Chapter Seventeen: Knowledge from the Tenth City.
Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by George R. R. Martin, or his publishing company, or HBO.
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She remembered how Lord Wull once called both Robb and herself summer children. Grasping the surprised man by his jerkin and threatening him with a Lyseni dirk in response. Now, that anger long cooled, Sansa Stark knew he was right. Just to be a Stark did not give her an inherent understanding of what winter truly meant. Winter was not just snow, hunger, death, and cold. It could exist in the spring, fall, as well as the dying days of summer. Winter existed in every man's heart, cock, and mind. Always at threat of being unleashed onto the world at large given the right sequence of events.
As they punched her in the stomach she gained an inkling of understanding. When the entire court watched silently, some lecherous, Crownland Lords even cheering in support, Sansa truly learned the dangers of being a lone wolf in winter. Then Meryn Trant tore her dress to shreds. The soiled shift beneath revealing her body to the Red Keep's inhabitants. Winter could take everything from those it decided to victimize. Everything. "Her snatch is as red as blood!" Joffrey rejoiced jauntily in his whiny voice. There went her sense of self-respect, as all pride and dignity was forcibly flung from the window.
Stood there before the Iron Throne she still refused to sob.
So they punched her in the stomach again. The reputedly gallant Kingsguard betraying their true colors in the process. Trant eagerly wrapped one cold, gauntlet-clad hand about her throat. His other one tugging into her ratty, messy head of hair. Joffrey all-but stroked himself through his trousers at the sadistic scene. The nineteen-year-old proving himself to be nothing short of a new Mad King. His subjects watching the whole while as another tyrant was born. Sansa acknowledged what was likely to happen. If a Farring girl could be defiled, beaten, and practically murdered then the daughter of an alleged traitor would be given no mercy.
"My brother will murder you all!" She finally cackled aloud, "He will storm these walls and do tenfold unto you all as was done unto me!" Feeling a bit mad she ignored them. Stumbling up the steps to the Iron Throne as Meryn Trant tried to catch her again. "Robb Stark will have your daughters stripped naked. Raped by the savage Northmen. Your father's shall be locked in the Black Cells, and your mothers fucked to death by Umber Giants!" Now came her desperate punch, "All because you allowed his grace to murder your only hostage!" Trant caught her again. She was smothered against his painfully sharp armour as he punched her again.
Though even the Kingsguard could do nothing about the uproar finally directed at the king by the thoroughly shocked court. She had reminded them what they stood to lose. Joffrey was no slouch when it came to executing his sadistic pleasures. The next day he merely had the court dismissed before she was dragged out of her small, new chambers and thoroughly beaten. This happened the day after and the day after that. By the time Cersei decided to show her face again every inch of Sansa's body was black and blue. Showing through the torn rags which did a piss job of covering her battered body.
"Your father has agreed to announce his role in attempting to overthrow the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, Lady Sansa." She announced, green eyes glinting poisonously. "In a fortnight you will be standing beside him at the Sept of Baelor."
"So that all of King's Landing can see me in my true state? See all of the beatings given to me by your son's loyal dogs." She spat on the floor, ignoring Varys' warnings. The Spider was no saint. He likely only wanted her to live through this hell for some unspoken agenda. Sansa did not possess enough energy to smile like a Lady as Joffrey beat her to death. "They will rage against this Keep. I am loved in this city."
"Yes." Cersei sniffed, "Perhaps the useless legions of cripples and whores will riot. All the better so the City Watch can skewer them out of existence. Then you will be a Stark whore, with no influence to your name. Destined to remain a hostage until my brother is returned to me."
"We did not take your brother you daft bitch!" Sansa snarled. Boros Blount, the fat fuck, was only too happy to slap her in the back of the head.
"We?" Joffrey quoted her in an exaggerated fashion. The young man's eyes raking greedily over her semi-naked form. "You are alone here. Your siblings as good as dead wherever you sent them."
"My brother, Robb lives." Sansa felt her blackened heart burn with tenderness. She imagined Rickon in Winterfell. They were both safe. So long as there were Starks with influence still around to fight the Lannisters, Sansa could die with a smile on her face.
