276 AC.
It was a pitch-black dark night, as 3 foolish children made their way through the tourney grounds spread out over the shadow of the Rock.
Not that the foolish lasses made good use of that darkness.
Had they owned an inch of sense between the 3 of them, they would have kept their mouths shut as they walked, making good use of the hour of the night as well as the darkness to mask their journey.
As it was, they giddily "Whispered" to each other as they walked, in that way that only children could believe would not be heard.
All the way they turned heads, as everyone who was out at this hour of the night, be they stall keepers, knights, squires, whore, or otherwise turned their head to look at them.
They were lucky they tried this stunt here, where Tywin Lannister's shadow hung dark and deep.
Had it been anywhere else, chances were they would have suffered a fate worthy of an old story that parents told their children to keep them in line and not do something stupid.
There was not a man in camp though, who was dumb enough to attack 3 young children on the same tourney grounds as the Lion who had wiped out Tarbeck and Reyne slept. Even if none knew who the girls were.
The lion of the rock did not stand for criminals in his own domain, as the generously spiked heads around the gates of Lannisport attested to very well.
As it was, the idiots remained unmolested all the way until they found the goal for this outing.
A tent that stood out from all the rest, with a dark, peaked roof.
There were several things that made the tent stand out immediately.
For one thing, this was a more permanent structure than the tents of knights and squires. One only had to take a look at the sides to see that this had weathered rain and wind without tending to, far, far too much to have been erected for this tourney.
Obviously, this thing had been standing for quite a while.
More obviously, was the air. There was something… Off about it here.
Mayhaps it was this that made the three children halt and dally for a while, egging each other off to actually go inside.
Mayhaps they sensed the danger here. In the end, it did not matter.
The tallest of the three finally gathered her courage, and with her back tall, and her head pointing steadfastly ahead, she walked over to the tent's opening, and with just a slightest fraction of hesitation, she opened it and stepped inside.
Behind her, her companions quickly followed her inside, as if they had finally found their courage after all. They had not. But foolishness could resemble courage if it had nowhere to run but one place.
-
The moment she stepped inside, Cersei felt the temperature shift.
Outside was the cool but pleasant breeze of the summer night.
Here though, It was warm, but also… suffocating? Was the word to describe it. Like the air itself was… Heavy with something.
And it was.
The smells that bombarded her nose were astonishing. Maybe it was the relative dark of the interior of the tent, but Cersei couldn't help but revel in the smells.
Delicious Nutmeg from Greater Moraq, Cloves and Cinnamon the Isles of the cinnamon straits, and pepper of all varieties.
Red, black and golden pepper from the free cities, purple from Qarth, and even blue from the far, FAR east!
It was as if the air itself was embalmed with all of them. Cersei, who was familiar with all of these smells, couldn't help but feel at ease here. She couldn't help but think back to every time she had sneaked into the kitchens and the storage rooms at Casterly Rock.
Part of her wondered how an old crone could afford such spices, but she quickly dismissed the question as unimportant.
She had not come here for spices.
No, she had come here for something much more mystical.
The room was only lit by a strange brazier, formed and made so that it's head resembled some form of a snarling, human face.
The glow from the coals bathed the walls in a queer light, as the walls of the room took on a dying black from the light. Like dying flesh almost.
Beyond the brazier, and the damnable spices around the enclosed room, she lay.
An infamous figure in the tales of the west.
Her actual name was one which no one in the Westerlands could pronounce, so they had instead just called her Maggy, after some queer eastern title she carried.
Where exactly she was from none could say, other than the east. Some said she was from Lengi, some said from Qarth. Others made the claim she was from shadowy Asshai by the saffron straits. Yet others claimed she was Mossovy, or lands even farther to the east than the maps went.
None actually knew who she was, and where she was from.
All everyone knew for sure, was the commonly told tale. That Maggy had been brought west by her husband, a trader in peppers and spices, after having traded in queer and foreign Essos.
What had happened with said husband, none knew, but their son had gone on to become a petty lord, having bought his title from Cersei's grandfather, Tytos Lannister.
Why in the world Maggy remained here, and not with her family, none knew, but she was still here, many, many years later.
