The Board Resets
A thick dark plume billowed from the summit, staining the pink and purple sky. Steam, bubbling from the hot vents on the flanks, blurred the air, so that in the morning, from the rookery, Dragonmont appeared to be a mirage of salt and smoke, the slopes obscured by white and gray clouds. The mountain was no illusion though. Heat radiated from the underground shafts, and whiffs of sulfur and brimstone escaped the caverns, an evil wind blowing out to the sea.
Shireen Baratheon had grown up in the shadow of the mountain. Dragonmont loomed over Dragonstone, both the castle and the island. Maester Cressen had told her that it was the volcano that attracted the Valyrians. The Freehold raised the citadel as their westermost outpost, using dragonflame and sorcery to work the stone hewn from the mountain. Dragons - both wild and tamed - had made their lair here - but nothing else grew. No crops could be tilled and livestock fared poorly on a smoking rock in a great salt sea. Without the fishing village plying the waters of Blackwater Bay, the garrison would have starved.
She had never felt comfortable here. Lately, her sense of foreboding had grown. It was not just her father's new loyalists vying for influence or the Red Witch preaching the faith of R'hllor. Dragonmont was restless. Wisps of smoke turned into plumes, steam hissed as it escaped the ground, and fires rolled down the sides. Cracks swelled up on the slopes, and the air turned hotter and dryer. In her dreams, the mountain rumbled, and dragons took to the sky, roaring their challenge to men and gods.
The servants and soldiers on Dragonstone attributed the increased activity to the Lord of Light. Melisandre never claimed that R'hllor was responsible, but then she never claimed that the Red God was not. The witch could often be seen on Dragonmont, and smallfolk whispered that she knew secret stairs down to the mountain's heart, where she performed eldritch rituals in honor of her fiery god. Shireen did not know what to think. Cressen claimed that the Valyrian lords might have magic might enough to control a volcano but not a mummer from Asshai. Cressen was dead though, killed by the same poison that the Red Witch drank.
"Shireen!" The boy who approached was tall for thirteen name days, broad and sturdy with the black hair, deep blue eyes, and the strong jaw of House Baratheon.
"Is there news, Edric?" Edric Storm was Shireen's cousin, on both sides. He resembled his father King Robert in youth and his mother was Delena Florent, Shireen's mother's cousin.
"We are going North! Robb Stark has agreed to give us safe passage to the Wall." The boy beamed, resembling nothing more than a large overly friendly puppy. In a few moons, the cousins had become fast friends, united by the dislike of Queen Selyse. She had never forgiven Edric for being fathered on her wedding night and on her bedmaid, Delena.
Shireen thought the announcement was more than a little strange. Melisandre claimed that she had seen a vision of the Great Other in the flames and that Stannis, as the Lord of Light's champion, would have to fight at the Wall. That was well and good but did nothing to advance her father's claim to the Iron Throne. Sailing a thousand miles North would not help them gain allies against Joffrey. It was a sign of the Red Witch's hold over King Stannis that no one dared to voice the obvious flaws in this plan.
"Are we sailing to White Harbor?" Due to grayscale, she had never travelled much, only seeing Storm's End and King's Landing a few times. That had been many years ago.
"No, the Starks are building a new town on their eastern rivers. On the Weep Water?" Edric scrunched up his face trying to recall the name.
"The Weeping Water. The river that flows through Bolton land and meets the last River. Davos says White Harbor is a pretty town but far from the rest of the North. Having a port halfway between White Harbor and Eastwatch-by-the-Sea will help trade."
"Do you think we will have to face the dire wolves? The knights say that the Stark wolves can rip a man's head clean off and that warhorses flee at the scent."
Horses had more sense than her father's knights. "Winterfell is granting us passage. Father is meeting with Robb Stark to parlay. There is no need for conflict."
Edric chewed on those words for a moment. "Lord Florent says the Northmen show no love for the king by taking his messenger captive. I hope Davos is unharmed."
Alester Florent was her mother's uncle, with more ambition than loyalty. He would have been happy had the Starks taken Davos' head. "Maester Cressen said the Northmen are hard but fair. There is no sense in bad relations. Whatever Robb Stark thinks about my father, he despises Joffrey and the Lannisters more."
"What about this Jon Snow though? They say he burned all the Freys at the Twins."
"Melisandre is probably burning someone as we speak." Shireen noted wryly. "At least Snow had good reasons to burn Walder Frey. He also released the prisoners at the Twins. The wolves may be ruthless but that does not mean they are cruel."
The sound of bells and footsteps came from the outside balcony. "Under the sea, under the sea, under the sea." Patches sang, as he shuffled in his own queer way to the rookery. The jester wore a tunic of gold and black motley, the colors of House Baratheon before her father placed the royal stag in a red heart in a flaming yellow sun. The new additions to honor R'hllor dwarfed the old sigil.
"Patches, we are going north to the wall. You had best prepare for the cold." Shireen spoke over the clanging of the cowbells strapped to the antlers of the shabby tin helmet.
"Do you really need to take the fool? He is quite mad." Edric scratched his head as Patches pranced and twitched, the bells going clang-a-lang.
"I am the only one he has. If I left him, the servants might not even feed him. They would let him die." Shireen said softly.
"The shadows come to dance my lord, dance my lord, dance my lord. The shadows come to stay my lord, stay my lord, stay my shadows come to rule my lord, rule my lord, rule my lord." Patches hopped from one foot to another and back, shaking his bells.
"He has lost his mind. What does he mean by shadows?"
"I don't know. But he suffered in the service of our house. Our grandfather, Lord Steffon, found him in Volantis and purchased him from slavery. The ship broke up in Shipbreaker Bay in sight of Storm's End. Both of our fathers watched. Everyone died besides Patchface. They found him three days after the wreck, cold and broken. Since then, he sings queer songs - mermaids and smoke and the sea. I won't abandon him."
"Very well, my lady. I will follow your lead." Edric smiled.
"Come on, Patches." Shireen held out her hand.
The fool whirled and pointed. Outside the castle, a fire had burst out on Dragonmont, lighting up a few stunted trees that had been barely growing on the slope. The trees had no hope, as the orange flames consumed the small patch. "Burning. Yearning. Turning." Tears ran down the tattooed fleshy face. With Edric's help, Shireen gently moved the jester out of the rookery. In a few hours, Stannis and his men boarded the Fury to sail North. Shireen, Edric and Patches were long gone when the raven from Maidenpool arrived. Later that night, the new maester Pylos, a man far younger than the dead and buried Cressen, read the note. By then, King Stannis was out of reach.
No amount of polish would help the armor. When he woke, Edric Dayne had wiped down and dried the breastplate with rags, buffing and applying oil. In life, Lord Beric enjoyed the color black, riding a black courser, and wearing a black satin cloak decorated with stars. In death, the Lightning Lord no longer cared about appearance. The black steel had turned dull, the forked purple lightning bolt showed cracks, and the seventeen white stars were begrimed and shabby.