"When he falls in his first battle," Joffrey spat violently, "I will give you his head as a wedding gift." A dark smile crossed his wormy face, "His pretty Targaryen wife will be my whore." Sansa's face fell at the sudden implication of what Joffrey had just said. "Yes, your brother wedded Shiera Seastar a month ago. He must think it will give him a claim to my throne!" A smile spread across her face. So bright it ached. Every Targaryen loyalist in Westeros would clamor to support her brother once he proved himself in battle. Perhaps Shiera was not Margarey Tyrell or Arianne Martell, but she did have some power to her name.
"Your handmaids have taken control of Harrenhal in your absence. They are assembling forces to prepare for battle with my father." Cersei interjected. "You will write to the castellan. Informing him of his obligation to surrender unconditionally to the Westerland army."
"I think not," Sansa answered coldly.
Another beating followed that defiance. So vicious that she worried over internal bleeding after Trant finally dragged her away to the small, windowless chambers. Sleeping quarters suitable for a Traitor's daughter. "My, my," The Spider's voice came softly as she was thrown to the ground before her narrow bed. A bed upon which he had been sat waiting. "You should not be trying to antagonize them so." Standing, he helped her up into a steaming tub that waited nearby. "The handmaidens are all spies," He informed her in a sad voice, "Planted by Queen Cersei and other parties to monitor your movements."
"What do you want?" Sansa asked suddenly, "None of this is out of the kindness of your heart. Those trunks were seized from a carriage I sent to Harrenhal ahead of my planned escape. Why did you bother to retrieve them?"
"Bathe yourself," Lord Varys twisted his fat face down at her, "Eat when they bring you food. Dress yourself as a Lady of your status ought to. Your brother may be a traitor, but he is still a traitor with thousands of men and a Targaryen bride to his name." The hint was subtle, but Sansa cursed herself for not deciphering it all sooner. The Spider had been a Targaryen Loyalist, and he still was a Targaryen Loyalist after so many years. She remembered her father resigning as Hand over the planned assassination of Danaerys Targaryen. Wondering why Varys would not simply help the Mad King's daughter. Only to realize that the manipulative man was hedging his bets. Forcing any of her sudden realization off of her face Sansa stood. Removing whatever was left of her clothing.
Predictably Lord Varys did not ogle the exposed flesh. She was filthy from beatings and the Black Cells. Of course, he was also a eunuch. "I suppose I will bathe, Lord Varys," Sansa drawled, "Perhaps my tedious life of imprisonment will be easier to tolerate clean." With that he left. A smile flashed over her face. The most fundamental aspect of Lord Varys' motivations had been revealed to her. So long as Shiera did not die, Sansa supposed the man would have a reason to keep her safe.
Feeling a bit, the smallest bit possible though, safer, Sansa eagerly bathed in the hot water. Scrubbing away months worth of filth. Most importantly, after cleaning her hair, the eldest daughter of House Stark took a moment to tend to her mouth. Utterly relieved that the white teeth had not rotted out during the long period of neglect. Feeling cleaner than she ever had in her life Sansa dried off quickly whilst trying not to notice how the water had turned a disgusting mixture of brown, red, and green. Picking gingerly through the materials in her trunks a sudden flash of metal surprised the young woman. Lying there amidst a bed of silks was the ball she had found in Winterfell's Crypts so long ago.
The very same one she had managed to open months ago.
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Shiera Seastar felt uncomfortable. For the first time in many, many years. Not since her thirteenth name day had the woman felt so unsettled. By the lust men felt for her. By the knowledge possessed by her voraciously hungersome brain. By the power commanded from her royal title. Now as she walked the Northern camps it was strange to realize that having been without true strength for so many years changed her. Taught her just how precarious the political scene in Westeros could be. Even standing in front of the Twins as the new Lady of Winterfell, Robb Stark her husband, with the Trident's Gate a seat of her own making, she understood the value of cautiousness like never before.
This was not just a bridge. There were lions to the west and south-east. Her husband's family either missing or held hostage by those same feline predators. Baratheon stags tramped wildly about in search of the crown. All while roses writhed ambitiously in the Reach and the Vipers of Dorne bided their time. Walder Frey was the key to chaos in the Riverlands. Shiera knew that he needed to be dealt with effectively before the rest of Westeros could be engaged in battle. Westeros was close to within the grasp of another Targaryen again, albeit wedded to a Stark. All her effort would be for naught if Tywin exploited his marriage ties to the Freys and attacked them from the back. "Remember what I told you, love," She whispered pleadingly in Robb's ear as they walked forwards.