And what tales were told of her!
She had stumbled unto her existence when her grandson had come to court to swear fealty after the death of his father. Tywin had accepted his oath, Coolly, but politely.
It was after she asked her uncle Kevan about the lord that she'd first heard the name Maggy the Witch.
And once she started digging around, asking every servant in the castle, she had heard such tales!
A witch of a fearsome reputation, who weaved dark arts and spells, whose enemies choked on their own blood, was struck by lightning, or heads exploded!
There were tales of her ability to cure even the most wicked of illnesses, to brew love potions that would spellbound the heart of any who drank of it!
And there were also tales of her incredible ability to foresee the future.
Cersei's appetite for excitement had been awakened by those tales, and the knowledge that she still lived here, and so alongside two of her friends, she had decided on an adventure.
Namely slipping away in the night during a tournament to go see this Maggy with her own eyes.
Cercei had expected to find some tall, beautiful temptress, with wicked and evil charm, kept young and beautiful with dark arts.
Had she been familiar at the time with what the actual folks of Lannisport called her, as opposed to isolated and shielded servants of the Rock, she probably would not have been as disappointed.
Maggy was an ugly, squat woman, the uncovered parts of her flesh as she lay on her bed, wearing nothing but a loose robe, being nothing but wrinkles and dark spots.
Her face was equally unappealing. Like her akin, it was full of both wrinkles and dark spots, with the, added "Bonus" of being full of warts. Her eyes were also flaked with… Something that was very pale, crusts of it covering the corners of her eyes.
As she snored away, loudly and with no care in the world, the young lionesses also noted the old crone had no teeth.
About the only good thing Cersei could say for the woman was that her pale, completely white hair was surprisingly normal and well kept compared to what it was attached to.
She was like if some old bitch had just kept living, and living and living forever, Cersei mused as her two friends entered carefully after her.
Jeyne Farman gasped, in a terrified way as she saw the old witch on the bed.
Cersei wasn't particularly surprised. Timid, plump, fat, and pasty-faced, Jayne was one of the biggest cowards Cersei had ever had the misfortune of meeting.
Her other companion, Melara Heatherspoon was thankfully made of sterner stuff. As she entered, she too gave a gasp, though just listening to the tone, Cersei could tell she was more fascinated than afraid.
She ignored both as she pulled down her cloak from her face, strode over to the old woman's bed.
Then she kicked it. Hard.
"Wake up, we want our fortunes told!"
Maggy did indeed wake up.
She also raised herself up out of the bed and her feet hanging out over the side with a speed that Cersei would never have expected from someone who looked so old and feeble.
Maybe there was still some life to this witch after all.
The first thing that struck her as Maggy's eyes landed on her was their color. Yellow. A golden yellow.
Jeyne, as one could have expected, shrieked as the Woman's eyes landed on her, and bolted from the tent, leaving her companions behind.
Cersei however, did not flinch.
She instead just stared the old, ugly woman straight in the face.
For a moment there was just silence, as the two glared at each other. Cercei with that expression that she wanted something, and she wanted it NOW, the old woman with her jowls in an annoyed frown, eyes narrowed at the younger female.
"Begone." She finally croaked.
She croaks like a frog when she talks, Cersei thought. A bullfrog mayhaps.
"We came for a fortelling." She replied coolly, just like her strong father had talked to her grandson.
Begone," the old woman croaked, for a second time.
"We heard that you can see into the morrow," Melara explained.
"We just want to know what men we're going to marry."
"Begone," croaked Maggy, a third time.
This time Cersei had had enough.
She placed her hands on her hips and said with just a bit of hidden menace "Give us our foretelling, or I'll go to my lord father and have you whipped for insolence."
Maggy's eyes narrowed, then went down to her chest.
Yes, that's the lion of Lannister on it, she thought with pride. Do as you're told now.
"Please," Melara begged.
"Just tell us our futures, then we'll go."
"Of course you… Just likely everyone else who comes to me to seek their fates..."
Maggy muttered in her croaking voice. As she got up from the bed, she pulled up her robe about her shoulders and beckoned the girl's to follow as she went over to an ornately carved table.
"Come, if you will not go. Fools. Come, yes."
