(a/n: sorry for the wait. Enjoy!)
Part 6: Cats & Crowns
Lord Bruce Wayne arrived at the Giant's Tooth late in the night. The guard's stationed at the gates mistook him for a stranger but immediately recognized their lord when he barked at them, angrily ordering them to open the gates.
Lord Wayne trotted into the courtyard of the castle alone. He dismounted, grabbed his satchel and handed the reins to a bleary eyed stable boy, who just stumbled out of bed a few minutes earlier. Bruce marched up the stairs and after inquiring a few of the servants that were still awake, went straight for the library in search of Alfred.
At the library, Bruce found his family's loyal retainer reading to his daughter Katherine. The tired lord paused in the doorway and watched as the scene unfolded before him. "…The ensuing battle lasted seven days and nights. For days, the two mighty armies clashed. They fought through the heat of the day and well through the night, continually watering the land with their blood until finally all that remained of either army were their leaders: the Kingmaker and the Iron Queen."
Katherine sat across from Alfred in a chair, completely entranced by the story. In the fireplace, a small fire chewed away what little bit of firewood that remained and provided enough light to read in.
A small, bitter smile appeared on Bruce's face. If only life were like the stories and songs thought Bruce, sadly.
Katherine was like Bruce when he was her age. He too once had thought the world was like the stories, filled with heroes and villains, honor and justice. Unfortunately, that sweet summer dream was shattered on that terrible night long ago. Bruce could still see that night in his dreams; the long, winding road back to the Giant's Tooth from the tourney at Harrenhal, the howling wind and those bandits. The screams still echoed through his memories.
Bruce clenched his fist and silenced those old memories. He may have failed his mother and father but Bruce knows that there's a lot he can do now for the Seven Kingdoms and Katherine. At first Bruce had considered leaving his title and lands to become a sellsword and go searching for the bastards who killed his parents.
Fortunately, Alfred was there and managed to convince him to remain in the Seven Kingdoms and use his skills and his resources in a more constructive way, but not before he took a two and a half year long journey that carried him all over Westeros and a good quarter of Essos. Another bit of good fortune was that Aunt Agatha and her brother, Phillip, managed most of the affairs of House Wayne while he was gone but when he returned, Bruce assumed his place as head of the House.
No matter the occasion, Bruce always thanked the gods for Alfred, Agatha and Phillip. Alfred has served House Wayne faithfully for many years and is now serving Bruce and his children with the same diligence he showed to Bruce's father.
Alfred concluded the tale, his voice soft and velvety "and thus the Kingmaker stood triumphant over the Iron Queen at the Battle of Blood Fields. It was there he built a mighty castle and reigned until his dying day."
The elderly man closed the book and, noticing Katherine's lord father, gently spoke "And now, it is time for you to go to sleep Lady Katherine."
"But I don't want to go to sleep," complained Katherine with a pout "I want another story."
"Perhaps another time" said Bruce, stepping into the library. Katherine, overjoyed at the sight of her father, jumped out of her seat and ran to him. Bruce took his youngest child into his arms and pulled her into warm embrace. "Father!" cried Katherine.
"Katherine!" chuckled Bruce. After the embrace, he looked at his daughter and asked "What are you doing up so late?"
"I wanted to hear a story," said the young girl "You know that I can't sleep until I have heard a story."
Bruce cocked an eyebrow "Is that so?"
Katherine grinned sheepishly "Er, well…"
"I treated her with a story, my lord," Alfred added, "However, one story turned into two, which in then turned into more."
Bruce let out a small laugh. Katherine apologized and asked her father if she could stay up with him and hear of his journey, but her father refused. Noting how tired she looked and how much she yawned, Bruce carried her to her room and tucked her into bed. As soon as she touched her bed, Katherine instantly drifted off to sleep. Bruce gave her a kiss goodnight and returned to the library, where Alfred remained, tidying up some papers and books that were left lying out on a table.
When Bruce returned, Alfred remarked that his children were becoming fine ladies and young men, although Damien was still skipping some of his lessons with Maester Arkham, Cassandra was still having difficulties with her needling and Jason was busy thinking about that girl from the Reach he met at the tourney at King's Landing a year before. Bruce smiled and merely shrugged it off as the follies of youth and advised Alfred to speak with Agatha about Cassandra.
After some light banter, Alfred then made the sign that indicated that it was safe to speak more freely.