"I can handle this," He tightened his grip on her fingers in response. They had grown closer than ever before after that wedding amongst the Weirwood trees. Lovemaking beneath matrimony in the evenings and mornings exposing more of her intimacy than she had ever allowed herself to share before. Vulnerabilities only a doting husband or favored child could ever be allowed to witness. Together they continued to walk until arriving beneath the agreed upon pavillion. Well within range of House Frey's archers, but Walder Frey's positioning would give the Starks ample opportunity to murder the Lord of the Crossing. This was not her first dealing with the ill-reputed House, but it would be her first time meeting Walder Frey.
Her first impression was that he happened to be so terribly old. With the look of a weasel about him. Bundled in furs even though summer still had yet to fully die. "You took your sweet time getting here, boy. Though I would too…" He allowed his eyes to rake rudely over her form beneath the loose, billowy white dress. Gripping tightly as possible into Robb's hand she conveyed that he needed to remain calm. Standing beside her husband she felt the many guards around them halt. Standing regally like she had in her days at King's Landing.
"I have travelled furiously for King's Landing since the news of my father's unjust imprisonment reached my ears. Since my family, the Tullys, your bannermen were attacked by the Lannisters. After my mother was abducted by the Imp near your lands. Yet you have not travelled very far at all, Lord Frey. Why is that?" He allowed his eyes to rove over to the opposing riverbank. "Six-thousand soldiers. Yet you do not move to defend your liege?"
"Heh." Frey cackled, "I swore oaths to Baratheon as well. Am I to go breaking those now?"
"Yet you have not moved to serve Joffrey Waters either. Clearly you think that I will allow myself to be extorted in exchange for the chance to cross your bridge." Robb stood straighter, "I will not. My men nearly double your own. We have Giants, and soldiers from every region of the North. Even from Beyond-the-Wall. My Uncle Brynden will be marching from the Vale any day. I have no qualms about burning your House to ashes and stone."
"That would be a poor decision, boy," Frey barked, "It is well-known that your Uncle is facing a rebellion in the Vale. From the Belmores, Corbrays, Melcoms, Moores, and the Lynderlys for guardianship of Robert Arryn."
"Not from the Graftons." Robb rebutted callously, jaw jutting, "My Uncle is wedded to their eldest daughter. Without a port stronghold as they had during the last war, the Vale rebels will be cut down in no time at all."
"The Giants and Wildlings you have brought south will negate any boon claimed by your marriage to the Targaryen wench." Frey continued as though he had heard nothing. "No one shall agree to let their wives and daughters be raped by such vicious creatures. It only further cements the reputation Northmen possess for being savage heathens."
"Savages with Giants. Giants who could smash your gates without a moment's hesitation," Shiera smiled nastily, finally speaking. She could tell when Robb's easily stoked temper was getting the best of him. "You might think these brave Northmen savages, but at least they do not fuck their sisters above the Neck."
"Foul words from the mouth of a Lady Paramount. Though I would expect nothing less from a sorceress and the daughter of Aegon the Unworthy." He bit back with a snarl.
"You are just as filthy, Frey. I will not mind my words around your ilk." She stepped in front of Robb. "In fact, there is no need to worry about how we speak to one another at all. You hate me and I you. But we need this bridge, and you need for us to keep from turning our Giants and hardened soldiers against your paltry, six-thousand men. Accords of mutual need have been drawn from far less."
"Unfortunately, I have already drawn an accord with the Lannisters many years before this day. Family cannot be bought out…" The shining gleam in his eyes indicated that it, in fact, could be bought out. "Perhaps if you Starks had married into my bloodline before this moment. So many wolf pups delivered by your trout of a mother. Yet not a single one for me?"
"Lord Robb is wedded to me," Shiera snapped firmly.
"Aye," The Frey Lord jerked his head, "But you will have children. Lovely dragon pups with claims to the Iron Throne. Children who are far better catches than your husband ever was."
