one another's company during their brief stay here in Sunspear."
"Just don't be too obvious, brother," Doran chided him as Oberyn began heading for the door. "Things with the North need to be handled delicately for now until we can figure out Nox's true intentions."
"Why, brother, you wound me," Oberyn smirked. "I can be the picture of delicacy when I wish to be. But it's often too boring for my tastes."