"Pleasant journey I take it, Master Wayne?" asked Alfred.
Bruce sank into the chair Katherine used and sighed deeply. "You could say that," replied the weary lord
"Do tell."
"Matters are growing ever more interesting in the south" explained Lord Wayne "I encountered our old friend at the tourney, which I am sure the children have told you in great detail."
"They have and I am surprised that the tourney had ended with so few a casualty as it did"
Bruce nodded "Indeed, had I not interfered I'm afraid that there would have been more death than the one."
Alfred nodded "A shame about Ser Hugh though, I heard he squired for Lord Arryn or one of his men."
"He did indeed and that only seems to confirm my suspicions about what is happening in King's Landing."
It would surprise most outside observers at how candid the conversation was being conducted between the servant and his lord, but Lord Wayne and Alfred have known each other for so long, they consider each other family and can be as candid as they want. Bruce's upbringing also contributed to this close relationship. Growing up to be a lord and a bannerman of a great house like House Stark, Bruce had come to rely on Alfred as a councilor, a father figure and a reliable friend.
Before the tragedy that befell House Wayne, Lord Thomas Wayne had a good amount of friends and allies that swore profusely that they would assist the Wayne family no matter what. However, after the death of Lord Thomas and his wife and his return from his journey, Bruce grew reclusive and suspicious of the world around him, having seen the true nature of the lords and ladies the Waynes once called friend. Once warm and loyal, their sweet words stopped and their true selves began to show. They coveted what little land Bruce inherited and tried to play games with the young lord. Some even tried to forcibly take the Giant's Tooth and wrest from him the Wayne's land by force, but thankfully, Bruce heeded Alfred's warnings and had help from his uncle. Bruce displayed that he wasn't a weak, foolish boy that they can manipulate.
The whole situation would've proven to be deadly had it not been for Alfred's council and the support of his uncle, before he took the black.
Alfred wasn't a nobleman and had proven where his true allegiance lay time and again. He is an integral part of House Wayne and Bruce can hardly imagine what would happen if he had not been a in the service of Bruce's parents. Now that Bruce was now a grown man and a recognized lord, he decided to look at things from every vantage point, even from the point of view of a commoner. With the recent happenings at King's Landing and around the kingdoms, Bruce needed another set of eyes to help him navigate the murky waters of court.
"Yes, the death of Lord Arryn" said Alfred, slowly "I seem to recall that you believe that he was murdered."
"It would appear that my hunch was correct" replied Bruce, coolly. He turned his gaze to the crackling fire. "Our friend seems to know a thing or two of this conspiracy."
"Did you try to extract the answers from him in the usual manner?"
"Of course, but I did not need to. He was all too willing to share."
"And?" pressed Alfred.
Bruce shook his head "You would not believe me. I am having a hard time believing it myself, but it does make sense and the names do confirm my suspicions. It does fit some of the clues I have uncovered. Unfortunately, he did not know the answer to one key question."
"The Kingmaker?" guessed Alfred.
Bruce nodded "Yes, the Kingmaker, the fabled warrior king from the Age of Heroes. What does a story have to do with the murder of Jon Arryn?"
"It certainly is a perplexing quandary, my lord."
Bruce shook his head. Jon Arryn was a good man, though he was blinded by his high sense of honor. He failed to see that he sat in a den of vipers and lions, all too willing to stab him in the back when given the chance. King's Landing was truly an awful city. A filthy sty filled with poverty, crime and a long history of evil. Bruce had spent some time in King's Landing, both as a noble and as a nameless young man, and hated every moment of it.
Despite the filth, there were a few things in King's Landing that were worth visiting. King Robert was good company, though Bruce wasn't always in the mood for the king's crass antics or his court. There was also the woman. Her face came to mind and a hint of a smile appeared on his face. He wondered if she was still in King's Landing, in that crowded little house.
Bruce also remembered that surly man from Flea Bottom who he shared an adventure with once. It was rather amazing to hear that he was now a nobleman with his own land and title, though he is more recognized by a different title, which was used more as a jest by various petty lords in order to demean him but Bruce was proud of the man and was glad to call the Onion Knight his friend.
"I am not sure what the Kingmaker has to do with all this commotion," said Alfred, scratching his chin thoughtfully "but according to Maester Arkham, the Kingmaker was not only a name of the great warrior of old, but it was also a title a few times by various warlords through the succeeding ages as a tribute to him. Some of the more detailed accounts we have on record show the name of the Kingmaker was last used in the Blackfyre Rebellion and the Dance of Dragons."
