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Title Quote:
Why do you not see a title quote?
Because this is the first part of the announced double chapter and if I gave you the quote now, I'd be spoiling part II, and I so hate spoiling things.
Also, I'm kind of cheating with this one.
Finally, hey, it's a multi-POV chapter. Do not get used to it, even as the next one will be one as well.
While Brynden did wait with Catelyn for her to overcome the first wave of hysteria, he left her in the care of Shella after. He did not have the time to sooth all the pain, not with their entire House on the precipice. It could not have been five minutes since his niece's future broke apart in the court yard since when he strode into his brother's solar. Obviously, he was the first person to enter since Rickard Stark left. Hoster sat quietly furious at his desk, not working in stormy haste to contain the damage he had inflicted. He did not know yet what he had wrought. Somehow, that only left Brynden angrier.
"Brynden. My plans will have to be adjusted. Our savage visitor has been banned from Riverrun, the wedding will not come to be. Luckily, there is many an important lord in attendance right now. A new match will have to be arranged, and what better time is there?"
Seven, his brother's ambition would be all of their deaths. Did he really not care about Family, Duty, Honor unless it served him? As furious as Brynden felt for Rickard Stark, he could understand the man. The name of his brother tasted like bile on his tongue.
"Hoster. The whole training yard heard your lover's spat. You should not look to increase your station; you should look to save your life. You just insulted the king in public. Do you remember what almost happened to the Starks in King's Landing? All the lords in the keep right now speak of you committing lèse-majesté. You may burn for treason, you imbecile!"
While Hoster's face was quickly losing all its color, Brynden only found himself uncaring. However, as the seconds stretched on and nothing happened except Hoster's pallor turning paler, Brynden pulled his off-hand knife and stabbed it into the desk in one smooth motion. The noise at least jolted his brother.
"Hoster. Think, for the gods' sake. You just put all our lives in jeopardy. You cannot look further than the Riverlands anymore, you need to bind our bannermen."
"No. No no no no no. Fucking Northern cunt. Damn savage. Fuck."
Hoster at least regained some color, even as it was only his face turning red. After a few more expletives, Brynden spied a familiar glint in his brother's eyes though. Suddenly, the solar seemed to shrink.
"Brother. I did not tell you yet, but the board has been completely overturned today. A letter from the capital came today, addressed to me and Lord Stark. Rhaegar Targaryen has returned in disgrace. Aerys' Kingsguards saved Lyanna Stark from being raped by the crown prince, the she-wolf is being sent North in the honorable escort of Oswell Whent and Arthur Dayne. The capital is about to boil over soon."
There was a short lull in Hoster's speech. It helped Brynden digest the news, but it made him dread what his brother hesitated to say.
"The writing is on the wall, brother, a second Dance is coming. We need to support the prince, and early. I have forced our hand today. I am sorry."
Fuck.
Fuck!
FUCK!
Why, why did his brother not simply not shout?
"Hoster. I understand that point. I hate you for it, but I understand it. But! I will not agree to help you, unless you tell me what will happen with Cat, Lysa and Ed."
"We cannot send Lysa to the princess anymore. Any Tully within reach of the king becomes a liability. However…"
Hoster stopped talking. Something akin to disgust flitted over his face as he spoke on.
"Brynden, you are right. We need to bind the Riverlords more tightly to us. The Vances, Pipers and other lords on the western border will stay loyal. The Whents might help for my children, or keep to the king. The Darrys and Mootons are closer to the throne. However… Bethany Rosby died in child bed last month, birthing a daughter."
No. Surely not. No. Hoster could not mean. Could he? The disgust was still there. Please no. Brynden heard his voice break as he asked, he only imagined his eyes looked as aghast as he felt.
"Walder Frey?"
The response he got was a hollow laugh. It did not comfort him in the slightest that Hoster did not like this desperate plan. Brynden could already believe himself to smell ashes and wound rot. When Hoster did talk on, Brynden only felt the pit in his stomach grow.
"Oh, trust me, he will love the offer, brother. He gets what he always wanted, and just because of his position. He won't even have to fight much for us, only block both the Northmen and Seagard. If only Jeffory Mallister and Brandon's whole blasted party had died, Jason Mallister would have been first of my men to clamor for lead of the men. Will you support me, brother, like in old times?"
It did make sense. As much as Brynden hated it all, it was sound tactic maneuvering. He understood tactics. He hated himself for what he was about to do. Family, Duty, Honor. Family.
"Yes, brother. Family. Family comes first. Always."
Before they set on to make more plans the steward knocked on the door. A minute later, an unexpected visitor entered.
"Lord Tully. I would like to offer the hand of my heir Alekyne for your daughter. I believe we can help each other in the coming storm."
When Brynden did return from talking with his brother to sit with his nieces again, Shella found him a shell of the man who left but two hours earlier. She left him to stew a little in silence over the two daughters that weren't his until he would rouse himself. He would come to her. She was family. These moments reminded her why her mother had pushed her father to betroth Minisa to the younger Tully brother. A shame.
"Shella. I need you to help my nieces and nephew."
He did not speak on, he only looked at Catelyn and Lysa sleeping side by side, the older sister's eyes red from crying still. Quietly, Brynden and Shella left the two a picture of innocence. Brynden looked back a last time as he closed the door. When they sat down in Shella's room, having avoided the servants, Shella topped up their cups with a full Butterwell vintage. Her family kept some of that disgraced family on as retainers for their knowledge as winemakers. She waited for Brynden to quickly drain his cup before starting their dance
"Tell me what has transpired in that solar to leave you like this, Brynden."
"Hah. Transpired. We just planned four different types of treason to paper in the span of an hour and put three of them to paper. A vassal. A liege. A king. The family."
Not even a hollow laugh. Shella had never seen the mightiest warrior of the Riverlands so broken.
"There are two secret betrothals in place right now. Edmure will marry Barbara Bracken and Catelyn Alekyne Florent. As the foxes march on Highgarden with the Tarlys we will surprise the Tyrells with a large host from the North. In return, the Blackwoods will be reduced to petty lords as Barbara Bracken becomes the next Lady Paramount of Riverrun and as the Florents will usurp the Reach from Tyrell control for Prince Rhaegar, Cat will become wife to the future Warden of the South."