As she seated herself behind it, she pulled something out from some drawer. A black box. Then she opened it, and from it's interiors she drew forth a long and wicked knife, it's sharp edge glimmering in the light from the brazier.
Both Cersei and Melara froze… But maggy just place the blade on the table, hilt pointedly pointed towards the two of them.
"I must taste your blood." She said coldly, as she gave Cersei a challenging look.
Mayhaps the old woman thought she'd balk and leave the tent behind and her to her peace.
Instead, she took the dagger Maggy offered her and ran the twisted iron blade across the ball of her thumb. Then she did Melara too.
Cersei offered out her hand.
Maggy's toothless mouth trembled at the sight of it. As if the blood was somehow a wicked and terrible sight. "Here," she whispered, "give it here." When Cersei offered her hand, she sucked away the blood with gums as soft as a newborn babe's.
Cersei however did not focus on that. Instead, she could only think of how cold Maggy's mouth was.
Cold and queer. Like some strange grave in the frozen and heathen north.
Three questions may you ask," the crone said, once she'd had her drink from both girls. "You will not like my answers I think. Ask, or begone with you."
"When will I wed the prince?" Cersei blurted out, so glad to finally be done with all the stupid distractions and finally be here at the heart of the matter. The entire reason she'd left behind her nice and comfy bed for the night.
"When the traitors to the Rock have been crushed, and all those who took up steel against the lord of Lannister are dead and their rebellion stamped into the ground. Then and only then shall the stag come and escort you to the high hill of red, where you shall marry your prince."
Cersei blinked.
Rebellion? An escort by a stag? That last one was referring to father's friend Steffon, she was sure of that, but...
"A rebellion? Against father?"
The old woman gave her a toothless and wicked grin.
"Is that your second question, lion princess?"
She thought about it.
"No… Father will crush any rebellion. You even said so yourself. No for my second question…"
As if any rebellion could ever hope to stand against her father.
No, if she was going to marry Prince Rhaegar after all…
"After I marry the prince… What will happen to my brother? Shall he achieve greatness across the land? Will he be happy here at the rock?"
There were few things she did not like about marrying Rhaegar and becoming queen, but… She did not like the thought of being separated from her twin, her other half. Surely he would be lonely with her gone. Always like half of him was missing.
Maggy glared at her. Then her lips gave her another of those wicked and evil grins.
"Those are three questions, masquerading as one child and poorly at that… But sure, why not? I shall tell you."
A pang of anger danced through her mind, but then a satisfying delight as the witch continued.
"Aye… He will be happy indeed. Once he comes into his own as Warden at least. As for what shall happen to him… He shall become a great conqueror, add more land to this kingdom than any man since the conqueror, and through his reign, the lion's shadow shall reach forth far and wide from the frozen North to the Sunny isles. He will win fame, glory, and wealth beyond any other lion since the days you lost your rights to a crowned brow. His greatest achievements as far as the land cares though, will not be his feats which most shall lay at others' doors, but instead his role in bringing about the black brew that quickens mind, body, and soul. Now child… Third and final question, and only one this time."
Cersei liked the idea that Jaime would win fame and glory as a conqueror, though she didn't like the thought that others would be credited for his feats.
What this… Black brew that quickened the mind, body, and soul was though, she hadn't the faintest idea, though she had no plans on using her third question on it. Mayhaps she could use one of Melara's questions on it?
There was one question though, which she really did need to know. One which her entire future as queen of all Westeros depended on.
"Will I and the Prince have children?"
"Aye, you shall. 4 of them you shall have. 3 crowned by grey silver and one by yellow gold. 3 shall come to challenge their rule upon your high hill. First shall come the young Stag who desires to sit a throne. Second shall come a dragon, and at his side a viper red as blood. Both shall fail and the sea lap at their wounded and bruised pride. But third shall come a Kraken… And with him azure blue… and after his wake, there will be nothing but slag and ashes of you, your hill and kin."
Silence reigned for a moment.
Then Cersei grabbed a glass bottle filled with some elixir that had been on the table and threw it straight in the old woman's grinning face.