Bruce frowned. It seemed rather coincidental that the name of a cunning warlord appeared in two of the worst wars Westeros has seen in the last few hundred years. But Bruce didn't believe in coincidences, especially now if there is someone else bearing that name, now roaming the land and murdering good men in order to hide a shadowy conspiracy.
"What of our pale lunatic?" asked Alfred.
Bruce's expression darkened "He got away."
"How, if I may ask?"
"On our way back north, we encountered a little trouble. There seems to be more lawlessness than usual. I intervened and when I was distracted, he slipped away, disappearing in the confusion. He's quite good at that. However, I did learn something interesting. These bandits were Lannister men and were being led by the Mountain."
"Ser Clegane? Are you certain?"
Bruce nodded, looking grim "Yes. I didn't fight him, but I recognized his voice barking out orders."
"What in the world is he doing?"
"Burning crops, killing little folk, raping, and setting the countryside ablaze. For what reason, I am not sure."
Alfred's eyes widened a little in realization, "If they were Lannister men, then I would say that it has something to do with Tyrion Lannister."
Alfred quickly related what happened to Bruce. Word of Tyrion's captivity in the Vale of Arryn and Cersei's fury was spreading quickly and Alfred surmised that the band of Lannisters attacking the fertile Riverlands is a display of Tywin's anger. The two men knew that Tywin had little love for his son, but Tyrion was still a Lannister and his capture was an insult that the Lord of Casterly Rock was not going to take lying down.
Alfred mentioned word of the Hand of the King, Eddard Stark, moving to have the Mountain arrested and brought to justice but neither Bruce or Alfred believed that would happen. In fact, it would probably exacerbate the problems and probably result in something far worse than the Hand could ever imagine.
Bruce sighed deeply and rubbed his tired eyes. Things were just getting stranger and more complicated. There were days where he hated being a lord and wanted nothing more than to find a ship and sail far away with his family and live somewhere else. But he can't do that, especially with innocent people at the mercy of scheming petty lords and barbaric murderers dressed as knights.
"What shall we do master Wayne?" asked Alfred, watching his liege mulling over what they have discussed.
After a few moments of silent contemplation, Bruce looked to his old friend and said, "We go to work."
It took hours before the fires died. Night was silently watching the tiny village of Fair Spring and all was silent. The peaceful little town was currently cloaked in thin wisps of smoke and the smell of death. Villagers staggered about, weeping and dazed over what had happened. Those who were exhausted by the long and dreadful day gathered in the tavern.
After spending a long stretch of grim silence digging up graves for those who were butchered in the raid, the traumatized survivors sat together, huddling around the great fire crackling in the hearth, giving warmth and light to this gloomy night, weeping and mourning all that they lost.
Sitting among them was a young man named Dwight. Pale, thin and small, the young man was barely fourteen years of age and had already lost both his parents and his sister. He had been away from the village, running an errand for Oswyn the blacksmith, when the attack begun.
Dwight had forgotten something and returned home to retrieve it, only to be greeted by the awful sight of the raid. He hid himself in some bushes a short distance from the village and watched, hoping and praying to the Seven that the raiders didn't harm his older sister or find him.
Unfortunately, it would seem that the gods didn't hear him. Fira was found, lying on the floor of their home in a pool of her own blood. Dwight noticed some bruises on her arms and face then assumed the worse. Some time later, she was buried along side the butcher and two of Dwight's closest friends. Like everyone else in the village, Dwight shed his tears and he wept aloud. He cried to the gods for answers and for reparations but soon, the tears and the weeping stopped.
Dwight's sorrow slowly turned into a cold, icy fury. He wanted to take revenge on those who harmed his loved ones. The young peasant no longer cared about his safety or his life, all he wanted was to find those animals that attacked his village and slit their throats. Vile and poisonous thoughts began to fill his head when suddenly; a voice rang out and interrupted his reverie.
"Hello! Anybody there!"
Dwight and the other villagers looked towards the doorway and saw a cloaked figure emerge from the dark. The tall figure was hunched over from the large brown sack that was slung over his shoulder.
"Ah, here you are!" said the hooded stranger, pleased with himself.
"Who are you?" asked one of the eldest people in the village.
"A friend" the hooded man replied, "bearing gifts and words of encouragement." He reached up and shed his hood, revealing the face of death himself, the Laughing Prince.