Hoster proved once more, despite his failings, to be a player of insight with no small talent. It was a gamble, but the odds were uncertain. The man was crafty. At last report, Melessa Florent was pregnant. With Tarly on their side and Leyton Hightower's loyalty split between his wife and his daughter, he could be persuaded to join the foxes. However, these moves would not drive Brynden towards Shella, and part of the situation's premise was missing.
"What of the Crown Prince?"
"Hoster received the raven today that Aerys' Kingsguard saved Lyanna Stark from being raped by Rhaegar. The Crown Prince has returned to King's Landing in disgrace and an escort of the highest order is to bring the she-wolf home. The capital is devided, as is the realm. A mad king, a rapist prince. We can only support the latter."
Madness. This news would split the Riverlands, the Crownlands, the Stormlands and the Reach. Dorne will hold to whoever has their hands on their princess and Prince Aegon. The Vale, the North, the Westerlands and the Iron Islands. Shella knew, only because Rickard Stark wanted her to know. Gods, he was testing her. A rider would need to be sent for their camp. Who to barter first?
"There's more", Brynden said, "Alester Florent has promised the Lannisters Red Lake and Old Oak."
"Heh. Come now. The lions don't sell their support that cheap." The idea was laughable to Shella.
"No. Not their support. Their neutrality. They are given almost a sixth of the Reach for doing nothing while Rivermen and Reachmen go to war."
No. Brynden did still not get it. Even their neutrality would not be that cheap. They were being played already. But if -IF- Shella tipped Brynden off she would put any chance of entering the Stark alliance in jeopardy. She could not do that. Still, Brynden had not said why he had come to her.
"Why are you here, Brynden?"
"Because tomorrow Hoster wants to betroth Lysa to Walder Frey as his seventh wife and I want you to spirit my niece away from here today before he has a chance to."
If Shella had drunken from her wine just then, she would have spit it all over Brynden's face. Walder. Fucking. Frey. Oh sweet Sarya. She would not lose more family to that misbegotten weasel. However, as much as Brynden knew her thoughts on the matter, such a move on her part would be a clear show of intent to all of Westeros. Shella Whent was not someone to be used without getting her due.
"Brynden," she said, her voice a forced calm, "you are trying to play me. You know I hate the Lord of the Crossing. However, I hate more to be played. I will help you. But in return, I own you. Because I will not only save Lysa. I will also help you save Catelyn and try to save Edmure."
Even Brynden, Brynden who knew her, regarded her like a person he had never seen. He did not see the politics still. A small part of him, too, thought of her as just a woman.
"Shella. What are you talking about?"
"Do you know when the war will break out, Brynden? Because I know what you think. I know Hoster is waiting for a summons to the capital. That summon will never get here. The war has already broken out."
It seemed that all feeling had left Brynden, or he might just have been to weary to exhibit the incredulity he felt. He did not believe her. How could he, if Rickard Stark had never been summoned, Hoster would not have balked at going to the capital when summoned. No one had truly known how far the depravity of their king had spread. Shella needed to open his eyes, needed him to see, needed him to understand. He would come to her, after.
"If Rickard Stark had burned in the capital, together with his son and Elbert Arryn, battles would already be fought now. The moment the old wolf survived his trial, however, a more dangerous kind of war started. A lord paramount was almost murdered in a farce. Do you think any lord will ever again answer a summons to King's Landing if that threat hangs over his head? Traitors will litter all of Westeros within moons.
But Rickard Stark did not just leave the capital alive, he left it a keg of wildfire waiting to explode, a hungry pit that will grow to engulf the Seven Kingdoms. He set up a succession war and weakened key political factions. He saved the heir of the Vale. He walked out of that fucking cesspool with a princess wrapped as a gift. And now Rhaegar Targaryen has been confirmed a kidnapper and rapist with just as little regard for the lords directly below the king as his father has.
Since the news broke, every lord that understood what happened has been raising their levies, forging their weapons and training their armies. The whole continent is not waiting anymore for a war to surprise it to summon its people to the slaughter, all the lords are now stacking their decks because while the war has started, no sides are clear and no one knows friend from foe. This will be the most brutal war Westeros has ever seen because every lord will have all his troops prepared to the best of their ability and their larders prepared for the campaigns.
If anyone now tips of the king to start the war early, whoever prevails at the end will see the man die a more horrible death than Aerys ever could. The Spider, the Queen of Thorns, the Great Lion, the Old Wolf and all the others will have their spies keep the news of your brother's idiocy from the king and his more stupid advisors, like Merryweather, Rosby and Staunton, from finding out about this before it suits them. Hoster has not only lost the chance to choose a side, he has lost the chance to take the initiative. He will be used up as the pawn that makes the opening move of this war, but even the timing will be dictated by whoever is the first to be ready or too afraid of the other players to be ready.
Now. Brynden. If I move to save Minisa's children, save you, do I own you?"
The silence Shella left in her wake was not one of indecision, but of defeat. Brynden did not have a choice, and he realized that.
"Family." Brynden breathed out. He did not look surprised, an empty smile on his lips. "Family always comes first. I feared, I knew this would happen since Hoster asked whether I am with him. Family always comes first. What do you need me to do, Shella?"
"First of, tell me how the Bracken-Blackwood scenario is supposed to play out for Hoster, and Catelyn's marriage to Alekyne Florent."
Brynden regarded her for a second before he spoke.
"There will be an attack on Bracken men-at-arms by the Teats. Hoster will summon both the Blackwoods and the Brackens to Stony Sept under the name of arbitration, with the western Riverlords in force as witnesses. The Florents will stage their attack on Highgarden at that time and Cat will be brought to Brightwater keep by ship. First, Hoster will turn on the Blackwoods and marry Edmure to Barbara. Then, the assembled Rivermen army is to fall on the northern Reach to take the Tyrells unawares."
My, the tactics were sound. With the Lannisters bribed, no one in the vicinity could muster fast enough to offer resistance. Still, it was necessary to squash that illusion.
"I need you to be the one Hoster trusts to take Catelyn south. Until then, you will be a dutiful brother. When you are on the water, you will be taken together with her. The Lannisters will not keep to their peace."
"How do you know that?", asked Brynden a little incredulous, a little afraid.
"Did it not bother you that truly almost every single person of interest heard the screaming match of the Northern savage and our vaunted Lord Paramount today, Brynden? Think. Who led all of them there?"