"Selling my children before they are even born?" Robb asked in a horrified voice. "For nothing more than to cross a bridge?"
"'To save your parent's lives, and that of your sister." Another light shined in his old face. "Speaking of which, Lady Sansa will not be betrothed much longer if you win the war, will she? Such a pretty girl, with Harrenhal under her belt as well. My Walder was quite fond of her the last time she visited the Twins..." Behind him Black Walder's face grew into an ugly, lecherous grin directed Robb's way.
"The Lady Sansa is master of her own keep. Overseer of her own affairs. My husband has no say in her marriage prospects." Shiera interjected quickly. She disliked how well Frey was managing to strike Robb beneath his mental armor.
"Then the Lady Arya should satisfy well enough. For all her uncouth I hear she is prettier than Lyanna Stark ever was. Less long in the face, and tall as the Starks tend to be." His crude point left Shiera reeling in disgust.
"My mother sent me a note for the Winterfell records while she was in the Vale. Lady Waynwood drew a betrothal contract between my sister and Harold Hardyng while they were all in the Eyrie." Robb's voice flashed with glee. Perhaps all of the Stark children had had to swallow stones with their betrothals, but it seemed to have leant them much negotiating power.
"I will tell you what I want then, boy," Frey snapped suddenly, "And if you do not deliver I shall be more than happy to attack you from behind as Tywin Lannister commands."
"Speak your worst, old man," Robb retorted viciously.
"Heh. I will have your eldest sister betrothed to Walder. She is a woman. Her say pales in comparison to the mighty armies you have flaunted so relentlessly in my face today. Who is the Lady of Harrenhal to deny a future King of the Iron Throne?" Then came the next blow. "Your first born shall be wedded to one of my progeny. Then there is the matter of your brother, the Young Wolf, they call him. I sent your traitor father a marriage contract only to have it slapped back in my face. Again. He shall have one of my daughters. Furthermore, once her done husband dies, I will have Lysa Lychester for my own. Not to mention that the many Lords in your company today will have the honor of warding my progeny."
Shiera slipped Robb back before he could say anything. "We are lucky to have gotten this much from the bastard," She whispered, "If he could, all your siblings would be betrothed to his spawn. Sansa can hold off against a betrothal with the Freys, but Bran will simply need to take the responsibility."
"What about our firstborn child?" Robb asked, "Are you really saying we would sell it to him for a fucking bridge?"
"We are selling our child for your father, mother, and siblings. So that our own children can actually survive without fear of attack from Joffrey and the Lannisters." Shiera answered firmly. "This is war, Robb. Even with the Giants we cannot afford to destroy the Freys right now. They would bleed us to death. Then Tywin and Kevan Lannister would feast on whatever remained."
"Right now?" His voice could barely be discerned by her ears.
"Of course." She smiled darkly. "We pay the toll now. They pay it later for dereliction of duty to House Tully. You did not think I would ever allow them to walk over us like this with repercussions? After this war we will have more influence than before. Then we will deal with the Twins in whatever way is appropriate." A thoughtful pause, "Patience and humility is what has allowed the Starks to survive so many winters. That is how you will defeat the Lannisters. They will drown in their own hubris."
Robb turned with a firmly set jawline. "We will agree to your terms if the negotiations please us accordingly. I demand that you allow a Northern garrison to occupy both sides of the Twins. It would not do to have your House fall upon us from behind even if we reached an accord…"
"Of course," Frey agreed with his ever-hungry face, "We cannot have th-." He was interrupted as horns sounded in the distance. Echoing across the river. Sailing up the Green Fork were ships with masts. The three-headed Targaryen dragon roaring atop a split field of green and blue. Shiera counted quickly, noting that all but ten of her forty longships from Trident's Gate were present. Knowing her steward, which she presumed she did well enough, the Lady of Trident's Gate imagined there were at least twenty-five-hundred men crammed into those ships. Then, more surprising was when everyone noted the new legions of soldiers arriving by land. Bracken, Mallister, Blackwood, and Tully.
Shiera smiled arrogantly, "It appears that the terms of the agreement have changed. Nothing has been signed in ink. I suppose the Late Lord Frey has not gotten any quicker since the Battle of the Trident."