All the villagers stared in shock and those closest to him drew away from him. They had heard of this wicked man, his foul deeds and ghastly appearance. His deathly pale face looked even more ghoulish by the faint, warm light of the fire and the dancing shadows that enshrouded the tavern.
Emerald eyes held the collection of tired and grief stricken survivors steadily and an unnaturally cheerful smile clung to his face. One of the women passed out, another started babbling a prayer to the Seven to deliver them. Dwight stared at the infamous renegade in shock and curiosity.
What was the Laughing Prince doing here? Was he here to kill them too? There were some stories of how he was a harbinger of death and a stealer of souls. If that were true, than Dwight didn't have much doubt anymore. His pale complexion glowed in the firelight and his cheerful grin just made him feel even more inhuman.
It took a moment for them to recover from the shock but two of the men in the tavern got up and grabbed whatever they could for weapons, a candlestick and a chair, and brandished them threateningly at the pale man.
"We don't want any trouble," said one of the armed men "But we don't want you here"
"Get out of here!" snarled the other man "We've had enough death to last us a lifetime."
"I know" the Laughing Prince replied coolly "That is why I came. I came to offer a helping hand."
The two men looked at the unwanted guest strangely, as did the rest of the tavern's occupants.
"Help? From you?" one of the men said incredulously.
The pale man nodded and held up his hands in show of surrender. "Yes. I heard of your suffering and I merely wanted to give you some food…and some helpful advice." He placed the bag down on the floor and tugged it open revealing hunks of bread, cheese, meat and vegetables. The people gazed at the food with surprise and suspicion.
One of the other men spoke up "Why are you doing this? You are a rogue, a murderer, a monster…why would you help us?" The Laughing Prince glanced at the man and, to the surprise of everyone in the tavern, his expression softened. A brief silence held between them then the pale lunatic that all men in Westeros spoke in a soft, pitiful tone. "Because I care about you and because I was once a man like you."
The entire tavern was immediately intrigued. The brutal outlaw that sat before them was once like them? All the stories and rumors portrayed him as some hellish beast that just dropped out of the sky one day.
In answer to their curiosity, the pale man continued. "Once, long ago, I was but a humble man who lived like you. It was a simple life…a family, a wife and a daughter. I loved them dearly. I would've given my life for them. I trusted and served my liege lord, just like you. However one day, I learned the terrible truth."
His emerald eyes scanned the room, landing on each man, woman and child there. "Any idea what that may be?"
No one answered. Most were too scared to speak; some were too entranced by his words. Without waiting another moment, the Laughing Prince answered his own question. "I learned that you could not trust your liege lord. Those…disgusting creatures, they prattle on about honor and justice, but the truth of the matter is they are HYPOCRITES!" his shouting of the last word made everyone jumped.
One of the village elders frowned at the rogue "Hypocrites?"
The pale man grinned "Yes, hypocrites. Don't you think it rather strange that you have to serve them? You who grow the food they eat, you whom they beat and rape without remorse during their petty little wars, and you who outnumber them by the thousands? Don't you think that something is terribly wrong here?"
A few of the tavern's occupants shared a look and some murmured to each other. A number of them were rather shocked at the rogue's words but Dwight, as well as a few others, simply stared at the man entranced. Something about what the pale man was saying felt true! It was as if he saw some hidden truth and was confirming something that Dwight had been feeling for the longest time.
"But they are here to lead us!" one of the women protested, "They were anointed by the Seven to guide us and protect us!"
"The Seven!" the Laughing Prince cackled scornfully "Oh my dear woman, I don't believe that the gods would have ever left our welfare in the hands of a bunch of spoiled children and murderers. If they did, then I applaud their sense of humor, especially for giving us a fat drunken oaf to be our king."
Others started to chime in and give their voice on this. Most village folk were loyal to their lord, Lord Hoster Tully, and to the king. Many have lived under the Tully's kind rule and would not stand for their kind lord being insulted by this monster, but with each protest or rebuttal, the Laughing Prince replied in a calm, expert manner.
Dwight slowly became more and more convinced of the rogue's views. Suddenly, the Laughing Prince stood up and the entire tavern went silent.
The frightened men and women closest to him backed away in fear of being attacked. His ghostly white face still had that strange, cheery smile. Within seconds, the pale outlaw's features turned grim and dark. He sighed deeply and shook his head. "I am saddened to hear that you people still believe as you do. Since you feel this strongly, then I fear that there is no hope for you."