Curses in a queer, Eastern tongue followed them as Cersei stomped out of the tent, Melara following closely behind on the trip back to their tents.
Hopefully, Jeyne hadn't gone and ran to any of their family's to tell them about it all. That would just make this entire thing, even more, a waste of time, than listening to that old crone stupid lies had already been.
-
"Any coin?"
Tom reached forth his hand to the knight and handed him a full handful of silver coins.
The knight grinned, then began counting.
When finished he just gave a nod.
"Yeah, that's enough. Now keep looting, and be discreet when you hide the shit yeah? Don't be like those guys who were strung up after the last battle. You, idiots, find a breastplate, you make sure it's delivered to the official pile."
"We will ser," William said in that slow way of his.
The knight snorted.
"Oh, I'm sure you won't William. Only clear and beautiful simplicity from you I'm sure."
William just gave a happy smile.
Tom felt a pang of emotion wash over him, though whether it was anger or embarrassment, he couldn't say.
Either way, he forced himself to not say anything, and just stare right ahead.
Their liege lord turned and walked away, the coin seemingly just disappearing somewhere under that mailed coat of his.
It wasn't until he was well, well out of earshot that Robb turned around to look the rest of them in the eye.
"I still say we should kill him once we're away, take his gold, and book it for Lannisport."
"And assuming we're not taken for deserters, which we will be, and hanged, what then?"
Silence once returned.
Tom sighed and bent down to strip a dead man of a gambison.
It was a nice one too, expertly made… Pity then that there was a giant hole in it from where the pointy end of a spear stuck out of the man.
Some poor sap would be using this during the upcoming battle.
If it was yet another battle against Braavosi, he might live. Provided an arrow didn't hit the hole, this should stop a crossbow bolt at the farther ranges.
If it was against Robert Baratheon…
The lance had taken the dead foreigner in the left lung, the blood from the wound long ago having turned black on the ground.
It was only as he unfastened the bindings of the coat, that he realized the man had been wearing mail underneath as well.
The lance had driven through gambeson, mail, muscle, sinew, and bone and then punched straight through both once more on the way out as well.
The Braavosi soldiers were quite a different sight compared to the levy soldiers of the Westerlands.
A coat of gambison, a strange helmet that kinda looked like a miniature shield when placed atop one's head, and armed with either a large, expertly crafted shield and spear alongside a side mace, or a crossbow.
Compared to that, he and his companions in arms were shabbily dressed indeed.
And yet they kept beating them, time and again.
He was a veteran of over two dozen skirmishes now. And it all ended the same. With a charge of what measly cavalry their side had, the braavosi would be flanked, and they would break under the thunder of hooves, and the power of lowered lances.
They kept winning, all thanks to the power of some 70 or so heavy cavalry. The Braavosi just didn't have any real answer to it.
Infantry could not beat heavy horse in a straight-up battle, that was common knowledge. Even children understood that bit of common wisdom.
They had 70 cavalrymen. The Braavosi had none, so they kept winning these skirmishes time and again.
Across the entire army, there were some 400 mounted warriors, generally hedge knights or the odd squire or knight that had not gone with the Lord Lannister to King's Landing.
400 knights would have seen incredible to Tom once. When he'd first set out, it had seemed immense.
Robert Baratheon had at least 10 000 knights.
"Whether we kill him, or actually go along with his plan, we need to get our hands on a map," Tom said, still looking down at the splintered mail.
Everyone turned to him.
8 men, all from the same village.
One was his brother, the rest were various acquaintances from his home village. A small little place known by the name of Green Hill.
Tom, and Tywin, Tywin, and Tywin, all farmhands, Tom the Carpenter, William, and Robb who had both been cobbler apprentices under their father.
Eyes glance at each other out of the corner of their eyes just so briefly, then back to him.
"You sure you don't know where we are? I mean… It was just a day's march."
He snorted.
Just a day's march.
"This isn't home Tywin. I've been through here maybe… thrice? And I can't remember this spot at all."
He looked up towards the nearby mountain in whose shadow they had fought so recently, with the stench of blood, shit, and every other putrid smell of war.
He couldn't recall ever seeing it before.
