Timeline: Year 300 AC (Season 3)
Character Ages:
―Melisandre: 398 (physically 30)
―Vaeraleah: 358 (physically 31)
―Olenna Tyrell: 72
―Pycelle: 69
―Tywin Lannister: 66
―Lucius Blackmyre: 64
―Barristan Selmy: 62
―Kevan Lannister: 56
―Varys: 49
―Mace Tyrell: 48
―Stannis Baratheon: 47
―Davos Seaworth & Jorah Mormont: 46
―Gregor Clegane: 42
―Selyse Baratheon & Hodor: 41
―Petyr "Littlefinger" Baelish, Cersei Lannister & Jaime Lannister: 38
―Sandor Clegane & Catelyn Stark: 37
―Bodrin: 36
―Bronn & Lysa Arryn: 35
―Tyrion Lannister: 34
―Osha: 33
―Brienne of Tarth: 30
―Margaery Tyrell: 25
―Shae: 24
―Loras Tyrell: 23
―Theon Greyjoy: 21
―Robb Stark, Jon Snow & Daveth Baratheon: 19
―Joffrey Baratheon, Jeyne Poole & Daenerys Targaryen: 18
―Talisa Maegyr, Meera Reed & Podrick Payne: 17
―Myrcella Baratheon: 16
―Sansa Stark: 15
―Jojen Reed: 14
―Arya Stark, Shireen Baratheon & Tommen Baratheon: 13
―Bran Stark: 12
―Robin Arryn: 11
―Rickon Stark: 8
######
At King's Landing…
Daveth Baratheon, now nineteen years of age, stood in front of his mirror. Time often has an odd way of showing its hand; on one hand, it was kind but simultaneously played a cruel, sick joke. It's been more than two years since his ascent to the Iron Throne and he's repaid the Crown's financial debts, put down a rebellion, and defend the city against initially overwhelming odds. His former Hand, Lord Eddard Stark, had passed away; and in his place, Daveth appointed his grandfather Lord Tywin Lannister as Hand of the King.
The Oathkeeper stared shirtless at his reflection, tracing the tip of his finger along the scar going across his left eye. The maesters, including Pycelle and Robb's traveling medical companion Talisa Maegyr, told Daveth how lucky he was to still be able to keep that eye. Any inch deeper and it would have been lost. His beard was slightly shaved, but allowed his long black ravened-haired to be neatly trimmed. His pectoral, abdominal and biceps had grown rather muscular and kept his body in peak physical condition. But at the same time Daveth looked so tired; lines had formed under his eyes that made him look a bit older. Some believed it to be either stress or sleepless nights to the point where courtiers began voicing their concerns to Tywin. The Old Lion instructed his grandson to get a few moments of rest before he was able to resume his kingship responsibilities.
More news arrived that Lysa Arryn and her assembled guards were on their way to swear fealty. The night before Daveth had already kept himself busy in a meeting with Lord Mace Tyrell and his mother Lady Olenna Redwyne the Queen of Thrones to discuss peace terms… and the exchange between Mace's son and heir Ser Loras Tyrell and Daveth's uncle Ser Jaime Lannsiter.
It was his first time meeting the Queen of Thornes in person…
ooOoo
"Your Grace, on behalf of House Tyrell and the people of the reach, I swear to you we had no part in any of this. You know that we—" Mace Tyrell spoke like a pompous oaf.
"Had no idea your son and heir would strike out on his own after Highgarden announced its intent to surrender?" Daveth finished. "I'm certain some would find that rather amusing, Lord Tyrell. Your House has already turned their backs on the Crown when they chose to side with my traitorous uncle Renly Baratheon. Let me take an ample guess: did Renly employ the use of his gallant demeanor, charm? Did he offer your family a position at court?"
"But I—"
Lady Olenna sighed and decided it was time to intervene. "Not now, Mace!" she snapped at her son. "Your uncle was gallant, yes, Your Grace. And charming and very clean. He knew how to dress and smile and somehow believed this gave him the notion he was fit to be King."
"Yet from what I've heard your grandson was rather… 'well-acquainted' with Renly, often at times entering his chambers. Squires and pages that do well for themselves are known to have connections to the court, no doubt. Some believed he even whispered such poison into his ear and he followed through on it. Do you deny them?"