"Are you threatening us?" the man with the candlestick demanded.
The Laughing Prince shook his head again, "No, I am merely lamenting. I know your future and it is filled with death and misery beyond your worst nightmares. If you continue being blind to the evils of the lords you serve, you shall suffer as all of your forebears who believed as you." He gestured to the sack full of food "The food is yours. Its not poisoned, if that is what you are thinking. Enjoy it, save it for later, I care not what you do with it. You will need it for the terrible winter that is coming."
The rogue went to the door of the tavern and paused. He turned to face the tavern's occupants one last time and said solemnly "Before I leave you, remember this my friends: Your honorable lords are not as honorable as they seem. Do not put your faith in them. The men who attacked you are Lannister men. This senseless slaughter was merely a message from Tywin Lannister to Eddard Stark, all for his half-man son. So go on, rebuild and forget this horrid night for a little while, but beware; a storm of steel and blood is coming and you will all drown in it." The Laughing Prince threw back his head and let out a high, mad cackle and departed.
Though he was gone, the frightened villagers could still hear the mad man's laughter echoing through the night. Some time passed and hunger won over their fear and the villagers were pleased to discover that the food was unspoiled and good to eat.
As the hungry villagers dug into the bag, Dwight's attention was fixed on the window, still haunted by the words of the pale rogue. The young man felt like he had just awakened from a bad dream and was seeing clearly for the first time. There were good lords who dispensed justice wisely and took care of their people. However after the mindless slaughter of half the village, Dwight was slowly coming to see that the nobility didn't give a damn about any of them.
Where was justice? Where were the king's men? Shouldn't they be here to help them or dispense justice on Tywin Lannister and his men? That didn't seem very likely, they probably were sitting back in their castles and laughing at the misery of those beneath them. The smallfolk were just livestock to them, pawns!
He had to do something. He had to make those disgusting monsters pay for all the pain and sorrow they inflicted upon his sister and all the people of his village. If the Laughing Prince was right, then something much more terrible was coming and Dwight desperately wanted to avoid that. He got up and left the tavern. The night was deep and thick. Pale stars glittered against the night and a cool wind tumbled through the tall grass that surrounded the village.
Dwight trudged off to the edge of the village, heading towards the path that led to the next village and the Kingsroad. He paused at the edge of the village boundary and looked back towards the warm little tavern and to what was left of his meager little home beyond that. There was a small nagging doubt in the back of his mind, something that was pleading with him to reconsider what he was doing and just go home.
Dwight shoved that nagging feeling aside, he had no home and he had nothing left to keep him there. He was sure of what he was doing. The young man turned and found himself face to face with the Laughing Prince. The pale rogue stood a few feet away from him. His eerie features stood out in the moonless dark.
"What do you want boy?" the outlaw asked, curious "Shouldn't you be at home with the rest of them, enjoying what little time you have left?"
"I…I came because…I want to join you" Dwight stammered, fumbling for the right words to say. He was dead set on leaving but he didn't really consider what he was going to say to the Laughing Prince.
"Join me?" the Laughing Prince said, surprised "Why is that?"
"Because…because those men killed my sister. I-I want revenge!"
A strange silence fell on the two. For a long moment the pale outlaw stared at Dwight, his face an unreadable mask. As the seconds slowly passed by, Dwight felt a chill creep up his spine as a terrible thought came to mind. What if the Laughing Prince was just lying and was going to slit his throat right here just for the fun of it?
Before he could answer his own questions, the Laughing Prince stepped toward him until the two were mere inches apart. Dwight felt his heart stop. The rogue clapped his hands on Dwight's shoulders and grinned. "So its revenge that you want? Well my boy, you have come to the right man."
The frightened young man felt his fear subside, but only just a little.
Night fell on Vaes Dothrak. Sounds of celebration filled the calm, warm air. Merriment and pleasure spread across the numerous population like a plague. It could be found everywhere you go and in every man, woman and child in Vaes Dothrak.
Viserys Targaryen, however, seemed to be immune to this pleasant little disease.
The prince in exile sat alone, brooding in a dirty, crowded drinking hall, his mind clouded by anger and by drink. Scattered about the establishment were some cushy seats, benches and tables that served dozens of Dothraki riders, foreign merchants and other temporary citizens of Vaes Dothrak.