He was no longer Beric Dondarrrion's squire. Old habits die hard though, and Edric had served the Lightning Lord since he had seven name days. He removed what dirt and rust he could, before taking a tray with a rasher of bacon and a soft boiled egg on yesterday's bread. If Edric noticed the slight smile from the pretty maid, he gave no sign.
"My lord." He placed the food on the table in the taproom.
"Kind of you lad, but no need. I have not been hungry since the Mountain killed me with a lance." Beric pushed the tray back to Edric.
"But he wouldn't say no to a glass of whiskey." Thoros said. The priest was in a jovial mood, having filled his belly considerably in last night's dinner.
"The whiskey was finished at the feast." Edric cracked open the egg and dipped the burnt bacon into the yolk. The Winter Town Boys had been generous with their bottles, betting that drunk highborn would sleep through the departure of the Manderly ship. They were right.
"I thought you gave up drinking, old friend." Beric quipped.
"A man needs wine and ale to deal with Olenna Tyrell. Particularly when she is angry."
A loud rap on the door announced the Tyrells. Edric finished the meal as the two seven footers burst into the room. The ostler of the Old Plough Inn raced over, only to be waved off. An irritated Lady Olenna walked ahead of Ser Garlan and Ser Baelor. Behind her, Edric could see the Sand Snakes, Barristan the Bold, and many sea captains.
"Where is he? Where are all the Northmen?" Olenna demanded.
"His grace departed Maidenpool before sunrise." Beric replied.
"I can see that. Where did they go?"
"North, if you must know. The Wolf Wind is heading to White Harbour."
The captains surged forward, unleashing a cacophony of questions. "What about the elixir? Where is the medicine? Will the king keep his promise?"
The Lightning Lord held up a pale hand for silence. "Daemon Targaryen is a man of his word."
Edric knelt down and opened the chest, left to him by the Northmen. The contents were far more valuable than bars of gold, especially a slim journal with names, ships, quantities, and likely destinations. "This is a record of your requests and the king's decisions recorded by the Winter Town Boys. I will hand out everything now - the elixir, the molds and the scrolls. His grace charges you with getting the cure to the sick in his name."
"But why did Snow leave in the night?" Olenna asked.
"The king does not need your permission to depart." Thoros said severely. "Why would he stay? Daemon Targaryen has set everything in motion to end the plague."
It is true, my lady." Lomys, the white haired maester from Highgarden, examined the first scroll. "The written instructions are quite clear. With mold, equipment and supplies, the Reach can produce plentiful amounts of elixir."
"We can begin by copying the scrolls. We will send bits and pieces by raven to make sure there will be barrels and corn ready in all the towns. It will take weeks for the mold to arrive, but the lords and smallfolk will be gladdened by the news." Owen added.
"And the story of the lost Targaryen prince will spread and spread." Olenna snapped.
"That was the bargain, Grandmother. And it is a very fair one. Think of how much fear and misery the plague has wrought. No one wants children and women dying alone, and men abandoning their families and homes to escape." Garlan said.
"That is true. That horse has already left the barn." Olenna brightened slightly. "I suppose the Reach will be the first of the Seven Kingdoms to produce elixir."
"Wouldn't that be the North?" Garlan asked.
"No, Snow produced the cure in Maidenpool. I doubt he will be making more medicines soon. There are hundreds of maesters at the Citadel. They must be good for something." Olenna turned her eyes to Beric. "What are your plans?"
"Tonight, we sail across the Bay to the Vale. If a galley or cogs will not take us, then we can commission a river boat or even a skiff."
"Lady Lysa will not be happy. Besides her Sweetrobin, she was strangely enamoured with Littlefinger. She will not be pleased to see only his head." Olenna said.
"We are not going to the Eyrie. There are other houses in the Vale worth seeing - lords and ladies who will be more receptive to the news of the true King."
Olenna Tyrell departed, leaving Garlan and Baelor to deal with the maesters. Beric and Thoros returned to their meal while the ostler brought out pitchers of watered down wine. Edric handed out the elixir, mold and scrolls, leaving a single batch for himself. The captains left without eating or drinking, eager to get back to the ships.
He had finished his work at Maidenpool. Edric said his goodbyes to Lord Beric and Thoros, wondering when they would meet again. The last year taught him that life could change quickly in war. A year ago, Edric was a squire at King's Landing. Now, he had only two ties - his allegiance to Sunspear as a bannerman and his loyalty to the dragons. Uncle Arthur, the last Sword of the Morning, had died for Prince Rhaegar. Edric wished that he too could also prove his worth and dedication.
The docks were crowded with sailors in a frenzy of preparation. The crews sang sea shanties, to keep time as men hauled rope and set the sails. The labor was hard, particularly for those winding the capstans to raise the anchors. The chorus came in a medley of voices - the Common Tongue mostly but also the bastard Valyrian of the Free Cities and guttural words from strange places like Ibben and Old Ghis. Edric stopped before the swan ship. He knew which captains planned to go to Pentos and Braavos. The Cinnamon Wind promised to bring the cure to the traders and shipbuilders of the Summer Isles. Of course, a ship would need to dock at many ports before reaching Tall Trees Town.
"Halt. Who goes there?" A dark skinned woman called out. An unstrung goldenheart bow was strapped over her shoulder.
"Edric Dayne. I seek passage to Dorne. I am willing to pay."
"You are the boy who handed out the cure for the dragon prince. I am Kojja Mo, first mate of the Cinnamon Wind. Of course, you may sail. But why are you not with the others?"
"Which others?"
Alleras looked over the railing. The Sand Snake's skin was nut brown ale next to the jet black of the Summer Islander. "Kojja Mo means us. My sisters and I are on board. Come, Edric. House Martell would like to speak with you."
Arya found her brother on the portside of the Wolf Wind, staring at the shore. The lands east of Maidenpool were thick with trees, some shedding orange and red leaves but others hearty and green, like the sentinel and soldier pines of the North. Jon sat with Ghost and Nymeria, looking south over the hills, bogs, and scrub. She handed him a heaping bowl of burgoo, boiled oatmeal with molasses. Jon fed chunks of salt beef and pork to the wolves.
"What is so interesting?" Arya asked.
"This is Crackclaw Point. The Houses here are loyal to the Targaryens."
"Because of Visenya. Visenya Targaryen flew down on her dragon Vhagar wielding her sword Dark Sister. No wonder the Crackclaw men submitted."
Her brother chuckled. "Visenya must have been a fearsome sight. But they also surrendered because Aegon had just burned down Harrenhal. The houses of Crackclaw Point wanted to share the spoils of victory. Men are driven by greed and fear."
Arya thought of Nettles, the dragonseed that had tamed a wild dragon during the Dance. Sheepstealer likely hunted these grounds. "It is too bad you don't have a dragon."
"Daenerys Targaryen has three. Barristan confirmed the tale."
