Chapter Nineteen: Family. Duty. Honor.
Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by George R. R. Martin, or his publishing company, or HBO.
Important Note: Okay. So I screwed up a bit. In one of the earlier chapters I said that the Kingslayer was besieging Riverrun when I meant Kevan Lannister. That I will need to fix. Then I said that Pycelle was alive after he died. Until I fix it, just imagine for now that there is some new random Maester filling in temporarily. Or I can just keep offing Pycelle and then resurrecting him. Your pick.
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"I brought whatever of our things I could pack. Sold the rest." Myrcella declared as they all stopped panting, at a remote area many miles from Pentos. Three horses stood where the Baratheon Princess had gestured. "You two should change. Then we need to decide on where to go before they send guards down this road." Cynthea followed several steps behind Arya into the bushes. Stripping eagerly out of the silky fabric, and back into her protective clothing. The conversation continued as the two girls strapped all of their retrieved weapons onto their persons.
"We need to go to Lys," Arya said, none of them missed her relieved expression at being reunited with her Valyrian blade. Lament now securely hoisted about her hips the young swordswoman turned her full attention to them. "My family needs me to go there. To help the Rogares against Braavos and represent them so that our loaned ships and men can fight at home. No one else is in a position to do so."
"I am not going to Lys with you," Myrcella snapped suddenly, surprising her companions. "We are friends, Arya, but I cannot betray my own family in political matter-."
"Your family will be safer the sooner that Joffrey is deposed! Are you better off suffering beneath his throne as he weds you off to a cruel, old man-?" Arya began to bite back.
"No. But am I any better for it when your brother is calling me a bastard of incest? The news came in from Westeros weeks ago. Best case the Northmen will strip everything from my family, down to the last Dragon in Casterly Rock. I help you get to Lys and your family will not care. They will happily execute me in a split-moment!" The golden beauty's chest heaved with the magnitude of her passionate argument.
"We cannot separate right now," Cynthea quickly commanded their attention as the neutral party. "Nor will we survive by fighting battles best left to our relatives across the Narrow fucking Sea." She folded her arms, "We just killed so many guards in the Prince of Pentos' Palace! The Pentoshi and the Braavosi combined hunting the three of us down is dangerous enough without internal divides."
"You are right," Arya quickly agreed, shaking her head. "They might not have known who we were before, but we have lost our anonymity to some extent. Now we are wanted for disrupting a culturally significant ritual and mass murder. The question is how to flee our likely hunters."
"Lys will not work regardless of our disagreement," Myrcella chimed in easily, "There are horrible, vicious battles being waged in the Disputed Lands and the Stepstones. I am nowhere near capable of fighting as well as the two of you can yet. Besides, three women of our unique colouring travelling into areas full of Braavosi soldiers on the lookout is a disaster waiting to happen."
"Norvos," Cynthea nodded with a half-sigh, "Lorath is much too far, and too close to Braavos. Anything south is risky. We need to travel for Norvos. From there we can part ways if we must. Perhaps we can travel to Volantis once things are settled, and all of us can take different ships home."
"I do not like the idea of travelling so deep into Essos," Arya moved to hoist herself onto one of the horses, "But we have no other option. That choice was made for us already."
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Lyam Slate was smart enough to know that he ought not admire the sight of Lady Shiera Stark's bottom as she rode a stallion before him. Still, lusty lads were not known to follow the correct heads in such important matters. The speedy journey from the Twins to Crackclaw Point had reminded him sternly of the fact that she was dangerous beyond being the Lord Paramount's wife. Her tongue was sharp enough to make grown men sob. Not to mention that the first glimpses of Trident's Gate had shown him just how powerful she truly was. Gates taller than the ones of his father's much more ancient seat back home. A booming populace full of foreign traders, artisans, and beautiful whores. Not the old wood whittlers or gap-toothed cousins he rutted with back at the tiny Grey Gate. Even the Hornwood Keep, seat of his liege Lord, came nowhere close to matching the beauty and fortitude of Shiera Stark's self-made seat.