"Of course I deny—" Mace spoke again.
"Mace!" Olenna lectured him again as she sat up straight in her chair.
The elderly matriarch of House Tyrell had white hair and was very small, with soft, spotted hands with gaunt thin fingers. As mistress of court politics, plotting and intrigue, Olenna rarely shies from stating her opinion and is known as a wizened, cunning old woman with a wicked wit and sharp tongue – her cutting, barbed comments and the rose thorns in references to the sigil of House Tyrell which attributed to her nicknamed "the Queen of Thorns."
Daveth was certain she could be on par with his grandfather and Hand of the King, Lord Tywin Lannister.
"It was treason," she admitted. "I warned all of them. Robert has three sons and Renly has an older brother. How could he possibly have any claim to that ugly iron chair? We should have stayed well out of all this if you ask me. But once the cow's been milked, there's no squirting the cream back up her udders. So here we are to see things through."
Daveth looked at Olenna with interest. "You do say whatever's on your mind, don't you?" he said amused. "Your reputation precedes you, Queen of Thorns."
Olenna chuckled with coy. "My reputation precedes me? Is that your usual pickup line, Your Grace? A boy known far throughout the Seven Kingdoms for getting swift, calculating yet promising results in a short span of time without breaking his word, the Oathkeeper."
He opened his mouth to speak, but was silenced. Oooh, Olenna was very good at witty comebacks. Daveth cleared his throat.
"Ahem! As entertaining as this meeting is, I'm afraid we must return to the task at hand before we get sidetracked," he said as he sat down. "Lord Tyrell, you've presented me the offers of concession to the Crown from Highgarden and the Reach. However, as I'm sure you are aware; there are others who've also been wronged by this conflict, not just me. They are all but calling for your son's head."
Mace's facial expression showed altruistic fear and concern for his son and heir Loras, fear that his son might be executed by Ser Ilyn Payne, the King's Justice. He might not be the most intelligent man, but Mace is an amiable fellow well-liked by most of his bannermen and a loving husband and father.
"The Gods can be just, Lord Tyrell. The Warrior punishes those who believe themselves beyond the reach of justice," Daveth said before lowering his tone from stern to softer, something that caught Mace by surprise and Olenna to catch on. "But Baelor the Blessed taught us that The Mother can also be merciful to those who sincerely express their remorse and regret in the light of the Seven. I can be merciful, but only this one time."
Daveth reached to take a quill and dipped into ink.
"In exchange for renewing your pledge of fealty to the Crown, releasing my uncle Ser Jaime Lannister back into our custody, pay an increased compensation of 30 percent in provisions to the capital so it might survive the winter - one that includes 650,000 bushels each of barley, oats, and rye; 26,000 head of cattle; and 65,000 sheep. You must also vow to never to take up arms against me again. Agree and not only I will give House Tyrell one more chance but I'll restore the original provisions to their normal levels once the debt has been paid."
Mace took a moment to review the Crown's counteroffer as Daveth continued.
"I'll even extend an olive branch, should Highgarden and the Reach continue to uphold and abide to the agreement."
"Oh?" Olenna inquired. "And what would that be?"
Daveth looked at the Queen of Thorns as he presented the offer. "Your granddaughter, Lady Margaery, remains a maiden. And I've heard that she desires to become a Queen, but her greed and ambition poses quite a problem should it remain unchecked. Regardless, I'll offer the hand of my youngest brother and heir, Prince Tommen, to Lady Margaery once he comes of age."
"Too young," Olenna retorts.
Daveth raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
"Too young," she repeats. "As an authority figure on myself, I must disagree. True we don't tie ourselves in knots over a discreet bit of buggery, but… your brother is still a child, one who still needs to grow to be rather suitable if our affiliation is to be renewed."
"As was my betrothed, Sansa," Daveth reminded her. "Yet the Starks of Winterfell didn't seem to complain as much when their prized maiden was offered."
"And if Tommen is too gullible to prove a suitable match for my granddaughter, then we are throwing one of our own prized possessions into the dirt. Not to mention increase in crops Highgarden is to provide. It's a chance us Tyrells simply cannot afford to take at this time."