"Without a map or someone who knows the local area, we're doomed. Lann's idea of us becoming bandits is stupid enough as is… That just means some lord will one day round us up and hang us by our necks, and our piss pouring down our legs as we die under some tree."
He motioned dismissively in the direction of their knight.
"Outlaw bands don't have happy endings. And outlaw bands that don't understand and know the area they're in? We won't last a month. Whether we play along with Lann's plan for a while, or just gut him once we desert, we need a map ready when we do. We can deal with food and water, but if we don't know the local towns, roads, and villages, we're doomed to be captured sooner or later."
After that, it was talk of how to acquire such a map. Some semi-realistic ways but dangerous ones, like stealing one, some complete wishful thinking like hoping they'd find a mapmaker in a village or town somewhere.
And all the while, Tom somehow ended up being the man they all deferred to. Like he was their actual leader, instead of just being the one guy who had decent traveling experiences as well as his brain… Well, his brother was no simpleton, but… He needed time to think things through.
As they talked, they continued stripping the dead of loot. Armor, arms, boots.
Lann had taken every coin they had found, other than those made of iron(Who made their coins out of iron, seriously?), but he let them plunder anything else but plated steel(of which there weren't much anyway) as they pleased. Other than having to turn in the plate armor, they got first pick.
As a result, they all had decent boots, nice full coats of riveted steel mail, gambeson, and nice shield like Braavosi helmets, large actual shields, spears, and side swords.
Not a single one of which would do them a lick of good if they stuck around to face the power of enemy knights.
They had to be away when the Demon of The Trident came.
"So, who wants to take the wheelbarrows back to camp?" Tywin asked once they had filled said wheelbarrows with goods.
"Me'an Tom can do it!" His brother announced enthusiastically. Tom just sighed and nodded, before he and William began the work of carting mail and armor back to the camp.
As they walked, there was activity all around, long before they even reached the camp.
Scouts, fellow crews of salvagers for the corpses, and foragers.
The two of them kept their distance from every single one of them.
"So… We still doing the plan?"
"Yeah. Those idiots WILL get us killed if we stick to 'em. We gotta ditch them the first chance we get. Not gonna be hard. Provided we can actually get a map, all we have to do is take guard duty one night, then take the food, map, crossbows, and quarrels and leave 'em behind."
"Mhhhmmm…"
He could tell his brother wasn't fond of the plan.
Neither was he, to be honest, but he would go through with it.
If they stuck with the rest of the levy they were doomed to death in any case.
Those morons had absolutely refused the idea of ditching all that fancy equipment they'd looted since this whole sorry mess began.
They felt like that armor was essential for survival when all it would do was weigh them down. If they were taken as deserters by a lord, they were dead. And there were few ways better to be recognized as fighting men of some sort than wearing expensive armor.
If they were going to survive this, they needed stealth.
They needed to stay away from people until they actually reached their destination. Their home in the shadow of the Golden Tooth.
That was another reason they would have to leave the other men.
None of the other men wanted to go back to their home. Not when it was right by the center of the entire rebellion.
It was a doomed village they said. Suicide to go back there.
Unlike them, he had a family back home. A wife, two children… He wondered if the third had made it into the world safely by now. Surely it had, Lanna had been heavy with child when he left.
If he and his brother could just get back home… Well, he knew of an old Goat pass in the hills that would allow them to bypass the big castle.
They would have to immigrate into the Riverlands. Surely some farm needed extra hands somewhere.
Provided they weren't taken and hanged on the way. And managed to sneak away in the night. And find a map. And managed to actually make their way out of camp without being strung up.
An awful lot of things to ask the gods all at once.
You've beaten odds before Tom, you can do it this time too.
He pointedly ignored the strung-up hanging corpses of would-be deserters by the entrance to the enormous war camp.
The mood as they entered was a tense one. There was laughter, cheer, and song. But it didn't sound quite sound natural.
There was just a bit of forcedness to it all.
On the opposite end, there were also men just standing or walking around, constantly looking over eastwards. Towards Robert. Towards their deaths.
Outside one tent sat a squire just sharpening a sword that looked plenty done to Tom's eyes, and yet he just kept sharpening and sharpening, his eyes never leaving the blade.