"Do you think she will give you one?" Arya asked with excitement.
"Dragons cannot be given, not even by their mother. Daenerys may have hatched them in fire and blood, but like the dire wolves, dragons have their own will." Jon rubbed Ghost's neck affectionately. "They choose their bondmate."
"But it would be incredible to ride a dragon. Just think, Jon. Flying! You will take me up in the air, won't you?" Arya said.
"If I can. It would be amazing but presumptuous to assume that I will form a bond. Meereen is far away, and dragons are willful. They always have been. Daenerys has her hands full. Ser Barristan told me a great deal. He worries for my aunt, as do I. She faces many dangers."
'But she has three dragons. She can crush her enemies."
"It is not that easy. Her dragons are young, and even dragons cannot win every battle. Daenerys freed the slaves, but she did not end slavery. Slaver's Bay is no place for a liberator, or the liberated. Essos is a queer place. The Doom still casts a long shadow there."
"There is something else, Jon. Before the feast, Jaqen H'ghar spoke to me." Arya repeated the Faceless Man's words about the princes of Essos, how they might react to the elixir, and the Iron Bank. She tried her best to convey her concern.
"He wants us to go to Braavos." Jon said.
"I understand that. But why?" Arya asked. "Do the Faceless Men plan to kill you in Braavos? Jaqen said he would not but he could not speak for the others."
"The Faceless Men can kill anyone anywhere. It would be harder to do so in the North but not impossible. A man almost killed Bran at Winterfell and that assassin was old, half starved and paid only ninety silver stags. I almost died from crossbow bolts and Baelish is no Faceless Man." Jon put away the bowl of thick porridge. "Before the fire, H'ghar wanted the elixir. It was only after I revealed my identity, that he mentioned the Iron Bank."
"Is the Iron Bank that powerful?"
"No one really knows. The Iron Bank is as shrouded in mystery as the House of Black and White. The Faceless Men may want to kill me but the Iron Bank may also want to assess my claim to the Iron Throne. It could be both or neither. Who can say what H'ghar really wants?"
"Will you go to Braavos?"
"I have always wanted to. It is a city founded by slaves, built in secret, and placed far away from the main trade routes of Essos. And yet, despite its small size and bad location, Braavos became the richest and most powerful of the Free Cities. It has the best mummers, the most famous bravos and courtesans, a great fleet, the Iron Bank, and the most feared assassins. We all could learn a great deal from Braavos. They are the best traders in the world."
"But we don't know whether Jaqen means well or not."
"No. I need to speak with Robb. I should have told him before we left White Harbour about my parents, but there never seemed to be the right time. Instead, he will learn by raven, like everyone else." Jon grimaced. "I doubt that he will be happy. "
"He will be happy that we returned, and that the plague was cured. You don't need to ask anyone for permission. You are the king, Jon."
"Robb is not my subject. He is my friend. We fought together against the Lannisters. I want what is best for Winterfell. Robb does for me, as well."
Arya hoped that would be true but she knew that the interests of her brothers had diverged. Robb needed to rule the North for House Stark. Jon had a claim to the Seven Kingdoms for House Targaryen. The two families never had the best of relations. "Let me come if you go to Braavos. I want to see the Free Cities. I want to meet the dragons."
Her brother looked at her for a long moment, and patted her hand. Arya was glad. Whatever troubles might come, they would face them together.
The horses were mounted and the twenty Lannister guards were packed and ready, waiting for their leader. The convoy would escort a few maesters down the kingsroad. Other caravans intended to travel down to Duskendale and take the Rosby Road. Still others planned to head east, and find a skiff along the coast of Blackwater Bay. The gates to Maidenpool were full of horses and wagons eager to depart, like the ships in the harbour.
A younger Jaime would have left already, hoping to beat the rush of Tyrells and Reachmen to King's Landing. He was no longer that boy, full of piss and vinegar, with dreams of glory. He had no desire to return to the Red Keep. Jaime's mind flashed back sixteen years ago, when he had also wanted to be free of that castle. That day, another Targaryen had denied his wish.
Rhaegar was leaving the Red Keep to fight the rebels at the Trident. Jaime begged the Silver Prince to take him along, so that Jaime could fight in the war. He would have acquitted himself well on the field. Instead, he had been forced to remain a hostage in King's Landing, and by killing Aerys, the arc of his life was forever set. He thought he would never erase the stain on his white cloak, but then, the last Targaryen was revealed. Jaime could have redeemed his honor by serving Rhaegar's son but that path was also closed.
Last night, Gerion approached him at the feast. The boy gave him a message for Tyrion. Gerion had not forgiven the Lannisters but he reserved judgment on Tyrion. After all, what could he feel about a man he never knew. When he returned North, the boy would ask his mother for the truth. Jaime wondered how terrible that would be. If Tysha told the truth of Tywin's actions -
But then, that would be just one more disgrace for House Lannister. An ugly one, to be sure, but small compared to the other misdeeds. What was the rape of Tyrion's crofter wife versus the sack and rape of a city? Tywin Lannister had never worried about dirtying his hands to promote the family. Somehow that had gone awry. His father hoped for a dynasty that would last a thousand years and heirs to carry the family name. He got Joffrey.
"Ser Jaime." The old man approached, dressed for travel in a thick brown cloak over a plain grey tunic. He carried a stout quarterstaff.
"Barristan. Come for a spar? You will need armor and a sword. I will not beat you with a stick."
"No, Ser. I came to speak my piece. I sail before noon."
"To the Free Cities? I suppose they are better than King's Landing. Less treachery and deceit. And the fighters there are unskilled, and easier for an old man to beat."
"I will match my blade against any man, but I did not come to fight." Barristan winced slightly. "Ser Jaime, I still think you broke your oaths, but I did not know about the pyromancers and the wildfire plot. Had I known, I would have judged you less harshly for your crimes."
"My crimes? I saved King's Landing."
"By killing the man we were sworn to protect. Had you stopped the wildfire without killing Aerys, then you would not be known..."
"as the Kingslayer." Jaime laughed. "But that is my name, isn't it? I slew a king that was unworthy of the title. Unworthy of his house. It was my finest act, and I am proud of it."
"You disgraced the Kingsguard. It was not just your cloak that was sullied, but all of ours."
"Our cloaks were stained long before that. I served the mad king for two years. You served him for twenty. I am not ashamed to be the Kingslayer - not if the king was Aerys. You did nothing, Barristan. You watched just like me while Aerys began the war by burning Lord Rickard Stark and his son."
"I kept my vows." The old knight said, doggedly.
"I did not. One of us saved a city from burning and it was not you. I will honor the oaths that matter." Jaime thought once more about his promise to Prince Rhaegar.