"We mean no disrespect to you or your House, Your Grace," Mace spoke up, "but this offer would need to be discussed some more."
Daveth felt his patience beginning to wear thin. "The uncertainty of my terms make you that uncomfortable, doesn't it? Need I remind you that I'm the wounded party here?" he leaned his head sideways. "All right then, Lord Tyrell. Lady Olenna. I'll make it simple for you: either you agree to my terms, or I will have Loras take the black or name him to the Kingsguard."
Mace widened his eyes as he felt as if the wind was knocked out of him, while Olenna herself remained composed and narrowed her eyes. The Queen of Thorns determined the Young Stag learned to use this politically calculating move from his own grandfather just in case.
"I'm sure you're aware of the vows recited by both the Night's Watch and the Kingsguard: Loras will never marry, will never have children, nor will he inherit lands or titles. The Tyrell name will fade into the sands of time. And Highgarden will be given to another more worthy. On that, you have my word."
"You would be protected by someone who's already on poor terms with you?" Olenna asks.
Daveth shook his head. "I would be protected by a skilled knight who takes his oaths seriously, or the Wall would be more fitted to guarding the realm from what lies beyond it."
He takes the quill and placed the tip directly over the paper.
"Now, shall I draw up the order? Or do you agree to my terms?"
Mace looked to his mother, who shakes her head.
"It's a rare enough thing for a boy who lives up to his reputation," Olenna conceded.
By sunset, the Lord of Highgarden and Warden of the South signed the agreement with the Crown and reaffirmed House Tyrell's loyalty – effectively securing the Reach and returning to the fold. Most saw the action as merciful, while other older, more conservative elements initially perceived this as not going far enough. But the Oathkeeper's decision was final. The Reach would return to the royal fold, but had to abide by the sanctions placed on them.
ooOoo
Daveth rubbed his eyes and shook his head. As he grabbed his shirt from the nearest chair, there was a knock on his door.
*KNOCK, KNOCK!*
"Who is it?" he called out.
"It's your mother," Cersei answered. "May I come in?"
Daveth put on his shirt and reached to grab the handle, pulling it to allow his mother entry. He motioned his Kingsguard knights Ser Barristan and Ser Lucius to remain on guard at the door. Once Cersei Lannister stepped into the room, it allowed mother and son a moment of privacy.
"Would you like some wine, mother?" Daveth asks.
Cersei shook her head. "No thank you, my son. I'm fine. I just thought I might stop by and check up on you."
"May I ask why?"
"Is it wrong for a mother to want to see her firstborn?"
Daveth shook his head. "No, I suppose not. You rarely stop by my room these days unless there is something of utmost importance."
The Golden Lioness seemed to have taken it as a retort, but even she quietly admitted that there was some truth in her son's words. The two had grown distant lately; Cersei had still not forgiven Daveth for exiling Joffrey to the Wall and she had now learned that not only were the Tyrells permitted to retain their titles, lands and pay a seemingly extravagant reparation fee in exchange for renewing their oaths of fealty but Cersei learned that her youngest child Tommen was to wed Margaery Tyrell once he was old enough.
She tried to convince her father Lord Tywin to request Daveth pardon Joffrey and have him return to King's Landing from the Night's Watch, but much to her dismay the Old Lion of Casterly Rock sided with Daveth and refused to have the Oathkeeper's decree revoked.
Cersei carefully examined her son's face. "You've grown so much," she added.
"We all have," Daveth replied. "It's something that all of us are destined to go through at some point in life, regardless of our own wants and desires."
He had somehow hoped that this would officially be seen as the beginning of reconciliation, but the Young Stag knew better than to get his hopes up like that. Daveth knew his own mother better than most.
"They said you almost lost an eye, but the scar's not as hideous as it looks."
'Here we go…' Daveth thought. "I repaid the favor to the Knight of the Flowers himself that day. Besides, it's not that serious as the minstrels would like to believe," he said.
"Are you in pain?" Cersei asks.
Daveth shook his head. "It comes and goes, although the same couldn't be said for the people who tried to kill me."
"I should certainly hope so. It makes you look strong," Cersei remarked. "The rebels came for your head, but they lost their own. Thanks to father."