Other than the songs and laughter, there was not much sound beyond from men talking.
It was a weary camp. Unease in the very air.
Lann hadn't been the first knight to try and sneak away in the night.
There were plenty who had succeeded too. And just as many who were strung up along the camp exits.
Tom did not have a full picture(Levies generally were not told anything by d what they needed to know), but by cozying up and talking with men at arms, he'd been able to piece together a form of a picture of what had happened.
Their rebellion was just a new stage of the great rebellion that had been raging for the entire last year and this one.
Why exactly they had risen in revolt Tom wasn't sure, but there had apparently been a massive battle at King's Landing between Robert's hand Eddard Stark and the Lord of the west, Tywin Lannister.
The lion had lost and then been killed alongside all his men, and half the west was in revolt as a result.
It wasn't until two months in that Tom had realized the West as a whole was not in revolt. Just half of it. The other half had for reasons only the Gods knew, bent the knee to Robert.
That was bad.
Even worse was the news that their entire war plan, which had been to march to Storm's End and link up with the great host there, had been derailed by Robert exterminating said army.
That had been the only real chance they had had a true victory.
Their cause was doomed. Most people in the camps knew it by now.
This had been a mad, mad folly by the way of their lords.
And far, far worse, it was a folly that was likely to get him and his brother killed.
He had had very little love for his liege lord Lann, much less for the Leffon's up in the Golden Tooth.
And now, their stubborn refusal to yield was going to get thousands, and thousands of men killed.
This was the point to bend the knee and seek terms, and yet the lords refused to do that. Pure idiocy.
Their refusal to bend now was as big idiocy, as when they had started this revolt without the full backing of the west.
There was always clemency from above for those who yielded. At least for the lords. Not so for levies.
-
Robert's camp was full of laughter and cheer and joy, jokes and good beer. A good time was had by all.
Walder didn't get to enjoy any of it though. No, today he had to guard the king.
As if he needed more protection than he already had in the form of his Kingsguard, as well as his own massive strength and armor.
And then there was the guest he was currently hosting, some traders from the queer city from the east called Pentos.
Walder had to admit that he'd expect the merchants to be greedy and niggardly. That was what his grandmother always said of Essosi.
These two though seemed to trip over themselves to give Robert a good price.
"So, you'll agree to my price then? 30 tons of spices, 40 tons of textiles, 2 000 000 Silver coins yearly as well as… those other things my letter described."
"Yessss…. Your Grazzzeee… the Prince is moreeee than welcomee to pay this price for the yearly amounts of copper you will hand over."
Robert smiled and nodded.
"Glorious! In that case-" He bent over the table between the two of them and signed something on some parchment.
Then he flipped it around to the two men, who did likewise.
"And now my friends, we must and party to celebrate this wondrous occasion!"
As he talked he poured 3 enormous tankards of ale.
"I must admit… I didn't originally think I'd get this in deep with the free cities, beyond the canals and Braavos."
The taller of the merchants made a dismissive sound.
"The freeee citeee of Braavosss, isss not the only nation that wissshess good trade and relationsss with the King of the Wesssst. Truth be told… Ever sinssse the discovery of the advantages of a copper bottom for a ship, 74 yearsss ago, we have tried to make a deal to make such a dissscovery… Profitable."
Robert smiled as he handed over the two tankards.
"Aye, only Westeros, with it's ridiculous amounts of natural metals can produce enough copper to outfit ships by the thousands. Essos sure as hell does not."
"Not if we alssso wisssh to make it proffitable, no." The shorter one agreed.
Such strange way of speaking these two had.
"Alasss… The dragon were not keen on the idea."
"Yeah, the inbred lizards are true morons, all men know. The Stags are not."
"Indeed…" the shorter one hesitated before continuing.
"We shall also of course provide your grasssee with men who shall teach your own shipwrightsss to implement copper bottomsss to your shipsss…"
Robert's smile grew wider.
"Aye, this shall be quite the profitable little arrangement I think. For both of us. And of course, for the next 15 years, if any of the other free cities want to buy copper to modernize their navies, they shall have to pay thrice this price. No need to add that part to paper though."
Three tankards clinked together happily.