The hold of the ship smelled warm, sweet, and earthy, reminding Edric Dayne of happy memories of name day feasts as a boy in Starfall. The air had the faint aroma of pepper, cloves, ginger, cardamon, and cinnamon. The last was no surprise given that he was on the Cinnamon Wind, hailing from Tall Tree Towns. The Summer Isles were famous for goldenheart, pearls and gemstones but the more valuable exports were spices, extracted with care from the Malabar Coast, swarming with flies, snakes and wasps that lay their eggs beneath the skin of animals and men alike. Some even claimed that fierce lizards and basilisks made nests of cinnamon sticks and could only be lured away with fresh meat. It was no wonder that the spices that leavened Dornish cuisine were highly valued.
Edric stood between Tyene and Alleras while the two older daughters - Obara and Nymeria - guarded the door. Their sire hunched over a Myrish lanthorn, the gray metal frame holding a wick in oil, covered by glass lenses. The burning light was obscured until Oberyn Martell turned, holding a band of yellow metal so tightly that it must have cut into the clenched fists. The Prince of Dorne looked unwell. His black hair was disheveled and his eyes red with weeping. Madness and grief ruled the saturnine face.
"Do you know what this is?"
Edric looked more closely. Oberyn held a thin filigree of gold, of high quality but plain. "A head band, my prince. Something worn to cover a lady's hair."
"My sister's. I have carried this for many years. When Nymeria made landfall in Dorne with her fleet a thousand years past, she came on shore with a tiara of wrought gold. Her circlet was ornate and intricate, full of carved flowers and sigils of Ny Sar and the Rhoyne. When Elia was a woman grown, my mother, the princess of Dorne, asked her to choose a band. This was Elia's choice - simple and pure - like her. She wore it the day she married her Silver Prince, the day she bore his children, and the day she was murdered by the Mountain. She would be alive today, had Rhaegar not thrown her away for that Northern whore."
"Begging pardon, my prince, but you cannot be certain of that. I grieve for your loss but we do not know what happened between Rhaegar and his wives." Edric said.
"Wives? Rhaegar was married to my sister in the Sept of Baelor." Oberyn might have done something more rash had Ellaria not placed her hand on Elia's band.
"Aegon the Conqueror ruled with two wives. By all accounts, the three were happy. Maegor the Cruel had six wives, and all those marriages were dreadful. Whether Rhaegar would have been an Aegon or a Maegor, only the gods know. Had the Rebellion not occurred, Elia might still be Queen and her son the Crown Prince and Daemon the Prince of Summerhall."
"Had Rhaegar not run away with the Stark girl, the Rebellion would not have occurred."
"That may be true but the prince could not have expected Lord Rickard Stark and his heir to ride for King's Landing or for Aerys to burn both of them. Whatever offense that they committed, Rhaegar and Lyanna are dead now. Jon Snow lives - and he bears no blame for what happened in the past. He was not yet born when Princess Elia died."
"Edric." Nymeria Sand changed the subject before her father could reply. "What do you call him now? Jon Snow or Daemon Targaryen?"
"A bit of both, my lady. No one knew that he was a Targaryen until two days ago. I have known him as Snow for nine moons now. Daemon doesn't roll off the tongue as easily." Edric did not mention that Thoros believed Snow's true name to be Azor Ahai.
"Does he care what you name him?" A curious Alleras asked.
"His grace doesn't. The Winter Town Boys and the Little Birds are unsure whether they need to bow or curtsy but Snow finds such things of little importance. He is the king. He does not need to remind us of that."
"Enough about names - or whether he is a Snow or a Targaryen, a bastard or a king." Oberyn regained his composure. "Why are you here, Edric? Why do you seek passage to Dorne?"
"The plague, my prince." Edric was puzzled, thinking that the answer was obvious. "I am returning home because of the plague."
"You don't need to do that. House Martell will bring the elixir to Dorne." Alleras pointed out.
"The cure may reach Sunspear but Starfall is seven hundred miles west. I am the Lord of House Dayne and responsible for my people. I sent a raven to Aunt Allyria, asking her to dispatch the maester to meet me in Sunspear. Once he has the elixir and the scroll, Moffet will ensure that the lands around the Torrentine are free of the plague." Edric said.
"That is a good idea." Alleras said. "Father, we should tell the other houses. It is a long way by road from Sunspear to many settlements. Our bannermen will appreciate our efforts. They will be in our debt."
"Just like we are in Snow's debt. Is that the only explanation, Edric? Or are there other reasons behind your return?"
"What do you mean, Prince Oberyn?"
"Father wants to know if you are a spy. Did Jon Snow send you to keep an eye on Dorne? Will you inform him on what happens in Sunspear?" Tyene said sweetly.
Edric shook his head, bemused. "You overstate my importance. I spoke to Jon Snow before the feast. I expressed my concerns that the Red Mountains are far from Sunspear and Oldtown, and that few ships stopped at Starfall. The lands around the Torrentine are prosperous but the river is too fast and narrow for cogs. I worry for my people. Snow gave his blessing. He hoped that I would return to his service one day. That is all, my lady."
"So he is not plotting against the Lannisters?" Obara said, disappointed.
"I am not privy to the king's thoughts and I never fought in a battle with Snow. But I have heard him speak about war. Victory comes to those who know when to fight and when not to fight. He will strike when he is ready."
"But how? With what troops? And when?" Nymeria said.
"I don't know. I trust my king. The first Daemon defeated the usurper in the Dance of the Dragons. He took King's Landing by surprise." Edric said.
"But the blacks could not hold the city. Daemon and Caraxes died soon after at the God's Eye against Vhagar. Rhaenyra died before the year ended. Aegon the II only survived her for six months. It was a terrible war. The North, the Vale and the Riverlands versus the Stormlands, the Reach and the Westerlands. History may repeat itself." Alleras said.
"Why do we need so much more blood? Does this Daemon Targaryen really need to set the Seven Kingdoms on Fire to regain his throne? When does it all end?" Ellaria complained.
"It is not his grace's fault. The Lannisters set fire to the Riverlands. If Lord Tywin submitted, and left King's Landing with all his family….." Edric replied.
Oberyn snorted. "The Valyrian Freehold will return in all its glory before that happens. Pigs will fly, the Wall will fall, and Mace Tyrell will be crowned champion at a tournament. All these things are more likely than the Lannisters bending the knee to Snow. "
"The last one is not impossible, Father." Tyene said.
"It is if I attend. I would be happy to knock the Fat Flower on his giant arse." Oberyn japed.
"We have no spies in the North. One of us should go to White Harbour. That would be the best way to understand what Jon might be doing." Alleras said.
"It won't work. Lord Manderly is no fool. Strangers who stay in White Harbour are watched. And anyone who leaves the city to go North will be followed. The Starks will know." Edric said.
"We go South - all of us. I sent a raven to Sunspear but I must speak with Doran directly. Dorne must decide what it will do in the coming war." Oberyn said.