That went without mentioning the marvelous wonder of her marble palace. Hidden behind another set of walls high on top of the hill, settled with a view over the confluence of the sparkling Trident and surrounding farmlands. Heavy columns of Vale-sourced marble larger than Giants circled the rectangular structure, and hundreds of massive glass windows painstakingly hand-crafted by Myrish immigrants glittered blindingly in the sunlight. They already called it the Palace of Marble and Glass. An innovation constructed so quickly thanks to the involvement of Giants. Lyam had felt terribly sorry to see it fade away behind them as they traded boats for horses. Of course, if he had known how bouncy Robb Stark's bride was the lad might not have fretted. "Pregnant by at least three moons," An older soldier chortled, smacking him on the back, "And I would fuck her over my pick of virgins any day!"
The Slate heir smirked, but was at least wise enough not to voice his desires in turn. Alongside half his father's forces acting as guard, Robb Stark had sent even more Mormonts underneath the terrifying Lady Maege. Lyam had no desire to fall on the wrong end of her grisly-looking mace. In their time travelling Crackclaw Point he was unsure which had been more successful for the purpose of recruiting Targaryen Loyalists. Lady Shiera's sharp mind, or the terrifying woman riding beside her. He simply languished in the great disappointment that Dacey Mormont had been left to fight with Stark. Shiera and Dacey together, bouncing on horses every day, might very well have split his throbbing cock into two. Lyam was forced to momentarily adjust himself through his trousers.
Instead he was left with a painful, constant ache that had not been satisfied since a dalliance with the whores of Trident's Gate. So as they rode about recruiting the unruly men of this region for the new Lady Stark, he tried desperately to hide his throbbing cock. The Slate heir noticed how Robb Stark's Lady began with the smaller Houses. Only when the lesser houses of Crabb, Pyne, Hardy, and Cave had matched a collective force of one-thousand to their two-hundred Northmen did Shiera Seastar dare to approach the many branches and offshoots of Brunes. Finally, the Targaryen bastard treated terms with the Boggs. Undoubtedly the strongest House on all of Crackclaw Point. The celebrations were immense that night as close to two-thousand men rejoiced at the return of the Targaryens. House Boggs' ramshackle, old seat groaned beneath the stress of it all so loudly that Lyam suspected it might collapse.
So he stumbled out drunk to look at the Blackwater Bay, of which the humble keep had a generous view. A quick piss turned into self-servicing of his very hard, and long denied member. "Walk with me, guard," Came a very familiar, very haughty voice. Even Lyam could not derive pleasure from having been caught by Shiera Stark with his throbbing cock whipped out. So he stuffed it back between his legs, and followed her closer to the bay. Admiring how the loose gown whipped about her obviously pregnant, supple frame. How the glow of pregnancy complimented her strange, Valyrian features perfectly. "What do you think of our recruitment efforts in this region?" She asked him, as they neared the foaming rocks that peered over the dark waters.
"I expected there would be more men," He admitted, "In the meetings, Lady Stark, you phrased it as though our salvation would come from Crackclaw Point." The man kept his hands plated over his crotch, hoping desperately that she would not see his engorged member fighting against the fabric.
"I lied," She answered simply with an enigmatic smile lighting her features. "These petty Lords were only part of the puzzle. Imagine what the Lords of Sweetport Sound, Claw Isle, and Driftmark will think when a Targaryen sets foot on their islands for the first time in years. With two-thousand loyal men supporting her, and marital ties to the North, Vale, Riverlands, and Lys as well."
"Won't Stannis have already gotten to them?" He asked, somewhat rudely.
"I have full confidence that they held back their full support from him." She smiled mirthfully, "Have you ever touched a woman before?" He could only blink his eyes and shake his head at the stunning change of topic. "Of course you have," Shiera slipped closer to him, reaching up on her tippy toes to tangle a bold hand in his dark locks. The other hand ran down alongside his roughly hewn tunic to slip into his trousers. The foreign fingers dancing expertly around his irritated cock. "Strip," The pregnant Noblewoman commanded, hardly having to tell him twice. She removed her own gown, and he was so excited by the situation that he hardly thought about it when the Lady bade him to lay on the rocks with cold seawater pooling about his nude musculature.
"I have wanted this for so long…" He moaned deep in his throat as Robb Stark's pregnant, whore wife clambered atop his hips, hands instantly moving to grasp at her generous bottom. "I am going to fuck you so hard that babe becomes mine. A Slate bastard acting as Lord of the North!"