Viserys laid claim to a little corner of the drinking hall and demanded the best swill that this sty of an establishment served. The serving woman brought him a cup of terrible, stale liquid and even though he issued a venomous threat and pronounced his royal heritage. The woman, after smelling the drink on his breath, merely rolled her eyes and left.
Viserys had a mind to teach the woman what happens when you cross a dragon, but he got some rather unpleasant looks from a rather large Dothraki man who acted as a guard for the establishment. The young Targaryen abandoned those thoughts and eventually went back to stewing in his bitter thoughts and his now filthy, smelly clothes.
It had been an awful few days in Vaes Dothrak. Though they made a pact, his sister for an army, Viserys has yet to see any significant progress with Khal Drogo. The only thing that the smelly barbarian seemed to be making progress with is ensuring that his bloodline continues on and lying about in this sty like a pig.
Ser Jorah urged patience and assured the prince that he will get his army, but Viserys knew better than that foolish, disgraced knight. Khal Drogo was merely wasting his time, now that he had everything that he wanted. If he could, Viserys would force the Khal to make good on his promise, or at least Daenerys, but she seems changed.
Before, she tried to make command him by sending him a serving girl to summon him like a dog and dress him up like one of the smelly horse lords. When he sought to rectify this and remind her of who she was dealing with, she struck him and threatened him that if he were to touch her again, Khal Drogo would have his head. Of course she was carrying the Khal's unborn child and Viserys did reconsider what he was doing, but she was still his sister and the Khal still had an oath to fulfill.
Unfortunately, Viserys was certain that the Dothraki seemed more motivated to drink, dance and whore in the mud and dirt than fighting for him. He had no gold, no allies, no army, and now, no sister to barter. The exiled prince balled up his hand into a fist. Everyday was a struggle for him; constantly staying ahead of the usurper's hired knives, having to barter and spend every bit of gold and Targaryen heirloom to build influence and make connections.
Years of hard work and it all amounted to being a lone in a filthy drinking hall, surrounded by dirty barbarians and fools. With nothing else to do or drink, Viserys gulped down more of the liquid in his cup and shuddered from the awful aftertaste. His mind grew more and more cloudy by the moment.
Perhaps I can find a new army. Perhaps an army of Unsullied, the young prince thought to himself. The Unsullied were legendary for their skill and their loyalty but they were very expensive. There was also the issue of gold to consider. He sighed deeply and demanded another drink.
After the serving woman brought him his drink, a robed figure entered the drinking hall. Everyone paused and looked at the newcomer. Viserys took note of the new arrival. The figure was a man, but the foul liquid he had been gulping for the past few hours dulled blurred his sight a little. He could see that the man hair like liquid silver, fair skin and wore a robe of flowing crimson and gold.
The man settled himself down at Viserys's table and politely requested a drink. The patrons of the drinking hall went back to their conversations and revelry, but some still eyed the robed newcomer. Viserys stared at the man and was amazed and a little put off by the audacity of this stranger. The man turned his attention to the young prince. His features were still a little blurred but the young prince noticed emerald eyes twinkling at him in the faint candlelight.
"You are Prince Viserys Targaryen, correct?" the man asked, his voice was clear yet gentle like a summer breeze.
"King Viserys" the exiled royal corrected, "I am the last of my house and the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, you will address me as such."
To the outside observer, it was rather rude for someone to say such a thing. In Vaes Dothrak however such rudeness would usually earn the impertinent fool a punch to the face, mockery or worse.
The stranger simply smiled and bowed his head low "My apologies, my king, it has been so long since I have met a true born Targaryen."
"Apology accepted" Viserys belched, "What brings you here? Be quick about it, I have precious little time to-to spare."
"Of course." The man's drink arrived. He gave the woman some coins and took a quick gulp then proceeded "I am merely here to congratulate you, sire."
"Congratulate me?"
"Yes, for the glorious return of House Targaryen."
Viserys froze. The return of House Targaryen, what did this mean? This had to be a jape.
"Return? Hardly" Viserys snorted, "Thank you for cheering me up, now be gone before you spoil my good mood."
The man held up a hand "But it is true! For I have seen it, it was revealed to me by the gods."
The young prince's eyes narrowed at the man in red. The gods showed him a vision? Preposterous! He didn't believe in visions or prophecies. The only thing that Viserys believed in was results, and at this moment he was as far from restoring his noble house as it gets.