Of all the things that might survive his lamentable wedding, Tyrion would not have expected a book. Yet the Book of the Brothers remained - two foot tall, nearly as wide, with a thousand pages that recorded the uninterrupted history of the kingsguard. The tome had been stored in the common room of the White Sword Tower, and wildfire damaged but had not destroyed the relic. The covers were bent and blackened, and the ancient leaves singed from smoke and ash. The White Book endured, even if it was badly in need of repair.
Tyrion wondered if there was a lesson there. Did it mean that the white cloaks, even tarnished, still had value beyond being guards for the king? Or was it the strange leather binding that resisted the fire, crafted from materials brought by the Targaryens from Valyria? Then again, it probably meant nothing at all. Tyrion was too tired from putting the pieces together.
Every knight of the Kingsguard had a page to record his deeds and exploits. There were famous members like Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, Ryam Redwyne and Ser Duncan the Tall, but also men best forgotten, like the unlamented Meryn Trant and Boros Blount. Tyrion employed scribes to restore the damaged pages, and begin new ones. He reserved any editing to Jaime. That was the duty of the Lord Commander.
"Look Uncle. Ser Barristan the Bold." Tommen cried.
Barristan Selmy's entry was among the longest of any in the White Book. Under the escutcheon of House Selmy, three stalks of yellow wheat on a brown field, an enormous block of text detailed feats of prowess on the battlefield and the tourney ground.
"Ser Barristan certainly enjoys writing about himself." Tyrion knew the quip was unfair. Most of the page was in the bold hand of Ser Gerold Hightower. Only the later parts of the account - the years after Rhaegar died at the Trident - had been entered by Barristan in a smaller crabbed script. The old knight had only written a few sentences about his time serving Robert Baratheon. The White Bull had been far more bombastic. "Hand me the new pages."
Tommen went through the stack of parchment, pulling out the brindled boar of Crakehall and the purple unicorn of Brax. Jaime had appointed Ser Lyle, and Ser Robert, both trusted Westermen. Tyrion inserted the entries behind Ser Balon Swann and Ser Arys Oakheart. Only two were missing now - the Knight of Flowers and the Hound. The Tyrells wanted a septon to draw Loras' shield of three golden roses on green. No one was certain whether Sandor Clegane, given his brief and dubious service, warranted a page in the White Book. It had been a long time since a white cloak abandoned the king. Likely Aegon the IV, Tyrion thought.
"Uncle." The plump boy said hesitantly. Tommen was kind-hearted but shy for a prince. "When do you think the plague will be over?"
The sickness had been in the capital for less than two moons. It felt like two years. The city was a graveyard now, with little trade or commerce. The gates of the Red Keep were barred to the city. The harbour was silent with only fishing boats plying the Bay. The watch at the city gates stopped anyone sick from entering King's Landing. Tyrion thought that was absurd. The plague was already here, spreading through the streets and squares.
"Soon, I hope. I am running out of wine and women." Tyrion had not entered a whorehouse for weeks. The better ones were closed. As for the ones still open, he was not fool enough to risk the plague for his cock.
"I miss Cella, Uncle. She had time for me. We used to roam the Red Keep together. Why did she have to leave?"
"Myrcella had to do her duty." Had Dorne joined the North, it would have been catastrophic for the Lannisters. "Perhaps Cersei might find some new companions for you."
"Mother is busy. She spends all her time either with Grandfather or Joffrey. She hasn't left Maegor's Holdfast for weeks."
Since Lord Tywin fell ill, Joffrey had barricaded himself in the royal apartments, ordering the Kingsguard to make certain that no one with the plague approached. That effectively divided the holdfast into two - maesters and Lannister guards on one half, and white cloaks and toadies on the other. Cersei flitted between the two sides, an useless exercise in Tyrion's opinion. Aunt Genna looked after their father, and Joffrey grew more uncontrollable with time. It was fortunate that the boy king was too preoccupied to rule.
Tyrion took out a fresh piece of parchment. "Come, Tommen. Let us write a raven to Myrcella. From her favorite brother and uncle." After all, he was Myrcella's only uncle.
Tommen took up a quill. Before the boy could scratch out any words, a loud noise rang. Bing, Bong. Ding, Dong. The bells were ringing in the city - many bells, echoing through the room. The bells rang again, a loud, long peel that vibrated through the Red Keep.
"Bronn." Tyrion yelled out. "What in the Seven Hells is happening?"
The sellsword made his way through the door, his longsword already drawn. "Someone is ringing the bells in the Great Sept."
"I can hear that. But why?"
The mercenary shrugged, more intent on staying alert than answering questions. Additional guards, red cloaks and gold cloaks, pushed into the room before Tyrion waved them back into the hall. A low rumble came from outside the window.
"When Father died, they rang the bells in King's Landing." Tommen said.
The High Septon would ring the bells to announce the death of a king. He had been a prisoner in the Eyrie when Robert Baratheon passed. For a moment, the happy thought of Joffrey's demise crossed Tyrion's mind. It would be even better if Tywin and Cersei died as well. Tommen would be a good ruler, willing to take guidance from a clever uncle. He might once again be the Hand. Tyrion shook off the pleasant dream of his father, sister, and his idiot nephew all dead.
"It can't be Tywin or Joffrey. The Red Keep would know the news first, not the Sept." Tyrion said.
"The bells also ring in an attack. What if Snow is outside the gates?" Bronn said. "What if he is leading an assault on King's Landing?"
"Snow would attack with surprise. He would not warn the septons, and his forces would storm the Red Keep, not the Sept of Baelor."
"Are we in danger, uncle?" Tommen squeaked. "Is the North coming to kill us all?"
"Don't be afraid. I will protect you." Tyrion declared.
Bronn snorted at the bluster. "How? If the Tyrells betrayed us, we are fucked. If Snow has more wildfire, we will be burned alive."
"There is no need to alarm the boy."
"Telling lies won't help either. He should know the truth. We have no idea what is going on."
Tyrion stepped carefully to the window. From his vantage point, the city sprawled below - a long thoroughfare leading to the central plaza and the other two hills, mixed with cramped squares, curved lanes and twisted alleys. To his left, the bells of the Great Sept continued ringing on Visenya's Hill. On Rhaenys' Hill, the ruined Dragonpit was silent and dark. Figures ran back and forth on the streets, but they looked like ordinary tradesmen and smallfolk, not armed soldiers. Why were people running? He could see no fires or cause for alarm.
"Something is going on in the city." Tyrion announced.
"No wonder people think you are so clever." Bronn retorted. "What do we do now?"
"We must get Tommen to safety." Tyrion grabbed a cloak from the wall. Pod's attire was too large but would hide his nephew's bright crimson doublet. He wrapped the heavy wool around the boy. "Tommen, no one must know that you are a Lannister. Pretend to be a squire or serving boy. Bronn can take you away. At the Twins, Snow killed the Freys, but not the servants."
A forceful rap came against the oak door. Bronn stood with sword and dirk, but Tyrion pushed forward, so that the sellsword could shelter Tommen with his lanky body. Tyrion could use words to distract intruders, buying the others time to possibly escape. The door opened to the grim, unsmiling face of Ser Kevan Lannister.