"It does not work that way," She sneered at him, only encouraging Lyam to ram his cock up into her silky body all the more quickly. Only, something surprising happened. While he lost himself to uncontrollable gyrations, the Lady of Trident's Gate appeared entirely unaffected. Instead of groaning, grunting, and rutting above him, she began to chant in a foreign language. His disquiet grew, yet he simply could not bring himself to halt such a primal act. The knife whipped across his throat before he could do anything to stop it. The fountain of blood instantly pooling out from Lyam Slate's torn jugular. As though bewitched he merely continued thrusting. Even as his life force ebbed out into the foamy water.
"Your sacrifice," Shiera smiled serenely at him, grinding her hips into his with such a surprising display of strength that he was pinned violently to the rock, "Was much appreciated. Stupid, stupid boy."
OOOO
The open window allowed bits of the rain to burst inside, but even the splattering of moisture against her tired face could not tear Myranda Royce's eyes from the threat below. The Lannisters had gained the edge in this confrontation. They surprised her. She deserved this cold on her face for failing the thousands of people beneath her protection so grievously. Tywin Lannister had not marched south to raze Atranta as expected. He had left them and their powerful army untouched. Making haste instead towards Harrenhal. "We only have eighteen-thousand men to his twenty-five thousand," Her voice was hollow.
"Twenty-three thousand. I set some Maesters to counting with Lady Sansa's collection of Myrish spy glasses." Lord Butterwell corrected, no longer bothering with titles and trivialities. All of the residents of Harrenhal were in deep, hot water. "Lady Elesham's idea of guerrilla warfare was an effective one. Without mentioning the toll prior clashes have likely taken on his ranks. Of course, we anticipated having more time to set up more traps for the Old Lion."
"It is better that we invested more focus preparing our own home for invasion." Myranda sighed. At least she had insisted that the men begin digging up the trenches and other necessities for a coming battle. "He still outnumbers us by five-thousand men. We may deride Tywin Lannister as the 'Old Lion' all we want." Spinning around, the sopping wet Lady stared at the generals. Now amongst their ranks was one Ser Gareon Deddings. A tall, handsome man with sandy hair and flashing white teeth. His eyes were cold and haunted. Far more severe a countenance than any young man his age ought to possess. While the other Lords and knights in the room had seen that she was at least worth listening to, or were sworn to women like Sansa Stark, Ser Deddings was unruly. Not at all willing to listen to a woman, and longing for retribution against the Lannisters for what had happened to his family. The wealthy Deddings having been slaughtered in one fell swoop, and with the death of his brother and niblings, Ser Dedding was the last of his house.
"We hold the home advantage." He spoke, predictably, with a harsh tone of voice. Eyes burning angrily into her form. "Why are we allowing the Old Lion to march ever closer? We should be assembling our troops for battle."
"I do not like the risk," Myranda spoke just as firmly, refusing to even look at the stubborn young man. "We are in Harrenhal, with barely just enough men to properly fortify this notoriously impregnable fortress. Enough food has been gathered that we can hold out for years with proper rationing. Northmen will be here to aid us any day, and we know that Tywin Lannister is not foolish enough to allow Robb Stark to attack his rear while we are under siege. He will move south to King's Landing well before we need reprievement." Now came a pause, "What say you, Lord Wode?"
"I must agree with Lady Royce. If Ser Deddings is so eager to spill more blood just to avenge his murdered relatives, that can be on his head. In good conscience I cannot march any of the men beneath our protection out to a pointless battle with the Old Lion." This was the levelheaded response Myranda had been expecting. "My lady," He changed the topic swiftly, "I have sent the fastest riders at our disposal across the eastern Riverlands from Maidenpool to Trident's Gate. All of the Lords will be gathering their harvests and people into safety to prepare for any possible sieges."
"Good," Came her cool response, "Now I suppose it is time that I introduce you all to an important new member of our coalition." Clapping her hands gracefully the doors opened as a tall, tan-skinned man entered into the chambers. His robes were dark, and his mood perceptibly dark as midnight, easily deduced considering his scowl. "Wisdom Rourke fled here from King's Landing. Lady Sansa brought him under her employment before she was taken hostage by the bastard pretender." There was something quite liberating about being able to call the King on the Iron Throne a bastard pretender.
"A Wisdom?" Ser Deddings scoffed, eyes glaring into her own with deep intensity. "What could he possibly contribute to our council that is of substance?"