A second of confusion, a second of contemplation, a second of understanding, the dawning of dread.
"Tygett."
It was not a question, Brynden seemed to be in pain.
"His sister, the Freys. His brother, the lords. Jeffory Mallister, the heirs. Jason Mallister sparred a friendly match with Quellon fucking Greyjoy. Who laughed. Oh, how I wanted to kill him. The Arryns. Brandon and Cat. But he did not know. Did he?"
He looked upon her then, fire in his eyes.
"Your son. You had a veil for her. You knew. You knew!"
Shella heaved a sigh. She had known he'd cast that doubt.
"I didn't." She matched his gaze for a second, and his fire would not melt her steel. "I visited his camp early today where I offered him my Linia's hand for Brandon, and he laughed at me. His beard then looked better than it did when you saw him, I had never seen a more immaculately tended one. The priests of Norvos would have been jealous. I also offered mine own hand for his, and he told me to visit him after the show at Riverrun. He only told me to bring a veil with me, and to bring the ladies to the court yard with my son and Edmure. Said it helped free Jeffory and that it would give a signal. As much as he played me, I got what I wanted. I am firmly in his camp. As are you now. And you were right. Brandon was just as unawares as me. His heir, though, wasn't. Think on that."
Whatever anger Brynden had held onto evaporated visibly. Only disillusionment took its place. He did see the web when made aware of it. Later today, Shella would bring a true boon to the wolves. She would see she'd get her due. As Brynden rose Shella held up a hand, forestalling him.
"There will come a time, after Catelyn is safe, that you are going to marry. Unlike Hoster, I will not be denied when I find a bride for you. Are we understood?"
She had not thought he could break anymore, but he did.
"Even you, Shella? You know best, for me there ever only was Minisa."
Shella did not have any pity to spare for his sentiment. Despite all, he would never make a politician, even if he grasped the lay of the board.
"Especially I. I strive to protect her children for you, I will not leave a useful piece aside for the sake of a cherished memory. I do not have the luxury to do so."
He left, beaten and broken. Shella did not relish this. Still, there were worse reasons to sell yourself for. Brynden. Minisa. Family.
"Maester, please do send for Galladon, and Septa Roelle after."
The old man left, leaving him to pour over his letters. The news from the capital had been disquieting since the news of Rickard Stark's botched trial had come in, but dangerous times were also times of opportunity. The seeds he had laid two years back had bloomed beautifully last year for a short while, until Barristan the Bold had cut down the hedges that protected them and plucked his flower before he'd had a chance to collect it himself.
Still, the prize had been surrendered just because of the possibility is was spoilt. Truly wonderful. The present letters forced him to move up his plans some, but better to be thoroughly prepared for the war to come than be caught unawares, as was usually the danger with such things. Action before reaction, just like with the Ninepenny Kings. And did they not leave opportunities for him with their war?
His door opened and his son strode in. His blue eyes were twinkling like sapphires and his straw-blonde hair was still wet. He'd been swimming again. It was difficult to suppress a smile at the sight of his son, so he did not even try.
"You asked for me, father?"
"Yes, Galladon. I know this comes as a shock to you, but you will leave for Stonehelm when you turn six in two moons to foster there with Lord Gulian."
Tears came to his son's eyes, even as he tried not to show them.
"But father… But why? I finally have a sister!"
He felt old, suddenly, and the tears pricked his eyes as well. He opened his arms and Galladon fell into them as he held him tight.
"I know, Galladon. I would love to give you more time seeing her grow. But I need you to stay with the Swanns. You will even have your own lady to protect there, just like our little gem."
The memory of Arianne and Alysanne hurt. It was just so raw. Both, gone in the cradle. He'd even held little Alys as her last breath had escaped her. He had cried to all the gods that would hear him as she grew weaker and weaker, but none had heard him. His perfect little girl had still died.
"And someday, you'll even marry her. The Lady Jeyne needs a protector, and she's the apple of her father Gulian's eye. And I promise, you can come visit every year and tell our little Brienne about all the things you have learned with the strong Marchers."
Selwyn Tarth felt the sobs of his son recede at the solemn oath he made and it warmed his heart. He held him a minute longer, but when his heir asked him if he was allowed to visit his mother and sister, he could not deny him. He was barely gone a few moments as his next guest slipped into his solar almost soundlessly.
"Septa Roelle", Selwyn greeted the fair lady mirthfully, and the young woman could as ever not suppress a small smile at him.
"Lord Tarth. What can I do for you?"
"I have need of your expertise. The ploy with Lady Jeyne already bore fruit, not five days after news of Rickard Stark surviving the King's Justice arrived, Lord Swann agreed to the betrothal of Galladon to his poor daughter."
The woman in septa robes gifted him a brilliant smile as she answered.
"A lucky coincidence the Smiling Knight was prevented from despoiling her in order to keep her for ransom, even if contrary news to that spread."
"Indeed", Selwyn pushed out between the laughter the two of them shared.
When it had finally died down he finally got to the matter he had called her for. It was not far removed from the last topic, after all.
"A war is imminent, and I have a special task for you."
"Am I to train your levies with the bow? You will find no better shooters after I am done with them, even the Marchers will pale in comparison."
Even as that would probably be true, the risk for that would outweigh the benefits. No, Septa Roelle would need to remain just that in front of his subjects.
"No. I have a more important task for you. You will have to get in contact with the cousin of a former acquaintance of ours in Myr."
Her eyes widened in understanding. For her, it was not difficult to grasp who he was talking about. Still, a defiant glint spread through her eyes as she answered.
"I do not care to go to Essos. My vengeance is here. My mother's rapist yet lives. His son, my brother, my rapist yet lives. How am I to eradicate House Cafferen from the other shore shore?"
He knew she'd make that point. He'd prepared for it.
"House Cafferen will hold to the king. The Golden Company will never have that option. We will stand against them, and we will have an army like few others at our back. While all the others now need to prepare their levies, we can take the initiative like no others. Our location comes as a blessing for this war, we have the initiative on our hands and none to expect us."
He had her, he knew. Wenda the White Fawn cared little for the game of thrones, only her revenge was what mattered to her. Still, she was not stupid, so she asked the right questions.
"What can we offer Miles Toyne to brave the Narrow Sea with his troops and his beasts?"