"Uncle, what news in the city?" Tyrion asked, giving no sign of his relief.
Ser Kevan gave a pointed look in Bronn's direction. A sheepish Tommen emerged, the brown cloak discarded. "There is news in the city and news in the castle. Ravens arrived. That is why the bells of the Great Sept are ringing."
"Ravens? From who?"
"Snow sent only one raven to the Red Keep, but the Sept of Baelor received multiple birds from septs in the Riverlands. That's not all. There are ravens from Duskendale, Rosby, and Driftmark. They all bear the same message."
Tyrion did not like the sound of this. "The same message? What would cause our bannermen to send so many ravens? And why is the Faith involved? What has Snow done?"
"Granduncle. Did Jon Snow cure the plague?" Tommen asked with a burst of excitement.
"All the letters claim that is true and that Snow will give the cure away. Maesters have departed Maidenpool with the elixir. The first ones should reach King's Landing in three to four days."
"That's wonderful." Tommen's elation faltered at the dour look on Ser Kevan's face. "Shouldn't we be happy? People will no longer die."
"There must be more to this story." Tyrion said softly.
"Much more." Kevan handed over an opened note.
It was almost nightfall when they finally roused Joffrey out of the royal apartments. He screamed at Tyrion and Cersei to leave him alone. Ser Kevan had been turned away at the door, the whitecloaks apologetic about their orders. It was Aunt Genna, fearless with her sharp tongue, that had finally forced the sulking boy king out by invoking Tywin's name. Joffrey gave her a nasty look but grudgingly emerged.
In the time it took to assemble, more letters had come. The flood of ravens was so great that each Lannister had their own note. Tyrion checked his missive, sent from Castle Stokeworth, with the one in front of Tommen, dispatched from Tumbleton. The words were the same, an indication that the maesters simply copied the original letter. How many ravens had been sent from Maidenpool? Tyrion thought of the old proverb - dark wings, dark words. Things certainly looked dark for House Lannister. These tidings would spread and spread among septons, merchants, maesters and highborn.
"LIES! These are filthy LIES!" Joffrey slammed a fist down on the goldenheart table. Only six Lannisters - including Genna and Tommen - sat in the Small Council chambers. The attempt at privacy was entirely futile. Every guard and servant nearby could hear Joffrey's screeching.
"Of course, sweetling. Who could believe a tale of a lost Targaryen prince?" Cersei scoffed. "Stark loved Robert like a brother, more than any of his actual brothers. Ned Stark is too stupid and honorable to lie to the Iron Throne."
Tyrion wondered if this was the same Ned Stark that Joffrey executed for lies and treason a year ago. "It would explain why Lord Stark brought a babe back from Dorne. He was in Dorne for only a few moons. That is hardly long enough to father a bastard."
"He might have brought a whore with him during the Rebellion." Cersei argued.
"Ned Stark keeping a camp follower while he led the North to avenge his father, brother and sister? No one will believe that. He is not Robert Baratheon." Kevan said.
"There was talk of Ashara Dayne. She attended the tourney at Harrenhal with Queen Elia. She could be Snow's mother." Genna said.
"Of course. All these Dornish women are sluts. She likely seduced him there - probably with Elia and her flat chest." Cersei cackled.
Tyrion thought it rather presumptuous for his sister to call another woman a slut. Further, the timeline did not work. Wars took longer than most people realized. The tourney at Harrenhal was Spring of 281. Brandon Stark had foolishly ridden to the capital a year later, when Lyanna went missing. The Rebellion began months later, after the death of Brandon and his father by wildfire. It would have taken several moons to muster troops, more moons to march, and then many more moons for the battles and the Northmen to head South. Two years passed between Harrenhal and Ned Stark's arrival at Dorne. If Ashara Dayne had a healthy one year old boy, she would have never killed herself. She would have spat in Ned Stark's face.
"We do not know if there are any records. There may be a lord or knight still living who can testify to the truth of the matter." Kevan cautioned.
"There is no truth." Joffrey screamed. "I will have anyone flogged who repeats these lies. I will rip out their tongues. Their heads will be nailed to the spikes on Traitor's Walk."
The executioners would quickly run out of space in the dungeons and spikes. "What about us, your grace? We are speaking about Daemon Targaryen. Our bannermen and allies will be curious about Maidenpool. So will the Lords of the Reach."
"Tyrion is right." Ser Kevan looked at the king with disdain. "The ravens are not going to be stopped. Any lord who receives the letter will discuss it with his knights. The septons also know. Do you intend to make war on the Faith? There is no way to stop people from speaking about this. We must approach this in a different way, not with brute force."
"Then what should we do?" Genna asked.
"How do we even know this is true? Perhaps we can just say Snow is a liar, a madman, and a fool." Cersei said, rallying to Joffrey's point of view.
Kevan snorted. "For the raven to be sent, Lady Leonette must be healed. Snow is not Baelish. He would not lie, cheat and steal from the sick, like Littlefinger and his false doctors. Incredible as it sounds, Jon Snow has cured the plague."
"Perhaps he is a Targaryen." Genna said. "How else could he and Robb Stark outfight Tywin? And the things that he has done. Killing the Freys, burning down the Red Keep. I remember Prince Rhaegar. He excelled in so much - the sword, the harp, books. Queen Rhaella told Joanna she had never seen a boy read so young."
"My father was the better man." Joffrey sneered. "Everyone knows that Rhaegar raped the wolf bitch. That is why my father caved Rhaegar's chest in. Snow is a bastard and a bastard will not take my crown."
Everyone did not know that. Judging from his aunt and sister, many in the Seven Kingdoms still thought well of Prince Rhaegar. Robert Baratheon did not, but then Joffrey's actual father did. Jaime had always admired the Silver Prince. What a strange world where a Lannister bastard was king, and a Targaryen prince was a bastard.
"Even if Snow is Rhaegar's son by Lyanna Stark, he may not be heir. Both his father and mother died in the War. We can claim that they were not wedded, and that Daemon has no claim to the Iron Throne. He can be a Sand, or a Snow, or a Waters, but he is illegitimate." Ser Kevan said.
"Make him a Blackfyre then, and not a Targaryen." Genna said.
Kevan nodded. "The highborn still remember the Blackfyre Rebellions. The houses in power today fought against the Blackfyres. It will deny him allies."
"There is a problem with that, uncle." Tyrion said. "The ravens will arrive first, telling the world that he is a Targaryen and that he cured the plague. People will argue and debate if that is true. Then the cure will come, like a gift from the gods. When men realize that Snow saved their lives and their families, they will believe the entire letter."
"Then we have to prepare for war." Kevan said grimly.
"I want his head." Joffrey yelled. "Tell the Tyrells to bring me his head."
Tyrion sighed. Heads would certainly roll. He hoped his head would not be one of them.