"Wildfire," Myranda answered in turn. "He will be assigned one of the unrepaired towers of Harrenhal and as many of the civilian populace as he needs. We all are aware of how a siege against Tywin Lannister typically ends. With treachery, cunning, and deep cruelty on his part. We would be fools to deride him as the Old Lion when clearly," She gesticulated towards the open window, "He is very much still capable of surprising his enemies. If we are not given aid by the North swiftly I anticipate Lannister will construct siege weaponry." Everyone stared at her, surprised and clearly enraptured, except for Wisdom Rourke who had already known why he was there. "We will not wait like the Reynes for him to drown us in our own keep. Instead, we shall bite back harder than he could ever expect."
The resounding cheer brought the spark back into her spirit.
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"The incursions into our land are entirely unacceptable, Lord Greyjoy," Lady Norrey stared at the map distastefully. Since the discovery of rich metals on her husband's newly acquired lands the Norrey Clansmen had been quick to pounce on the benefits provided by an increase in fortune. Much to Theon's amusement they had firmly embraced their noble titles, constructed impressive seats, and plotted like any other Northern noble did. She had come to Mammoth's Den with much forewarning marking her journey east several days earlier. Unsurprisingly, the old Lord Flint, formerly referred to as the Flint, had accompanied his closest ally in the mountain region.
"You easily outnumbered the Wulls last time I checked, Lady Norrey. What with all of those Vale immigrants, yes?" He answered stiffly. "Certainly your clan could manage the Wulls without the assistance of Lord Flint, or myself. The walls of your new seats in the mountains are strong too, from what I have heard." He was set on making her admit her shortcomings aloud. With all of the cards on the table it would be easier to establish who was in charge and to resolve the issue before Robb even caught wind of it.
"They have whipped up the other clans now that the Starks have gone to fight in the south. All of the clans have turned against us. We fear a rebellion is imminent and that they will try to take our new keeps," Old Flint was not having any of it. He sided firmly with Lady Norrey, and took charge of the discussion. "My spies are fewer than those in the service of the Norreys, but I can confirm what she is about to tell you."
"Outside forces are interfering with the mountain clan's matters. We do not know who the soldiers are aligned with. They are pouring into our neighbor's lands at alarming rates. Now ours where they can. Even with the Valemen immigrants bolstering our ranks we cannot hope to combat this plethora of invaders alone." Lady Norrey was quick to jump on Old Flint's support. "Our combined forces number fifteen-hundred, considering how much support we both sent to fight in the south. Three-thousand-five-hundred men have begun to mobilize south of our lands."
"That can't be," Theon abandoned any hope of controlling the situation. He had been taken by surprise too easily. "That many men travelled without any notice across the North to support the Wulls? Nearly half of that number must be outside influence!" He scowled, "I presume that you wish for me to send the majority of my forces with you in retaliation."
"We want for you to help us destroy the Wulls once and for all, Lord Geyjoy," Old Flint croaked venomously, "We will pay you good gold. Our might matched would drown the bastards. Their lands would be ours. Winterfell would be delivered a far more unified North if you helped us."
"You forget the outside interference in the mountain clan region." He pointed out firmly, "If we move too hastily, who will we really be fighting? We cannot handle such a fight on our own. The only allies we have are our Wildling friends to the north. Should they rise up and help us to set matters in order, the rest of the North would surely band together in response." There was silence as they considered his words.
"So we must sit back and watch as our rightful seats are taken?" Lady Norrey stared at him, aghast.
"Perhaps, but tonight I shall be sending a letter to the Magnars. Hopefully the Magnars will bring the Umbers into their fold. Lord Flint, you may take back one-thousand of my soldiers with you. That should stall any possible, outright conflict. Lady Norrey will travel south-west to Winterfell and deliver a letter for me. Lord Rickon and Ser Rodrick should be willing to send an order to cease and desist to every Northern holding for us." He kept his arms folded, tapping the fingers thoughtfully against the chair.
"This depends on far too many 'ifs', Lord Greyjoy," Old Flint sneered, "I cannot rest the security of my clan on that, no." There was a thoughtful pause of consideration, "Perhaps we can steal away some support from the Wulls. The Liddle's have long wanted a loan. I am loathe to lend money that cannot be repaid, but perhaps this will calls for it. Lady Norrey?"