"Thanks to grandfather and three others," Daveth corrected her.
Cersei paid him no mind. "You're set to meet with your grandfather today?"
"How did you hear about that?"
"I have a few spies at my disposal, though not as much as you do I'm sure. And the Master of Whisperers himself also owes me a favor or two."
"Of course he did…" Daveth muttered. "Apparently grandfather has decided to relocate the meeting area of the Small Council to the Tower of the Hand near his own chambers."
"Ah, yes. Your grandfather always did have a way to assert his dominance," Cersei said. "It's something he's done the very same when your uncles and I grew up in Casterly Rock. He never let anyone forget who ruled the Westerlands and reminded them of their place."
"That he did," he agreed, "although he seems to be a bit more empathetic towards Uncle Jaime than most."
Cersei swore she felt her lip somehow twitch in a sneer at the mention of her twin brother.
"You'll be pleased to learn that I've managed to secure his release."
The Golden Lioness's head jerked up at the news.
"How? When…?" she asked.
"A fortnight ago," Daveth answered. "Uncle Jaime is set to return to the capital by midday tomorrow. He'll be needing a bath and a change of clothes, though."
Cersei felt her spirits lift as she listened to her son mentioning that Jaime would soon be reunited with the rest of the Lannister family. To Daveth, perhaps that would help to put Cersei in a better mood.
"There's also the matter of the royal wedding, my son."
"What about it?" he quipped, picking up a small piece of grey and green cloth.
Cersei noticed it. "That looks like the Stark colors. Might I recommend you give it to Sansa for her wedding gown? It should be more than enough fabric."
"You say that now, but wait until more requests come pouring in," Daveth groaned.
Cersei managed to repress a light chuckle so her son wouldn't hear.
"I've noticed you and her have become… close, wouldn't you say?"
"Deciding to dig into my personal affairs, aren't we, mother?"
"I only ask out of concern for you, as is my right as a mother. I only want you to be happy."
"A promise is a promise. Once the match was made two years ago, I have done nothing but perform my duty since it was expected of me."
"Yes, but what do you think of her now? Sansa's beautiful and young. Her demeanor seems to have undergone some minor adjustments, which is interesting."
"It's taken some time, though I believe she's finally found her footing and adapted to court intrigue," Daveth said. "A bit of a slow learner when we first met, perhaps, but Sansa learned nonetheless. She has even… surprised me as of late."
"How so?"
"By not only proving to adapt and thrive, but to do so without sacrificing the essential part of her that makes Sansa who and what she is: her devotion, her innocence… her purity."
'Love is a bitter sweet poison, my son,' Cersei thought as she listened. 'A sweet poison, but it'll kill you that much faster.'
Daveth turned to look at his mother, a determined look in his eyes. "But I will not be like the kind of man to Sansa like Father was to you. I will not."
"You will never wed the Prince, you'll wed the King. You will be Queen, for a time. Then comes another – younger, more beautiful – to cast you down and take all you hold dear," Maggy's words continued whispering in Cersei's head. "The King will have 20 children, and you will have 4. One will belong to the King, an enigma to own kin. But only one will wear a gold crown, gold the ushering of their dynasty. A Prince That Was Promised, but only one of three."
Cersei had spaced out, but was brought back into reality once Daveth shook her by the shoulder.
"Mother?"
She shook her head. "It's nothing, my son. But at some point you'll need to understand what is in the interest of the family, for the better of our House."
"I'm well aware of that, mother," Daveth spoke. "The burden, the responsibilities… Whatever the pain and hardships I have to endure to get the realm to where it needs to be, then that's on me."
It was that what made Cersei's face twist into discomfort. But at which one? The prophecy told to her as a girl? Or the apparent omen her son just said about himself?
"Is there anything else?" she pressed.
Daveth sighed. "Mother, when I or Varys know something, you'll know. But until then, try to be a bit more patient."
Cersei stood by as she watched her eldest son putting on his formal regal attire and walk out the door, possibly intending to head to the Tower of the Hand – but he stopped to turn and look at her.
"And one more thing," he said in a serious tone. "You even think about trying to undermine me like you did during the battle at Blackwater Bay again, and I'll send you back to Casterly Rock."