Ravens flew through the day and night. A bird delivered a letter to the Eyrie, where Lady Lysa ignored the message, caring only when her sweet Petyr would return. Another arrived at the Crossing, and the Blackfish pondered which houses he could trust to take back the Riverlands. The ravens flew North, West, and South, bearing the tidings on dark wings. At the Golden Tooth, Lady Alysanne, like many in the Westerlands, gasped in shock. The castles along the Mander received the letters and sent messengers - human and bird - to Highgarden for guidance. At the Hightower, Lord Leyton sat down with his daughter, the Mad Maid, looking through books and scrolls for any relevant prophecies or portents.
Two castles required special mention. They were in the North and the South, and besides Oldtown, the furthest destinations the ravens reached from Maidenpool. At Winterfell, Robb called his brothers and sister to the solar, and read aloud the note. Sansa was astounded, Rickon confused, and Bran unruffled, his face without expression.
"Did you know?"
"Yes. I saw Rhaegar marry Lyanna at the Isle of Faces. They pledged their vows before a weirwood tree."
"Seven Hells, Bran. Why didn't you tell me? Or anyone?"
For a moment, the broken boy appeared perturbed at his brother's question. Then the gray eyes lost all traces of emotion. "It would not have mattered. Jon needed time to accept his identity as Rhaegar's son. It would not have changed the war against the Lannisters."
"You can't possibly know that. In war, even trivial things can be important. We might have won more battles." Robb groused.
"You won all the battles you fought. There aren't any Targaryen loyalists left in the Riverlands. Hoster Tully saw to that. Aunt Lysa barred the Knights of the Vale from joining the North. Nothing would have changed." Bran said.
Robb bit back his response. In truth, he blamed himself for the failure of the North to deliver a killing blow. He had ridden to Bitterbridge to meet Renly. Had he returned with fresh troops from the Tyrells, or saved Renly's life, everything could have been different. The Reach and the Stormlands might have attacked Tywin. Then again, Renly was a claimant to the Iron Throne. No Baratheon wanted the return of the dragons.
"Robb. What are we going to do?" Sansa asked.
"Do? Of course, we support Jon. Or Daemon Targaryen or whatever name he calls himself. Jon is our brother." Robb replied.
"Isn't he our cousin?" Rickon said.
Robb waved off the question. "He may be Aunt Lyanna's son but Jon grew up at Winterfell. He fought for the North. He would have given his life for us. That makes him our brother. If he wants the Iron Throne, then House Stark will support him."
"It is not so simple. The North fought a war to overthrow the Targaryens. Our father called the banners to avenge Rickard and Brandon Stark, and bring Lyanna home." Sansa said.
"She married Prince Rhaegar in the riverlands. I don't know who is to blame for the Rebellion, but it is not Jon. He is our brother."
"That is not what our bannerman will think. They will see him as the reason for the war. The North does not like dragons." Sansa warned.
"Jon fought for House Stark. He saved my life, and many of our bannermen were prisoners at the Twins. Who else would the North support for the Iron Throne? We will never bend the knee to Joffrey." Robb said.
"The Iron Throne does not matter. The enemy is north of the Wall. The Others are deadlier than any force in the Seven Kingdoms." Bran intoned in his strangely flat voice.
Robb sighed. Since Davos had brought news of the danger to the Wall, Bran prattled on about the True War and the Great Other. But Bran could say nothing about numbers, when the attack might come, or how a seven hundred feet tall Wall could be breached. He would have to meet Stannis soon. Robb did not look forward to welcoming a kinslayer to the North.
The last raven arrived at Sunspear, slowed down by the heat, the mountains, and the sea. The maesters brought the letter promptly to Prince Doran. Myrcella had been playing cyvasse with Arianne that morning. Trystane watched, as did the two white cloak guards and Martell guards, led by a tall knight with brown hair and a close cropped beard. The onyx and ivory pieces were put away with the board when they were called to the solar.
Myrcella sat with her betrothed while Arianne took Ellaria's children in hand - wild Elia and Obella, mischievous Dorea and little Lobeza. At first, she was surprised that the Prince was so open with the information. Then she realized that this news could not be suppressed, not in Dorne or anywhere else. There was so much to unravel in Snow's brief words.
"A lost Targaryen prince? Who cured the plague?" Arianne asked with amazement. "It sounds like a tale from the Age of Heroes, like the children of the forest shattering the Arm of Dorne."
"It does seem hard to believe. But Snow cured Nymeria of the plague. Ned Stark also brought a newborn back from Dorne, and his sister's bones. As much as I dislike Prince Rhaegar, he would not allow Lyanna Stark to be harmed. A death in childbirth is the most likely explanation."
"But what does this all mean, Father?" Trystane said nervously.
"I don't know." Doran shook his head. "A child of Rhaegar alive, but not Aegon or Rhaenys. Daemon Targaryen is Lady Lyanna's son, and we have no love for the Starks."
"What do you think of this?" Arianne directed her words to Myrcella.
"That is not a fair question." Trystane protested.
Prince Doran steepled his hands and waited for silence. "No, it is not. Princess Myrcella, you may answer or decline. The choice is yours."
That was not much of a choice. Myrcella paused for a moment to marshall her thoughts. "I have never met Jon Snow. He was at the Citadel when I visited Winterfell. I was in Dorne when he took Sansa away from the wedding to my uncle Tyrion. He fought against the Iron Throne because Joffrey imprisoned and executed Lord Stark. I do not blame Snow for that. He fought for Winterfell and House Stark. As for whether he should be king, I cannot say. I do not know if Lady Lyanna and Prince Rhaegar were married."
"Well spoken. But that does not change the problem. If the letter is true, Jon Snow has a strong claim to the Iron Throne. The Rogue Prince was a vengeful man with a great thirst for blood. This Daemon seems equally dangerous."
"Prince Doran. An urgent message." A short fat bald man entered the room. "The priestesses of the Rhoyne command you to come to Planky Town."
"Command us? We are House Martell. How dare they order us around!" Arianne said.
"Hush, daughter." The prince looked troubled. "What has happened, Caleotte?"
"The matron mother is dying."
The ravens from Maidenpool rested after their flights but the news continued to ripple beyond the cities and great castles. The fastest Tyrell messenger reached Tumbleton, to secure passage along the Mander for the soon to arrive maesters and knights. Ser Jaime was only a day away from King's Landing. Ser Garlan was slower, but he marched with thousands of men, versus the twenty Lannister guards. Beric and Thoros landed at Gulltown. Prince Oberyn, the Sand Snakes, and Edric sailed past Dragonstone.
In Westeros and Essos, the plague raged, exacting a devastating toll. Men and women prayed for succor, with only a handful knowing that hope was on its way. On the Narrow Sea, cogs and galleys sailed with cargos of elixir, mold, and scrolls. The ships hailed from many ports but carried one name on the lips of the captains and crews - Daemon Targaryen.