He knew which other question swung in that sentence.
"Why, my future Lady of Fawnton, with the fastest army at the capital we can offer him almost everything. But the Golden Company is an easy animal to understand still. House Toyne will be reestablished after his brother Simon's death with him as the head. Plunder will be aplenty and other former noble houses can be brought back as well.
We only need to be the first at the capital, there will be so many sides to this war they will all clamor for our support when we take the most important beachhead of all. We won't be kingmakers; we will be kingsmakers. And when we have taken King's Landing and we stand at the center of the pit, we will be in the the eye of the storm as the heartlands around us tear themselves apart."
And they all would. Tear themselves apart and clamor for his support. The writing was on the wall; the time of the dragons was over.
"His name is Loras."
Mace seemed to think proclaiming the name of his newest babe was an accomplishment. Seven, oaf was not strong enough a word to describe him half the time. It was a babe like any other, pink, shrivelly and squealing. Olenna only hoped the son would not one day go fat like his father.
At least Alerie was not up from the birthing bed yet. A most concerning raven had come, station demanded that she informed her son of what he had to do going forward. Olenna did not want to think on the possibility of what might've happened had she left for Riverrun and missed this. Days like these she wished her son was competent, even if it would spell the waning of her influence.
"Bring the little crier back to his mother, we need to have a talk in the privacy of your solar."
She did not leave him the time to respond, or worse, decline. She knew her son would follow after, even as he was grumbling about it. Her oaf was bad with perceived pressure, even if he should not think to yield to it. Normally, his acquiescence would necessitate a lecture, but more important matters needed to be discussed. Hopefully he would keep his puffy lips shut with his wife after.
She'd taken a seat on the leisure table in the solar before Mace came in. If she'd moved to sit at the desk, Mace would have insisted on his high seat, a pointless squabble, really. Now her son simply sat on a level chair in front of her and he did not even notice his power diminish. If someone needs a special chair to exercise and remind you of their authority, you don't leave them to command the seating arrangement. A sentiment many a lord will probably follow in the coming moons, if unconsciously.
She'd left the letter out on the tables before her for her son to read. She knew the damning content by heart, it had burned itself into her veins.
'Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark have arrived at the capital. Kingsguards Arthur Dayne and Oswell Whent have confirmed they stopped an attempted rape of Lady Lyanna by the prince. Tensions between the factions of the king and the prince are at their highest point ever.'
Olenna almost felt the need to give out a defeated sigh as neither concern nor fear nor understanding flitte over her son's face. He read it once more before looking at her typically befuddled. As Mace spoke, she just wished he hadn't. Silence is golden. Chatter is worth its weight.
"This is good news, mother. The lost daughter is returned unharmed. War is averted. We can even stop training our levies. Why did we have to go to the solar for this? My Loras is waiting for me with Alerie, I don't have time for this."
She definitely had not spanked her son enough as a child. Maybe that could be remedied, through her vines she'd heard how Rickard Stark effectively used slaps to educate his grown son still. Verbal chastisement did not seem to do the trick, but she still had to try.
"Sit."
Her voice was pure iron as he rose to the contrary. He obeyed, luckily for him. It was the same tone he'd already seen her use with Luthor, though Mace himself had seldom been on the receiving end of it. Still he did not want her to unleash a lashing with it, it usually left him in realization of his stupidity.
"This", Olenna said, waving the paper slip, "is the worst case scenario. The best case would have been that the prince saved the lady from some matter of peril. After that if they had simply run away together, blinded by love. If they'd just staid gone, disappeared, we would have welcomed it, Mace. Hells, even if he'd managed to rape her and had been welcomed back by the father and supported against the fury of the North and the Stormlands it might have been the most favorable outcome of all. This letter, though, ensures that the first part of the coming war will be a succession crisis of House Targaryen. The Reach will be hit the hardest of all kingdoms by that split."
"Mother!", Mace said indignant, he was good at that, "how can you say such a thing! The third and fourth option are both downright horrible. At least the lady was saved, is that not a good thing?"
"Mace, child, the first three options would let the waves calm down throughout the whole realm and leave the Targaryens with enough time to present a united front against whichever coalition formed against the father's madness. The fourth would also unite all Targaryen and the loyalists, we'd even know who the enemy would be in that case. As long as our royals are united, no Reachlord would question their own loyalty towards us. Dorne in their backs would be too much of a threat, seeing how they are tied to the dragons this generation.
If the odds for our side are questionable, we could always waste time while besieging some strategically irrelevant castle and let the other powers spend themselves. The Reach can go toe to toe with any other two to three kingdoms united before such an event in manpower and all together in regards to supplies. After they've spend themselves? We can always sue for peace from a position of strength if the other side prevails."
She could see him puff up like he usually did, probably to launch a tirade against the dishonor of such a maneuver. No, Olenna would not sit here and listen to such drivel so she pressed on and her son at least deflated a little as the gravity of her words sank in.
"Another Dance, however? That will only pitch Reachman against Reachman. Our strongest vassals would choose the sides that suit them best. We do not have a legitimate claim on Highgarden without the Seven Kingdoms, it is always in our paramount interest to remain as paramounts under a united realm. Who are the main threats towards our position as the overlords of the Reach?"
At least basic positioning had been drilled into the boy, as every Tyrell he knew of the grasping foxes.
"House Florent ever desires our seat."
"Well done, Mace", - not really, any idiot in the Reach knew that, but he'd need to start using his faculties somehow and rote memory questions at least left him with breadcrumbs – "now which are the seven Reach houses that represent the bulk of the military power of our kingdom in order from strongest to least?"
He mulled over that for a second before almost beaming at Olenna.
"Trick question", - gods, he was preening at his own intellect, the fool, why did he still treat this like a game – "House Redwyne's military power, while always in the top five, cannot be quantified the same way as the others. Their position and navy makes them unassailable themselves and the preeminent power on coast and sea, however, they can't bring their might to bear the same way in the Reach proper."
He was still smiling like a child, not even bothering to list the other six. Seven, he was to see the balance of alliances in place, not pride himself on recognizing the prominence of the Redwyne fleet. If Olenna said as much as she thought of people the moniker Queen of Thorns would have long been traded up for something way more sanguine, but she always did like to think she had an admirable level of restraint.