"Now you are mocking me. Now leave before you wake the dragon."
The man remained firm. "The gods have shown me slaughtered direwolves, bleeding stags, a wounded golden lion, a sickly kraken, broken spears and a withered flower. All of them broken and defeated as a great, red dragon soared across a black sky and burned seven great lands."
Viserys was getting annoyed by this man, until he mentioned the death's of direwolves, stags, lions and flowers. From the sound of this vision, it sounded like the great houses of Westeros would be weakened or broken and that this dragon, a Targaryen dragon, would rise up and burn these weakened houses to ash.
But surely this is a jape or a trick. Maybe this man was some trickster who was looking for some money from an easy prey. The very thought made Viserys angry. Before he could make his anger known, the young prince paused when he noticed a symbol embroidered on the robed man's breast: A crimson heart engulfed by golden flames.
The exiled royal remembered vaguely of a conversation he had with magister Illyrio of a religion from Asshai, people who worshiped a god of sorts and his priests and priestesses were rumored to be able to see the future if their god allowed it. It was all fuzzy but the topic of seeing the future remained clear, even through the murkiness haze of drink.
"You're a fire priest," Viserys murmured, realizing whom he was speaking with.
The silver haired man nodded "Yes. I am a priest of R'hllor, the Lord of Light. I was making my pilgrimage to Asshai when I had gazed into my fire and I saw the dragon of House Targaryen, enthroned once more in King's Landing and arrayed in glory once more."
"Truly?"
"Aye. I see only what the Lord of Light permits."
Viserys felt his heartbeat quicken. Could this be? Will he really return home and reclaim his throne? Viserys drank from his cup and then asked, "Tell me, fire priest, how do I reclaim my throne? These filthy savages will not heed my voice. They would sooner lay with horses and goats than fight for me."
The red priest shrugged "I know not my king, I know only what was shown to me and that I must inform you of the destiny of your house. But there is a way and you already know what you must do."
The bitter royal snorted. How vague. Viserys has to only take this man's words for what its worth. He couldn't win his crown with words only. What did he mean by what he must do? Viserys realized that there is only one way how he could get his crown. A small rational part of him warned against doing what he was going to do, but emotions and the wine overrode reason. Viserys wanted his army and he was going to get it. He had to be a man and take what he wants. Thanks to the red priest, he now knew that he was going to succeed.
A voice snapped him out of his thoughts. "Your grace?"
Viserys blinked and he found himself looking up at Ser Jorah. The exiled knight stood there looking at him with concern. The young Targaryen blinked and looked to the priest to thank him for giving him the wonderful news but was surprised to see that the man was gone. The hairs on the back of his neck rose a little, but he didn't have time to ponder if the man was real or not. He had an army to take and a crown to win.
The red priest saw the wine soaked, drunken prince stumble out of the drinking hall, followed by the exiled knight. The two traded some heated words with each other and then the young prince stormed off to take what was promised.
The poor fool.
The red clad priest remained in the shadows, watching as the knight hurried after the prince.
It was true that the priest did see the great dragon crossing the waters and finding the great houses of Westeros broken and weakened, but he didn't specifically see Viserys in that vision.
He saw that House Targaryen would return, but from what he had seen in the flames and from a day of shadowing the young prince, the spoiled young man was not the one and would not be missed. Had he remained, Viserys would have altered the course of events, not by much but just enough to throw everything off balance.
Which is what brought Brother Blood to Vaes Dothrak. His gods needed to make sure everything was going to their design. The red clad priest turned and departed from the scene, feeling that his work in Vaes Dothrak was done and that his work was needed in the west.
A woman and her young child crossed his path and when they saw the symbol on his chest they scurried away, carefully avoiding eye contact.
Had the prince been a little more sober, he would've seen that he was gravely mistaken.
The symbol embroidered on the priest's crimson robes was not a blazing heart, but rather a crimson eye shedding tears of gold.
King's Landing was alive with noise and activity. The numerous inhabitants were going about their lives. Hammer's clanging away in the blacksmith's shops, the smell of fresh bread wafting through the air and large numbers crowded the main roads of King's Landing.
Eddard Stark, Warden of the North and current Hand of the King, emerged from the brothel with Jory and several other of his house guard, feeling nothing but frustration. Ever since he arrived in King's Landing, Ned has had faced nothing but questions and half-truths from people who were supposed to be his allies.