Author's Notes
The description of Dragonmont comes from the prologue to Book 2, Clash of Kings. Maester Cressen introduces Shireen and Patches before dying in an attempt to kill Melisandre with poison. Edric Storm is friends with Shireen. In the books, Davos ships him off to Lys, afraid that Melisandre will burn him alive. In this story, he is going North with Stannis.
I am going to age Shireen a bit older than the books. Think more like Arya - around twelve or thirteen.
Gulltown is the northeast tip of the Bay of Crabs, or the Southern Vale close to the Narrow Sea. The Eyrie is pretty much in the middle. The seat of House Arryn might be impregnable (defended by the Gates of the Moon and mountains) but the location is inconvenient. This shows how unimportant travel and commerce are in the medieval world. Modern cities are almost always on rivers, and busy trade routes.
Sea shanties are folk songs found mostly in British and European merchant ships. Interestingly, they originated when workers unloaded cotton in Southern ports in the US. The sea shanty seems to be more of a trade thing, designed to help groups push and pull together. So, it came about when ships got larger and trade became more important.
Bonding an adult dragon is hard even for a Targaryen. It makes you wonder why in the books, Quentyn Martell thought he could use a whip to tame one. At best, he had the chance of a dragonseed, and many of those died trying. Most riders grew up with their dragon. There are very few exceptions - Nettles and Sheepstealer. (a few other dragonseeds too) The first Daemon Targaryen was the second rider but Caraxes grew up with the royal family.
Braavos is in a poor location. It is far north, and close to White Harbour, likely the smallest of the Westeros cities. Braavos has tens of thousands, much less than Volantis. So it is interesting that it punches so far above its weight. The real life analogue - Venice - was strong because it was right next to the Ottoman Empire.
The Lannister dynamics are fascinating. Tywin appears to do a great job, promoting his house. He repairs the damage done by Tytos, he rules as Hand for twenty years, and his grandchildren sit on the Throne. And yet, his descendants are a hot mess. How much that can be blamed on Tywin's control freak personality is a great question.
The contrast between Barristan and Jaime is important. They are both supremely skilled fighters until old age and the loss of the hand. It is interesting that the three great fighters in GOT - Arthur Dayne, Barristan, and Jaime - all get beaten by lesser opponents. Jaime starts as arrogant and horrible - pushing Bran out the tower - but he is capable of heroic feats. One of my favorite chapters is when he deals fairly with the Blackwoods and the Brackens. Barristan looks the part of a knight of song, but he is ineffective. He can sneer at Jaime but what did he do as Lord Commander? Jaime blames himself for the quality of the other knights - "I opened the door and did nothing when the vermin began to crawl inside." But it is actually Barristan who allowed Trant, Moore and Blount in.
Spices were very important in the economic development of the modern world. For thousands of years, Arab traders controlled that trade in the Indian Ocean. They even spread stories of fierce man-eating birds with nests made of cinnamon sticks. No such bird existed but the story discouraged competition and allowed higher mark-ups. Incredibly, the Greeks and Romans believed this nonsense. It was only in 1498 that the first European, Vasco Da Gama, made it to the Malabar Coast, breaking the Arab monopoly.
The idea of the golden headdress comes from pictures of Princess Nymeria and Elia Martell in the Wiki of Ice and Fire. Elia doesn't wear much jewelry but she does have a simple gold band. I like the idea of Oberyn keeping a memento of his sister.
Victory comes to those who know when to fight and when not to fight. This is paraphrased from Chapter 3 of The Art of War. Edric, after spending many months with the Northerners, has a basic understanding of how Jon thinks.
In the show, Ellaria is bloodthirsty and kills Doran, Tristan and Myrcella. In the books, she cares more about the safety of her young children. Book Ellaria is nothing like show Ellaria.
The White Book seems like a trivial thing - just the name, the shield of his house, and an entry written by the Lord Commander. It is quite important to Jaime and appears in three of his chapters. Jaime thinks a lot about how people will remember him.
It is interesting how Kevan Lannister seems to morph through the books. While Tywin is alive, he is described as a shadow and enforcer. Kevan was the one who executed the order to burn the riverlands. He unleashes Gregor Clegane, Vargo Hoat, and Amory Lorch. After Tywin dies, Kevan is viewed as the sensible one, the man holding together the realm with his good deeds, according to Varys. But I don't think he does a great job at all. With Jaime a kingsguard and Tyrion fleeing to Essos, Kevan is the clear head of House Lannister. He could have forced Cersei to go back to Casterly Rock and give up Tommen. That obviously would be the right solution and not the melodramatic twists and turns. In the end, Kevan is just a plot device - changing to the role that GRRM requires. The insult of Cersei is pretty awesome, though.
The Lannisters will argue that Jon Snow is Rhaegar's bastard. I don't buy the TV notion that Sam and Gilly could find the single document in an enormous library that records the marriage. Even if that document surfaced, why wouldn't the Iron Throne say that is a forgery? The question is how relevant that will be. William the Conqueror, the first Norman king, was a bastard. Daemon Blackfyre almost conquered the Seven Kingdoms. A lot is made about Aegon IV legitimizing his bastards, but Daemon was a great fighter, screwed over by Baelor the Blessed's madness. His father and mother were both Targaryens. Why should he bow to any king?
In Book One, Bran is already dreaming about the lands beyond the wall. I am not sure if he sees the Others but he is afraid of the heart of winter. In the TV show, the big reveal of Jon's identity is when Bran meets the Three Eyed Crow. That won't happen in this story for a long time. I picture this Bran having lots of dreams from different times and places - to make him an untrustworthy narrator. He sees things but aren't sure if it is real, if it is in the past, or if it has already happened. It is never clear in the show how much the Three Eyed Crow is telling the truth or just manipulating things.
Sansa has more reservations about Robb's position - "screw it, we are backing Jon." You can definitely argue that she is more astute. That support is tricky for a few reasons, the most important being that the Others are at the Wall. For purposes of the story, Robb and Jon are tight as can be - but they have different motives. Robb has to defend the North - Jon has to figure out his past and future. Arya is the badass sidekick.
Julius Caesar wrote that "in war, events of importance are the result of trivial events." So, Robb is rather annoyed that he did not know that Jon was the son of Rhaegar and Lyanna. He is also annoyed that Bran has all these visions and doesn't bother to tell anyone anything. That is a major criticism of Season 8.
I like Myrcella Baratheon as a character. In the books, she is the smartest of the three royal children, with the best temperament. Admittedly that is not saying much, but I really thought the whole "cut her ear plot" in the books was piss poor. Killing young children as a way to advance the plot seems overdone. The argument is that everyone is at risk and anyone can die. It is a shock when Bran gets pushed, and Lady gets killed, along with Micah in the Riverlands. But the well goes dry when you repeat and rinse - Tommen, Shireen, Trystane, Myrcella.
I will leave it up to the viewers and readers to decide how much of the "Remember my name" approach to the elixir was intentional or accidental. That depends on how you see Jon Snow.