"So that is all that you can say to my question on the seven most important houses, House Redwyne? Maybe I should go ask Loras for his input, his squealing would tell me more of the other six than your foolish silence."
At least Mace had the grace to look chastised, a look that suited his sheepish face well enough, before he finally resumed his task, even if his voice came out rather disgruntled after.
"Besides House Redwyne, the mainland houses in order of military importance are Tyrell, Florent, Hightower, Tarly, Rowan and Oakheart. Any coalition of two of those houses will probably prevail over a single one of the others."
"True", - good that she did not have to spoon-feed him that last tid bit – "now which of those houses would the others ever except as their lieges?"
He thought for a second, actually, and Olenna felt a sting of pride at that. Wasn't that pathetic in itself? Gods, hopefully Willas proved to be better as he grew. The slew of answers she got after the wait was even surprisingly half decent. Bless the crone.
"Well, we are the paramounts despite opposition by the Florents, so I'd say we are excepted enough?"
"Was that a question, Mace?"
A wonder what a raised eyebrow could express when called for.
"No, mother, but we stand by grace of our kings as you said. The Florents could usurp us, but they would have to placate the other houses after. Tarly is too closely linked to Marcher culture to keep the peace after and Hightower will never be accepted as liege after their folly during the Dance when they ran with too much ambition. Redwyne is removed from the equation for the same reason as their military autarky. Too remote. Rowan and Oakheart could be accepted, but theirs would be a weaker tenure than even Florent."
For all his faults, for all his many faults, with enough prodding Mace did usually unveil the knowledge he always forgot he knew. More prodding was in order then.
"And what of the alliances between the houses, Mace?"
"We can count on houses Rowan and Oakheart, because without us Old Oak and Goldengrove would be isolated against the Westerlands and the Riverlands if it ever came to that as they would be unable to hold those forces on their own. Florent stands against us and Lord Tarly has recently married Melessa Florent. The lady is pregnant at the moment, so their alliance is probably ensured. House Redwyne has been bound to us for two generations and Paxter will hold to me. Leyton Hightower is my good father. His grandson is already to become paramount, I do not see him moving with the family of his newest wife against us."
He read the lay of the board correctly, but he did not see. That was the problem with Mace, in hindsight he'd always realize that he traced the correct conclusions only halfway. Both for better and for worse.
"Rhea Florent did not marry Leyton Hightower as a bribe, she was an assurance. Flanked on both sides by Florent forces, the Hightowers would be the first to go. They'll now remain neutral for our civil war in this civil war. We need to utilize our ties to Oldtown before the fighting starts. Luckily, Alester Florent, for all his smart moves, has the eyes on the wrong price. He is underestimating what is to come. He only sees Highgarden, because Highgarden was all he ever saw above him."
Time for a lesson, she'd need her son to follow her precisely in the coming storm and understand what could happen if he did not. Olenna rose and stepped over to her cabinet in the solar, something she had insisted on even during Luthor's time. She did spend more time than him up here when he was alive, after all. Mace seemed nonplussed at her actions, but blanched as she returned with a simple weirwood box lacking usual reach ornaments. Oh, Mace knew the tools of her trade.
"Olenna", her son addressed her as he only did when he was afraid of her, "do you intend to poison Melessa Florent and her child?"
He did grasp necessary subterfuge, even if he did not grasp subtlety.
"No, you dolt, just listen. All Reach houses of sufficient station have enough clout with the citadel to grow their own loyal Maesters. We cannot allow the shadow of pariah to hang over our heads even unproven now. What you see before you is the finest box of poison in the Reach, better than those of the Ladies Melara Crane, Rhea Florent, your sister Mina, Melessa Florent, Bethany Redwyne and Arwyn Oakheart. All those ladies see no further or higher than this box. Together, however, they'd drown my poison with their own.
But I see others, just as splendent as mine. Joanna Lannister's was magnificent. Mariah Martell's was magnificient, and all three of her children now have their own on par with hers. Cassana Estermont's was a prize. I have never heard or seen Lyarra Stark's fangs, and I feared her for it. Above all else, Rhaella Targaryen. You should have seen her in action before Aerys confined her to the Maidenvault. Maybe she'll emerge a phoenix from the wildfire that Rhaegar and Aerys are playing with, Florents and Tarlys and Hightowers could not touch us and the wolfs and lions would be faced with a wall once more."
Her son followed her so far, even as she still did not understand what she was going for.
"The Reach is a box of poisons, and we all have our own boxes within. The smaller lords do not see the bigger box that is the Seven Kingdoms, because the Reach is the greatest of the smaller boxes within. In comparison to them, we have to think outside the box that is the Reach. However, no one in the other kingdoms will shackle themselves to us and be drowned in our fights, consumed by our poison and that of our enemies. Why do I tell you all this? There is one thing I have learned, because as a woman playing the game I have always not only warred against the other ladies, but with Luthor's enemies as well. I think more outside the box. And there is one thing we need to do before the others take the initiative: We need to look at the next bigger box. Because there always is a bigger box, Mace. There always is."
Mace was silent throughout, when his answer came it was only a whisper.
"What box is there that is bigger than the Seven Kingdoms?"
"Send ravens, Mace, for Paxter and for the Bank of Oldtown. We will use all our funds there and the bank's vestigal roots in Lys along with the Redwyne fleet to ferry any sellsword company we can gather over from Essos through Volantis and Lys. Recruit through local channels, we do not want to alert the other kingdoms. Tyrosh would alert the Dornish to our plans. Keep an eye on the Golden Company as well, we cannot hire them for their stance against the Targaryens but we need to know who of the others play to break the whole box apart."
Her son did not disagree. He did look at her in askance, though.
"All our funds? We are the third richest house behind the dragons and the lions, should we not prepare to rise after the ashes have settled?"
Olenna had to laugh at that, and she knew it rang hollow.
"Mace, you still do not see the scope of the war to come. It will be the greatest war in history."
"Will we recoup our losses with the spoils then?"
Mace almost seemed confused, he knew it did not add up. We were sending our money off the continent after all.
"No, Mace, we will have to shoulder the losses. This whole war will be a money sinking pit for all of Westeros, taking gold and lives with cruel indifference."