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Myrcella shrugged her worn shoulders. Ambling along on her way home whilst grimacing at every turn. There were the long hours at the merchant's stand spent haggling with men like no Princess should. She was good at it. The merchant often called her ruthless and unforgiving. Then every day Myrcella, Arya, and Cynthea took turns rotating through a supplemental tumbling job. Their bodies forced to twist into painful contortions at the drop of a hat. Wincing with every step the former Princess attempted to smile through the pain.
If the rumours were true, Joffrey had become the King of Westeros. Here Myrcella at least did not need to worry about being married to Walder Frey or… The thought of the spouse he had threatened her with was unfathomable. Still, this was only a half-life at best. She considered taking advantage of Arya's day off from the brothel. Fleeing from Pentos to Casterly Rock for her grandfather's protection. Leaving without giving her new friends the slightest warning. Their paths would eventually unwind from one another's sooner than later. Arya heading North where Myrcella would be held hostage if she dared to follow. Cynthea to the Vale which was under Tully charge. Not a good choice either.
Sighing tiredly at the thought of having to leave the other two soon enough, the blonde slipped into her dingy neighborhood. Instantly noting something was off upon stepping into the courtyard. A struggle had clearly taken place. Dead men lying about. The Bravo Cynthea had been so fond of spread about in puddles of blood. Nervous, Myrcella finished her knife out of its hiding spot. Slipping towards the apartment carefully. "You." A snarling voice echoed in Pentoshi, as the landlady stepped out of the shadows.
Haggling had given Myrcella an incredible mastery over the bastard language. Of course, her knowledge of High Valyrian had helped with bridging the gap. "Your friends bring disgrace to this home. Chosen as the Maidens of the Seas and the Fields. Killing soldiers when they came to bring them to the Prince's Palace. I will have you gone this instant."
Myrcella ignored the screaming woman while she collected any remaining weapons and belongings in a rucksack. Fingering the handle of her war hammer the Baratheon Princess soon stood alone in the streets of Pentos. She wondered how her friends, who were clearly foreigners, had been chosen to be deflowered by the Prince of Pentos. Then the girl quickly remembered that the sacrifices were chosen by vote. Of course everyone would choose to abandon two foreigners to be sullied. Better them than their own daughters. However, that choice meant that Myrcella would soon be in the Palace herself.
Arya had saved her life, and she would make sure to repay the favour.
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"My Lord?" Briary Tully, formerly of Grafton, spoke softly as she entered the long empty war room of the Eyrie. Her husband sat at the head of the table with a long face. Houses Belmore, Corbray, Melcom, Moore, and Lynderly had been permanent fixtures for a long while. Now a new sigil sat in their midst: Dutton. She was clever. There had been no point in hiding it from her husband. He was much too old to be impressed by an eighteen-year-old bride who hid her cleverness from him. Such a man was already proven and true in battle. A smart wife was not likely to intimidate the Blackfish. "Seventeen-thousand men?" Briary asked quietly, though it was not truly a question.
"Aye. Seventeen-thousand men stand against us and our ability to help in the coming war. Never did I imagine I would be forced to partake in the fickle politics of the Vale." He hid his face in his hands. She swept easily over to him. Massaging his shoulders tenderly.
"What did Lady Lelia Elesham have to say?" Briary asked carefully. The daughter of Gerold Grafton had been envious some moons ago when Lelia was chosen for Arya Stark's court instead. All of those feelings faded hard and fast upon witnessing the state the other woman that morning. No First Men savages plagued the mountains these days since they had been dealt with. However, Lady Lelia had risked bandits and a civil war by acting as a messenger. Her horse little better than lame after being ridden nonstop from Harrenhal to the Eyrie.
"Myranda Royce is desperate for assistance we cannot give. She has somehow managed to take charge of Harrenhal in my grand-niece's absence. Tywin Lannister is soon to pounce on Stoney Sept while I am trapped here protecting my nephew's quarrelsome lands. Edmure has been trapped in Riverrun after a crushing defeat at the Golden Tooth by Kevan Lannister. The fool. Catelyn is truly trapped deep in the Westerlands, though no one knows where exactly. My grand-nephew has wedded Shiera Seastar and is likely being conned by those treacherous Freys as we speak." He peered at the board, "You are a clever thing. Tell me what is weighted against us on this board."