The Golden Lioness didn't like being told what to do, especially in that seemingly accusatory manner, but wasn't able to let out a retort as she watched Daveth leave.
"A Lannister always pays her debts," Cersei muttered. "A Lannister always pays her debts…"
######
At the Tower of the Hand…
Tyrion Lannister sat in a chair watching his father Lord Tywin―now serving in his capacity as Hand of the King (a position he once held before for nearly 20 years during the Mad King's reign)―authoring a series of letters and documents. He didn't say anything yet, but it was clearly obvious that only his presence soured Tywin's mood.
The dwarf himself had also gotten a scar that went across his face as a result of Ser Mandon Moore of the Kingsguard betraying King Daveth and tried to kill Tyrion before he himself was cut down by Ser Loras Tyrell's own men. Tyrion had told Daveth what had happened, yet was told by his nephew that Mandon had received his fitting punishment regardless.
"You're alive, Uncle Tyrion," Daveth reminded him, "and Ser Mandon is not. Either way, his treachery did not go unpunished."
Tyrion often had a hard time understanding his nephew, but he knew the Young Stag only meant well and didn't want to come off as curt. No, that was Tywin and Cersei's job. Jaime, Daveth, Myrcella, and Tommen would never hate Tyrion for whatever he did.
"The badge looks good on you," Tyrion finally said to his father, breaking the silence. "Are you enjoying your new position?"
"Am I enjoying it?" Tywin coldly mocked. "I sent you here to advise the King."
"I did exactly as you said," the Imp pointed out.
"I gave you a chance at real power and authority," the Old Lion continued, "and yet you spent your days as you always have, bedding harlots and drinking with thieves."
"Occasionally I drank with the harlots."
Tywin looked up irritated. "What do you want, Tyrion?" he grudgingly asked.
"Why does everyone I assume I want something?" Tyrion exasperated. "Can't I simply visit my beloved father? My beloved father who somehow forgot to visit both his wounded son and grandson after they've been struck in battle?"
"Maester Pycelle assured me your injuries were not fatal, but Daveth appeared to recover much quicker than you ever did."
Tyrion was slowly getting angry.
"We organized the defense of this city while you held court in the ruins of Harrenhall," he began ranting. "Your own grandson, the King, your predecessor, Ned Stark, and I all led the foray when the enemies were at the gate and held the line for as long as possible, waiting for you to arrive when we were vastly outnumbered. I bled in the mud for our family. My own nephew fought tooth and nail and nearly lost an eye. And as my reward, I was hustled away to some dark little cell. But what do I want? A little fucking, bloody gratitude would be a start!"
Tywin stared at Tyrion. "Jugglers and singers require applause. You are a Lannister," he said plainly. "Do you think I demanded a garland of roses every time I suffered a wound on a battlefield? Hmm? Now, I have to advise the King and aid him in looking after seven kingdoms, two of them returned to the fold and another about to follow suit. So tell me what it is you want."
"I want what is mine by right," Tyrion boldly declared.
Lord Tywin stopped writing and looked at Tyrion, both father and son matching each other intense gaze for intense gaze.
"Jaime is your eldest son, the heir to your lands and titles. But as a Kingsguard, he cannot marry, father children or inherit anything," he explained. "The day Jaime put on the white cloak twenty-three years ago, he gave up his claim to Casterly Rock. I, on the other hand, am your son and lawful heir."
Tywin knew what his son was referring to. "You want Casterly Rock."
"It is mine by right," the Imp insisted with stubborn conviction.
The Old Lion merely sighed in annoyance. "We'll find you accommodations more suited to your name and as a reward for both your accomplishments and recognition for your service to the King during battle of Blackwater Bay. And when the time is right, you will be given a position fit for your talents so that you can serve your family and protect our legacy. And if you serve faithfully, you will be rewarded with a suitable wife."
Tywin paused, and his green eyes take a drastic turn with utter spite.
"And I would let myself be consumed by maggots before mocking the family name and making you heir to Casterly Rock."
Tyrion just stares at the man he's called father his whole life, yet he felt his lips moving on their own.
"Why?" he asks.
"'Why'? You ask that? You, who killed your own mother to come into the world?!" Tywin erupted in a blind fury, standing from his chair and stared Tyrion down.