Mace was frightened, then. He did not ask more, and shortly excused himself as he ran to hold his newest son. Just like Olenna, for him the family's survival came first. Olenna was truly proud of him in that aspect, the love and loyalty to his family he'd learned at her hand. He even promised not to tell Alerie of their discussion. But even long after he had left, Olenna remained sitting in the Reach's cradle of power, contemplating the box.
"Good sister, your husband bids us both to enter come to him in his solar."
Her good brother only peeked his head through the beady curtains hanging in the doorframe to tell her before he left, not even waiting as she picked up her baby son to follow him. Noon had already passed so the heat was passable, still she did not relish to sit on her throne right now under the blazing sun shining through the leaded glass above.
Her husband had already taken his seat under the spear, as the male rulers of his line always did. Her old friend was the only non-family member in attendance beside Mellario, Doran and Oberyn as the Prince of Dorne beckoned her to take her seat beside him. The letters in his lap coupled with his troubled expression left her with ominous trepidation.
The last they had spoken had been a screaming match as passionate as their love-making. She could not believe Dorne and all of Westeros followed such barbaric traditions, to wrest children from their mother's breast and let strangers raise them instead. Never would she give up her baby to be raised by people to assuage their grudge against her good brother because Oberyn killed their father. Her little Quentyn had not even turned one year old yet!
When Doran looked at her though, defeated but full of love, she could not be angry in that moment. He reached for her hand as she took her seat at his side and it like always just fit so perfectly. One last vulnerable look at her before he faced his brother as the prince.
"Oberyn. I need you to do penance by Ormond Yronwood for the death of his father in your trial by combat."
Mellario felt hopeful, Mellario felt afraid. Quentyn would not have to foster away. What news came with the letters to make Doran change his mind? She knew she herself hadn't. One look at her good brother and she saw him a betrayed man.
"Why, brother?"
His voice was barely above a whisper as he spoke. Mellario saw Areo tense by the door.
"Why are you sending me to my death, brother? You know I did not poison my spear that day."
Despite his princely mask Mellario saw the pain in the eyes of her beloved. He picked up one of the two letters in his lap. Mellario recognized the script, her good sister always wrote in such beautifully flowing letters.
"Elia has written." As Doran spoke Mellario saw Oberyn notice the pain in his brother also. "Prince Rhaegar has returned and our worst fears have come true. He has tried to raoe Lady Lyanna, only to be prevented by the Kingsguard. Now Aerys seeks to set him aside as his heir and nominate Viserys, even if those notions aren't public yet."
Where Doran felt sorrow, Oberyn felt fury. While Mellario knew both men to be as dangerous as the other when called for, she was always more afraid for her good brothers lack of foresight and lack of regard for consequences. Still she marveled at the leash her husband held, as with just a raised hand his brother calmed enough to at least listen.
"The letter tells of more. Elia has the queen's support for Aegon, not openly but in writing. You do not know of Rhaella before she had her wings clipped, but mother always talked of her as a friend that should still be feared."
The younger Martell did listen; he just sometimes did not care. When he answered he did not even bother to hide a sneer.
"And what has this great queen done since Lord Stark walked out of the capital, waiting for the city to burn behind him?"
"That is a worrying matter, actually. Rhaella Targaryen has made no moves as of this letter since Rhaegar has returned and seemed not to be about to take any, according to Elia. Our sister thinks she already has. A raven went east not a day after Lord Stark left. Furthermore, the Holy Hundred and the Faith have been on the move. Rhaella goes to pray daily."
The implication was heavy, and Mellario only felt herself sink into a black pit of dread. Coming from a city under the hold of the bearded priests, one of the first things she read up on was the politics of faith on her knew continent. Doran must have felt something from her grip for she felt his thumb soothingly circle the back of her hand.
"Worry not, Mel. The rise of a new Faith Militant would see the Targaryens betrayed left and right and deposed in a heartbeat. No, this is likely putting a piece into place to influence the smallfolk when opportunity arises."
Oberyn broke their moment, though she could not fault him for it. His concern was obvious as he spoke.
"Did Elia write of engaging Lord Stark again? Are we to thank him for taking Rhaenys as his hostage?"
"She did not mention it, but we are. An official letter of his has invited you to Winterfell to make certain Rhaenys is well cared for. You are even allowed an armed escort of unlimited capacity, provided we pay for supplies and lodging of each spear above the 20th."
That shut Oberyn up. Doran was not finished though, as he held up a second letter now.
"What has me sending you to Yronwood is this letter, though, which was brought here in person. I believe it is also by Lord Stark. It speaks of an… interesting alternative to the Iron Throne."
Oberyn looked at his brother incredulous.
"Are you expecting me to betray Elia and Aegon? We stand on the cusp of greatness like never before, Doran, why would we risk that?"
"Because Elia and Aegon and Rhaenys would be safer as Martells", Doran said, "and because if we don't present ourselves as reliable and worthy partners to whichever side we end up picking between Aegon's and the Stark's, we will only lose in the coming war. We need all of Dorne behind us now, not after Quentyn has grown old enough to ward there. Convince Ormond Yronwood of your innocence or not, but bring him back into the fold. You may continue to Winterfell afterwards. Do it for Elia and her children."
Oberyn did not look happy, but he was placated. Quentyn would not have to leave to be raised by people that hated his family. Mellario almost felt happy, but as Doran turned towards her and did not drop his princely face, she knew that whatever was to come for her was worse than what Oberyn would have to face in Yronwood. She had only been bribed with the fact that Quentyn would not be parted from her.
"Go on, love", she spoke, her voice of a hollow strength, "what do you need of me?"
He looked at her then, with sadness and love and pity.
"This war will stretch beyond Westeros, Mel. Braavos will be the first to be involved, first through the Iron Bank then through whatever play the Keyholders and the Sealord decide on. Penthos will see the leash slacken and try to push its limits. Likely, it will fail, but many a magister there is rich and likes to play from a far in many a business. With Westeros concerned with itself, the war over the Disputed Lands is likely to extend to the Stepstones. The Elephants reign in Volantis, so they will not fight, only fund. Slaver's Bay and the Summer Isles will not involve themselves directly, but opportunity for easy slaving raids will increase, so the the first will move to grasp them and the other will seek to punish in turn."
Mellario saw the web, all the pieces falling into place. Doran was scary in these thoughts, because he so often was proved right. She completed his tale for him.