For her faults, Briary liked to imagine she was at least an obedient wife. So long as her husband refrained from making any foolish decisions. Hence, she peered at the battle maps more carefully than before. "Why are Dutton's now against us?" The young woman wondered carefully. "Could we change their minds? With them supporting the crown we lack any connection to my father's lands…" Indeed a jagged line cut across the map between the Eyrie and Gulltown.
"Nothing we can give them. They demand I give custody of my nephew to the Corbrays and vacate the Eyrie at once." The Blackfish hissed out.
"These ships." She continued quickly on. "I have seen my father's own battle maps many times before. Is there a pirate blockade at Gulltown again?"
"At White Harbor, Skagos, and the Sisters as well. The scum of the Stepstones are retaliating now that the North, Riverlands, and Vale are ensconced in war." Her husband confirmed emotionlessly. "Lys definitely can give us no assistance, nor could they afford to return our forces. Braavos is actively seeking to wage war with the Rogares. We are alone. Trapped with nothing to do but wait out this storm."
"Fifty-thousand soldiers in the Vale. Seventeen-thousand united against us. Ten-thousand of our allies stuck behind blockades. Five-thousand men in the Stepstones. We are outnumbered by one-thousand men. Though our fortresses are certainly superior." She stared at the wooden pieces. "Almost every soldier living in the Vale is at risk of being slaughtered in this civil war."
"Yes," He finally ground out, "It weighs heavily on my mind."
"I do not have solutions to the wars which threaten us, dear husband," Briary turned back to him. "Though I can find a way to at least distract your mind from such matters. Even if momentarily." She clapped loudly before he could speak. A young man stepped into the war room. Handsome, strapping, with flesh the colour of milk. His close cut locks of hair glimmered like fiery rust. "I am your wife. Your secrets are my secrets. His name is Erik. Enjoy him, and finish deep inside of me." She wasted no time stripping from her gown. "Men with clear heads are men who win impossible wars." Her shocked husband was easily guided upwards. Soon all three of them were nude, and Brynden Tully had Erik pressed tightly into the table as his virgin ass was dominated for the first time.
Briary sat in her husband's seat, naked as could be. Happily anticipating a chance at pregnancy even though Brynden Tully was queerer than a rainbow. Searching the maps for some way, any way for them to secure the Vale before the rest of Westeros erupted into utter chaos.
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"How did it happen?" Cersei snarled, gulping her wine down greedily. She was dizzy, victorious, and so very dangerous. The most she had ever been in her whole life. Ned Stark in her dungeons, his children scattered like rats across Westeros, and that whore, Sansa, little more than a slave.
"Maester Pycelle was engaged… With company at the time," Baelish spoke twistily as ever. "His mouth began to froth. Eyes exploded to bloody pulp. Ears running thick with blood. Every orifice of his body in fact. The Grand Maester's skin was little more than blackened wax by the time anyone was summoned. His company caught the sickness as well along with half of the guards who entered the room."
"Lord Varys," Cersei no longer smiled, "I am sure you can tell me whether we must be concerned about this sudden outbreak of disease. As well as who we can expect the Citadel to replace Maester Pycelle with."
"I ordered that Maester Melwys of Rosby be summoned immediately to investigate. He determined that the affliction which took Maester Pycelle was Red Death." Varys said this all with an appropriately solemn face. "A sickness from Gogossos, an island facing Sothoryos."
"How the fuck did it get here?" Janos Slynt snarled.
"Is it contained?" Ceresi cut the Commander of the Gold Cloaks off shortly.
"Yes, your grace," Varys inclined his head, "The Maester's quarters have been sealed indefinitely. As for the matter of a replacement, I will tell you as soon as my little birds hear word or whisper."
"Are there any more pressing matters which we must discuss," The Queen Regent flicked her hand dismissively at Varys.
"Yes, your grace," Petyr Baelish began with a dark smile, "I have been in contact with Braavos…"
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Whew. I finished it. School has been like a constant rope around my neck. Not to mention research. But whatevs, I have a bit of a break now. Hopefully you all keep in mind that the conflict is a bigger chessboard now. Lys and Braavos are going at it. Nowhere is safe from war in Planetos.