Tyrion remained seated, not moving a muscle, not even looking as his father continued yelling at him.
"You are an ill-made, devious, disobedient, spiteful little creature full envy, lust, and low cunning! Sometimes I don't even understand why Daveth ever bothers to put up with you! Men's laws give you the right to bear my name and display my colors since I cannot prove that you are not mine! And to teach me humility, the Gods have condemned me to watch you waddle about wearing that proud lion that was my father's sigil and his father's before him. But neither Gods nor men, even my own grandson, will ever compel me to let you turn Casterly Rock into your whorehouse!"
Tyrion felt his hands tightening their grip against the chair handles and his teeth tighten.
"Go, now," Tywin ordered. "And speak no more of your rights to Casterly Rock. Go."
Tyrion pushed himself off the chair and stomped his way out, not even bothering to turn around as Tywin issued another stern warning.
"One more thing: the next whore I catch in your bed, I'll hang."
######
At one of the Red Keep's visitor's apartments…
Catelyn Stark stood with the letter given to her by Ariyana Dayne, looking out the window as her hands clenched tight in a cold, blinding fury. The look on her was a mixed expression of hurt and betrayal. She took another long, hard look at the letter and read it once more:
To the widow Lady Catelyn Stark, formerly of House Tully,
The Oathkeeper has been keeping close tabs on the activities of those
he suspects of not having the realm's best interests at heart. When he
heard of your son Bran's incident, the Oathkeeper ordered us to do
some digging around.
Please be sure to burn this letter so as to prevent it from falling into
the wrong hands.
[...]
Cat,
I've been warning you for a long time that your friend since childhood
is not the person he claims to be. Just recently the Master of Whisperers
has informed me that one of the men who delivered the final blow that
killed your late, beloved husband Ned Stark was in fact a paid agent
in service to none other than Littlefinger himself.
My agents have been gathering sufficient evidence to confirm our
suspicions. It's taken some time, but we found it. One of the whores
at one of Littlefinger's brothels was overheard gossiping about the
necessary "services in regards to the Quiet Wolf." When confronted
and interrogated by the new Commander of the City Watch, Ser Bronn
of the Blackwater and his men, the suspect in question offered to
cooperate in return for a lighter sentence in the black cells.
Turns out the sellsword has a knack for figuring out who's telling a
truth and who's telling a lie as he does swinging a sword around.
His men were able to trace the lines of those connected to Littlefinger
and were able to obtain several forged documents, determine the
source of the flow of vast sums of money, and spotted Littlefinger
with one of his "contacts" at the Reach before he departed for the Vale.
Our informants overheard him saying "get rid of Ned Stark when the
time is right, and you will be paid handsomely. And if anyone asks
questions, feel free to pin the blame on the Lannisters. Cat will
understand and turn her gaze towards them just as she did with the
Imp."
I have an agent working undercover at one of his brothels, but she'll
have to remain anonymous so as to avoid being exposed. We will call
on you when the time is right. For now, all I ask of you is that you
keep this to yourself, tell no one what you have just learned and endure
a little while longer.
Your husband was good to me, as was Lord Jon Arryn before him. I
know this will not bring Ned back, but you deserve the right to know
the truth – even if it only meant reopening old wounds.
I'm sorry.
Signed,
The Oathkeeper"
Catelyn felt tears beginning to form in her eyes again as she finished reading. Instinctively, she curled the paper into a ball and threw it in the fire pit. As the letter burned, Petyr Baelish entered the room. But before he could even say anything, Catelyn immediately turned around and began lashing out at him.
"How dare you…!" she hissed.
Petyr was taken aback. "You may have heard false reports," he tried to calm her down, but would risk getting nowhere if he was thrown out of her guest room.
"You betrayed me."
"Betrayed? Cat, what are you talking about? If this is about Ned Stark, I already told you how sorry I am for his loss—"
"I trusted you. My husband trusted you. You gave me your word that you would help me, that you would keep my husband alive, and you repaid our faith with treachery."
Petyr moved a step closer to Catelyn. "No, my lady, I—"
"Get out!" Catelyn spat and turned her back on him.
Taking another step forward, Petyr cautiously approached.