"And so, with the Dothraki binding Qohor and Braavos focus on the west, Lorath will be up for another power to increase their pressure. Norvos has ever been striving to acquire its spot on the Shivering Sea. But how are you going to bring Norvos to your side?"
The grass that hid the viper showed why it should be feared in itself, for it was a scary thing itself.
"Ibbenese fishing and whaling raids have increased, so the Lorathi have hired a sellsword company to deter them. The Second Sons. While Oberyn's contacts there have withered, their paymaster Tybero is in my books. At my word he will open the gates to the city when Norvos comes knocking as my friend."
Lorath held more than seventy thousand people, maybe more than a hundred. It was difficult to count throughout the sprawling island. All those she would deliver to the hounds of a god she did not know, one that held her home city under his yoke. She smiled at her husband then, with tears in her eyes.
"I think I would like to introduce Quentyn to the other side of his family. Do you give me leave to return to Norvos for a few moons with him, my love?"
And Doran's grey-black eyes met her green ones as he squeezed her hand once more and stroked stroked through her ebon hair with his fingers as he answered.
"Mel, my love. A ship for Tyrosh will be prepared to leave at your leisure. Take Areo with you to keep you two save."
Syrio Forel, First Sword of Braavos, had a rather uncommon task to complete today. The Sealord had asked him to replace a guard at the Iron Bank, there were to visitors expected today that were in possession of vital information of the increasingly chaotic situation in Westeros. He disliked leaving the care of his charge to the Second Sword, the man was at best in the top six of the city. But the reasoning for his attendance could not be denied, Syrio did see all things for what they were.
The man to receive todays vaunted guests as head banker was a member of House Reyaan and a keyholder himself, the men were both of sufficient station to require the courtesy. The great doors to their central chamber opened and a man strode in, tall and fair, of Valyrian stock and uncommon beauty. No man of the pleasures, this, despite the common fate of men with his ancestry, and neither one to indulge in the same. He wore silks today of the finest make, but Syrio saw the man preferred to be dressed in armor. Leather, for the man was also of the sea. A soldier, that's what he was. The crier standing at the side of the room introduced the man.
"Presenting the Master of Ships of the Seven Kingdoms, Lord of the Tides and Master of Driftmark, Lucerys Velaryon, envoy of the Iron Throne."
The foreign lord did not wait any longer to take his seat. The three bankers he was to deal with remained unconcerned, the invitation to sit alone would presume it was theirs to extend, and despite their position they were still only cogs. However, even for lords did iron not bend, so neither did the Iron Bank.
"Has the Iron Bank not made its position clear to the Hand Tywin Lannister that it will not extend any more loans to King Aerys II after his threats against the city of Braavos in 267 AC 15 years ago? While the former Hand did pay the outstanding debt himself, we have been of the understanding that Lord Tywin had resigned his post last year, has he not?"
The Lord of the Tides – a useless title, for no man controlled ebb and flow – tensed his jaw and Syrio saw him for the poor politician he was. A soldier, that's what he was.
"I am not here on behalf of Aerys Targaryen", Lucerys Velaryon said truthfully, "but on behalf of the Iron Throne."
While the two deputy bankers of this meeting looked up abruptly, keyholder Reyaan simply inclined his head with a smile as he spoke.
"Are we to understand that you come to us, then, in the name of Rhaegar Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne?"
The glib face of the head banker betrayed nothing, but Syrio saw the smaller cogs turning within him. The answer of the foreign lord stopped the clockwork, though, and even Syrio was surprised as the vaunted visitor spoke his next words, all of which the man perceived as the truth.
"Yes. No. Maybe." Lord Velaryon did not falter as he talked, his intent was unwavering. "As to my most recent knowledge, I left Driftmark 25 days ago and the Crown Prince was missing at that point in time."
This was known to the bankers. As was the freshest news from the western shore, that had only arrived today and was only known to the upper echelon of the city. The Sealord had seen fit to impart Syrio with that intelligence.
Keyholder Reyaan contemplated the man in front of him for a second. After a second, he whispered to the two deputies at his side who rose without question and took all but two guards with them as they left. One of the guards left was Syrio, the other a mute that could not write. Syrio had seen him for what he was. Whatever developed out of the following talks, the risk that the man could pass on what he heard would be infinitesimally small.
"The Iron Bank knows as of today that Crown Prince Rhaegar and Lady Lyanna have returned to King's Landing. The accusation of attempted rape against the Lady has been confirmed by two Kingsguards, as their intervention against the crime."
As keyholder Reyaan spoke, Syrio saw the Master of Driftmark visibly resign into himself. Still, the man found his steel and straightened his spine before addressing the banker before him.
"In that case I speak in the name of Queen Rhaella I Targaryen, Queen Regent to his majesty King Aegon Targaryen the sixth of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm. Long may he reign. The Iron Throne seeks to enter into negotiation with the Iron Bank of Braavos."
Syrio saw it, then, he saw it true. The Sealord had told him a war like no other was coming, and Braavos was to reap great profits. But Syrio only saw the pit, deep and black and hungry, he saw it in the steel of Lucerys Velaryon's spine and in the gold in keyholder Reyaan's eyes. And as the two men talked the death of countless, the pit only grew.
Lucerys Velaryon left after the sun had passed its zenith. The room had already been refilled with two new deputies, a new crier and a new group of guardsmen before the great doors opened again.
The new arrival was no soldier, but a warrior. White of hair and beard, full in breadth but cropped close. The man was of tan skin and had eyes the color of smelted iron. A Westerosi, too. This one wore armor, well used but in impeccable condition. Leather as the other Lucerys Velaryon would have preferred to have been dressed in today, but this was no man of the sea. Wandering eyes looked throughout the whole room as the man sauntered slowly towards keyholder Reyaan and the deputies at the table. As he made his way the crier announced him.
"Presenting the Commander General of the Wolf Pack and the Commander General -"
"Stop!"
The new arrival spoke that one word as he raised a hand. The man took a last look at the three bankers before slowly walking in a circle through the room, first looking at the crier and then at each of the guards. He came to a stop in front of Syrio himself, and his face morphed into a smile. A feral thing, though, and the man's eyes remained iron.
"Your information is outdated. I never was Commander General of the Wolf Pack, as it has been incorporated into my original company and their forces were absorbed."