The pointed use of her title left the woman blanching deeply. "M-my eldest daughter. Willow. Brutis Harclay has wanted her hand for quite a while. Everyone in the clans wants her hand, admittedly. Though you can hardly expect me to wed her off to a Harclay! They are vicious beasts!"
"What I am about to suggest is not… Honorable," Theon ventured carefully, "Though you may simply propose a betrothal between the young Lady Willow and Brutis Harclay. Then when we march against the other clans at a certain point your house shall be spared any obligation to fight the Harclays."
The woman's thoughtful gaze was tugged away from his own as the door to the study swung open violently. Andara stood in the entrance, two frantic guards flanking her. "Come, quickly Theon!" He was to his feet in an instant. The couple raced forth whilst the older Lord Flint and Lady Norrey bounded along behind the guards. In no time at all they were standing in the middle of one of the bridges that connected the towers of Mammoth's Den. Already crowded with spectators. Against the night sky, very far away, fires burned brightly.
"For us to see a fire at Skaggy Docks," He hissed in Andara's ear, "Means that the whole town is on fire."
"A rider came in," She hissed back in her watery tongued accent, "He said that the Karstarks did it."
OOOO
Bran struggled firmly against the two men, but it was a hopeless fight. The soldiers were brawnier, taller, and better armed than a half-starving Stark who had fled from the Stormlands could hope to beat. They were, at the very least, men of the Tyrells, and that was a blessing, Bran supposed. At least he had a chance of doing as Sansa wished him to. Shaking away the images caused by his sorceress sister, he instead tried to think of the good. How good Sansa was, and why he should trust a witch. His mind focused on this as the soldiers dragged him up along the ranks of Nobles, brandishing his identity about brazenly. Until, finally, he was tugged in the finest tent around for some miles yet, and dropped before two thrones.
Renly Baratheon was a handsome man. Though of a much smaller frame than his much larger brother. A crown rested on his head, and beside him sat a woman. Pretty, though not beautiful like his sisters, Shiera Seastar, or even Cersei Lannister. The circlet on her own head indicated that this was a Queen, and not just a woman. "Bran Stark!" Renly Baratheon surged up to both feet and clapped boisterously, "I feared I would never see you again after all that happened in the capital. What a loss that might have been."
"Your grace," He choked thickly, longing for some clean water, "I have come here to represent my brother's interests. We wish to free our father from his unjust imprisonment."
"That is well and all," A man from the left of the thrones with piercing, pale eyes and red armor stared at him narrowly. "Though why should King Renly's men bleed for your father? What good does it do us to march on King's Landing for one man?"
The child in Bran wished to protest that his sister was trapped there as well, yet he recognized that such recourse would not do at all. What would Arya and Sansa do, Bran considered furiously, or better still, Lady Shiera? "Precedent, Ser. The precedent King Renly is allowing to stand in his own realm is a disturbing one. Have we not learned from what occurred in the court of the Mad King Aerys?" He turned to face the king fully now, "Did Aerys stop when he burned my uncle and grandfather? Will any of the other men in Westeros be safe now that they stand, leaderless, against the Lannisters and Joffrey Rivers?" He stared up at Renly boldly, "What sort of a king do you want to be?"
"You are right, Lord Bran," The queen was the first to recover, dashing and graceful as ever, "With such precedent involved we must move forwards very carefully. Such a message will be conveyed to the rest of Westeros, as you said!" A speculative glance was shot towards her husband before the young woman masterfully twisted her peripheral vision back onto him. "I have heard a great many tales from my brother Ser Loras of your promise as a squire. Perhaps while you remain our most honored guest you can continue to squire, for his grace." Bran hardly knew what to feel more discomforted by. The fact that he was more a hostage than an emissary, in completely over his head, how Renly's gaze lit up, or the rumours all in his company were very well aware of.
"I would be honored to serve as a squire for such a gallant King, your grace," He bowed with all of the courtly elegance his mother had imparted on him. Feeling Sansa's thrice-damned words burn in his mind. 'Represent our brothers to the Tyrells. You are the only Stark in the south.' Bran felt his spine shiver as he locked eyes with Renly. Recognized what would happen, but remembered that he had no choice at all in the matter. After all, what were his mother's words?
Family. Duty. Honor.
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