"Cat, I've… I've loved you since I was a boy. It seems to me that fate has given us this chance…"
Catelyn whipped around and waved a dagger at Petyr's face. "HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?! GET OUT!"
Backing away, Petyr placed his hands in the air in front of him. He assumed she was still grieving for Eddard's death. Not wanting to provoke her any longer and coming to the hard conclusion that whatever friendship they had was forever gone, Petyr reluctantly stepped out of the room.
Once he was gone, Catelyn collapsed on her bed and sobbed quietly. Out of all the friends she had in this world, Catelyn believed Petyr was the last person who could possibly do such a thing. At first she didn't want to see what Daveth's hand had written, but Catelyn knew that he felt honor bound to those he felt close to. Eddard was Daveth's Hand and served as his Regent and Protector of the Realm for a while, Robb was Daveth's oldest and closest childhood friend and Sansa was getting married to Daveth.
As the eldest daughter of Hoster Tully silently cried, the sun began to set on the horizons. The gulls cawed above and the oceanic waves crashed against the shores below.
Chapter End
######
Author's Note: Signs of reconciliation? I think not. Hard truths? Yes. Tensions? Maybe. Nearly everyone in King's Landing has been having a rough day. But now that the contents of the letter mentioned in the last chapter has unveiled, how do you guys think the rest of House Stark will react? Thoughts? Let me know.
kira444: You should change Dany's story a little bit. Have her run into some formidable adversaries who make her rethink her entire approach to retaking Westeros. Make her go from poor, princess to conqueror of Essos, someone who might be able to match Daveth's influence as king.
―I'm open to suggestions.
Oto Mustam: nice chapter ! :)
―Thanks.
Guest: great story
―Thanks.
Supremus85: Daveth will give Casterly Rock to Tyrion once Tywin dies, this muc is clear, Tyrion should bnot worry about that.
―It'll be a long wait... provided of course nothing happens along the way that might ruin it.
Patty 4577: Good chapter. Though I think that the Tyrells had gotten off the hook way too lightly. By the way did the Hound still run off after the Battle of the Blackwater? Also are you still planning on bringing Oberyn into the plot a season early?
―Some might see it as a slap on the wrist, but Daveth made it specifically clear to the Tyrells that he will not give anymore chances should they ever try a stunt like that again. So best for them not to squander it.
―Yes, the Hound still ran off.
―And yes I plan on introducing the famous Red Viper himself soon.
trollzer69: kill Balish and be done with him
―In a moment; please be a bit patient.
The Raven15: Another good chapter. My only question if what justice will the North get? Granted you mentioned about Littlefinger but what about the Tyrell's? I would imagine the North would be pretty upset that the Tyrell's were only punished monetarily for the battle in which Ned was killed. To add insult to injury, they were granted a marriage into the royal family even though the rebelled. Granted it was Littlefinger's man but the battle allowed for the situation to happen. The North would demand justice and it looks like they received none.
―Oooh, the North is plenty upset about it alright. It's not easy trying to keep the peace and you can't please everyone. Perhaps they'll eventually come to see the truth and see the mastermind who did it get punished.
mpowers045: When is the time for Littlefinger to going down?
―In a bit. Can't spring the trap prematurely.
Vulcran Stormblade: One of three? Are the other two Jon and Dany?
―Yup. Instead of two sides of the same coin, why not three sides of the same pyramid?
Kaesar16: I'm a little disappointed about the peace treaty with House Tyrell. While the punishment was well-done somewhat because a rebellion is still a rebellion and just giving them larger taxes seem underwhelming. Then you offered them a prince to marry. It is disappointing.
However, then I remember what is happening in Essos. So as I understand it, he prevented Dorne from doing their predictable stabbing in the back, that along with the Stormlands, Westerlands, the North, and the Riverlands they are secure by familial bonds, the Reach is given increased taxes but also a prince to bond them to the ruling royal family, and the Vale is being the odd one out. And the Iron Islands can all fuck off.
So while I dislike the poor punishment to the rebellion, I can understand the politics behind it and Daveth's attempts to unify the Seven Kingdoms under his rule.
―The whole thing and political maneuvering ended up giving me a rather nasty headache... That, and Daveth has a very bad history with the Iron Islands.