The man's eyes did not leave Syrio's as he spoke, and besides the iron within he now also saw blood. Despite his age, this man would easily gut the Second Sword of Braavos. Even Syrio would not be sure if he could deny death the day if they stood opposed to another with swords in their hands. This was a man who saw Syrio like Syrio saw the man. Just a tiny bit, Syrio felt fear. It cut deeper than any sword.
"The title a member of House Stark wears when he leads the Company of the Rose is Prince-in-Exile, though I am the first man of House Stark to take up this vaunted position. I am Rodrik Stark, and I have come to negotiate on behalf of Rickard Stark, the King of Winter, with the Iron Bank of Braavos."
During his whole introduction, Rodrik Stark's smiling iron eyes did not waver, staring into all of Syrio's fears. But Syrio saw behind the man, and he saw all the others beside keyholder Reyaan blanch. When Rodrik Stark left the Iron Bank after dusk had fallen, only sparing head banker Reyaan, Syrio had to execute the crier, the two deputies and all the guards in the room. Even the mute.
Notes
Wooo boy, what a beast.
Do not expect part two today. Or tomorrow. Or the day - you know, you get it. It comes up when it comes up. I'm just as much itching to write what's to come as you are to read it.
Also, whoever thought there were a lot of factions in the War of Five Kings? There can never be enough!
Finally, el Duderino SerBronnoftheBlackwater, my fellow film affecionado from the comment section on AO3, asked me after chapter 12 if I had any fancasts for my characters. I hadn't. But I knew which characters were to come, and one person just popped into my mind. Or rather,the picture of a person.
I give you Sharbat Gula, 'Afghan Girl', as Mellario, wife of Doran. There is only one picture of her that matters.
Review Responses
larsdewit: Actually, less than 30 days have passed since Ricky Boy escaped death by fire. 24 days after his survival Lyanna and Rhaegar arrived at the Red Keep, arriving within the one moon time limit Aerys sat. The Ghost of High Heart died on day 7 after the trial. Maggy dies on around day 27, and the raven from the capital arrives on the same day in Riverrun. Mind you, allow for like 2 days of fluid wiggle time so I don't bind myself too much. This chapter is happening roughly around the same time around the realm as all the forces kick into gear. Next chapter time will progress more, and while I'll probably have events happening simultaneously in the future, the rigid timeline I've kept until now will loosen somewhat. Now, everyone still hates on Brandon because they are still dealing with the aftermath of his idiocy. Few knew what will go down at Riverrun and it's not like he missed an appointment, he almost got all of them killed and attempted to rape the only woman travelling with the group. So even if he starts his redemption, that's internal. Scorn and forgiveness is external, so they are more expressive and we see others exhibit them, especially heightened from either Brandon's POV when he receives it or from Ashara as one of the primary accusers. The beating down part will abate some within probably two more chapters or so, because the war takes more central stage instead of the cause for it.
magnus374: Glad you like it, thanks. As much as I like the prophecy in the context of an influence on Cersei's psyche in canon, for any fanfic it seems to be a shackle for the writers to me. Many stories either change the prophecy, ignore it entirely or end up fulfilling it in some way within their story. To have more options and to avoid such… precise foreshadowing, I simply had to remove it. However, I rather dislike stranding from established canon before Ricky avoided his burning and this chapter has allowed me to forestall any "BUT THE PROPHECY SAYS…" comments later on.
Radeisth: OBJECTION! Lyanna's and Rhaegar's marriage is show canon. We do not know this to be true yet. Everything else, though, yeah, agreed. Totally. Hm. Carry on. *cough*. Thanks for the comment. Also, I never thought about it under the aspect that Ned only saw Lyanna ever as a child himself. Good point.
FuryJoe: Thanks.
InfinityMask: The choices are more general here as the prophecy is lifted. There is no deterministic future anymore, or at least Maggy can't see it. Everything is a choice. Maggy can now only look into the past. Also, Maggy is the canon grandmother of Sybelle Spicer, wife of Gawen Westerling and the mother of Jeyne Westerling (i.e. the woman that betrayed Robb to Tywin). One main purpose of the whole Westerling inclusion was this talk between Maggy, Ashara and Ned. I ain't changing Cersei's background. Only her future. I'm rather against a rebellion prequel. All the mystery there is a major factor to what drives the story in canon ASOIAF. And I really don't want to see the creative direction of the script writers give us a version like the last season of GOT, the Dorne arc or non-lovecraftian Euron…
Guest: I… don't really follow? 'George's artistic license with biology economics'? Thanks? If you elaborate, I'll reply in a probably more accurate way…
Guest: thanks
Guest: BiB will be updated, but I'm bound up in this story for now and have pledged a new chapter on WW until Nov 17 with a commentator on AO3 who's writing a chapter in one of his stories that's fallen a little to the side on the priority list. Also, there's real life…
LoveLifeForever: Jaime hasn't happened yet, but Ned is on one hand not the person he was in canon post rebellion but if/whenever the equivalent shock to his system happens, he won't escape unscarred. And I do have a nice moment in his arc planned some long ways off. I can forgive 16-year old Jaime for not pushing the change of oaths, he was disillusioned, lacking in clout, mistrusted because of oathbreaking, under the threat of execution or wall for said crime and, to repeat, 16 years old. He's simply lacking in experience and makes stupid mistakes. Also, with the future changed as it is already, Gendry as you know him might never come into existence, and I think that would knock him down a peg… Aemon, though, he'll appear in around two chapter. Ssshhh. Don't tell. There can never be enough factions. And let's face is, the combat at the Tower of Joy was an exercise in stupidity. Rickard would slap all involved into oblivion.
Death Lantern: Your discomfort was my intention, MUHAHAHAHAHA. *cough* Thanks for the comment.
cell: You're talking jaded adult jaded Cersei. Also, you never know what'll happen. But maybe it will. No spoilers.
BattlemageABK: I think Ashara thinks there can't be enough discomfort for Brandon. Glad we agree. And hey! I'm the author. I know what Ashara thinks. Congratulations, you're right for this fic. Benjen to take center stage while removing the most central part to his identity we know from canon, the Watch, gives me almost free reign with him. Just like Brandon and Rickard. Yay. Of course, he'll be Stark-y and stuff and a little unhappy that all his dreams turned to dust, but that makes him a versatile character. I'm also interested where I'll take him.