The more he looked into the death of Jon Arryn, the more things didn't make sense.
Ned was starting to miss Winterfell and the simplicity of it. Fortunately, thanks to Littlefinger's help and the evidence that Catelyn uncovered, Ned may be closer to finding the truth.
After conducting a brief visit to a brothel, owned by Littlefinger, and seeing one of the numerous women that Robert had laid with and the bastard child that she bore, Ned was another step forward in his investigation.
The girl was young and still loved Robert. The baby had the look of a Baratheon. The visit was brief and pleasant but Ned still wasn't sure as to why Jon was keeping an eye on two of Robert's bastards. Ned decided to puzzle with this manner another time. He needed to head back to the Red Keep and deal with more pressing matters, like the wanton destruction of several villages by Tywin Lannister men. Ned got word of the destruction and sent some men to bring the Mountain to justice but so far, things were only getting worse.
As Jory and the others were getting their horses ready, Ned noticed a woman watching them. He noticed her watching them ever since they first arrived. It was rather difficult to not to notice her. The woman was beautiful, with long black hair, braided in a way so that it doesn't get in the way of her sparkling blue eyes. She had a shapely figure and features that could attract any man.
If she were a woman of a noble house, Ned felt that this woman would put any other noble woman to shame.
When Ned arrived at the brothel, she stood there, sweeping dirt away from the front of the small building across the road and now she was feeding crumbs to a small grey cat. Ned's eyes narrowed and decided to speak with her.
"Good morning" Ned greeted.
"Good morning, my lord hand," the woman greeted, bowing her head. A soft scent of blossoms caressed Ned's nose and the woman gave him a smile that was a little too friendly.
"I couldn't help but notice that you seem to have a particular interest in our visit" Ned said.
The woman shrugged "Its not everyday to have the Hand of the King to visit this part of the city, even rarer to visit thrice."
"Thrice?"
"Yes. The other one, Lord Jon Arryn, he was here before you."
Ned raised an eyebrow "What was the nature of his visit?"
The woman shrugged again "I don't know. From what I have seen, he was over there at the brothel to see Mhaegen a few times. If it were any other man, I would think it was for pleasure rather than official courtly matters."
Ned nodded slowly. He felt something against his shin. Looking down, he saw that the little grey cat was brushing against his leg, purring.
"She likes you," the woman said, her smile widening. Ned felt a small smile appear on his face and then he noticed an interesting bracelet on the woman's wrist. It was a thin circle of silver with the image of a crowned stag etched into the metal.
Noticing Ned's gaze, the woman looked at her bracelet "Ah, this…this was a gift."
"From House Baratheon, if I am not mistaken."
The woman shook her head "No, you're not mistaken. Robert was always generous with his gifts."
Ned froze. "Robert? As in our king, your king, Robert Baratheon?"
The woman nodded "Yes. He'd come and see whenever he went to see Mhaegen and the girls across the way."
Ned was surprised, yet he wasn't at the same time. Robert was well known for his antics with the ladies, and this woman would more than likely catch Robert's eye. "How did you meet him? Were you a-,"
"A whore? No," the woman said, sounding offended "I live here. He saw me out here feeding my kittens one evening and approached me. Told me he was the king and I told him that I didn't care if he was bloody Symeon Star-Eyes. When I learned that he was the king, imagine my surprise."
Ned smiled a little.
"We talked a little and nothing much came of it. Ever since then, he visited me on occasions and brings a little gift in an attempt to sway me and talk my ear off about how we would run away from this dreadful kingdom and sail for Essos or the Jade Sea and beyond, leaving everything behind but every time I would have an excuse. It became our own little game and he hasn't won since. I thought it was a little annoying, he always thought it was good fun, since nobody has denied him of anything."
If this woman were speaking the truth, then Ned would be surprised. At first, it almost sounded like Robert was being himself, with the gifts and sweet words, but after hearing about him talking about leaving behind his crown and kingdom, just as he did at the Tourney of the Hand, then Ned was feeling a little worried.
Robert sounded like he was acting like a young boy smitten with a girl for the first time. He would have to find a way of speaking to Robert about this later.
"Excuse me…" a soft voice interrupted.
Ned blinked and looked down. Standing there was a little girl with raven hair and big blue eyes, gently tapping Ned's leg. "Is Selina in trouble?"
"Lyra" the woman hissed.
Ned shook his head slowly "No, she's not in trouble. I merely needed to ask her a question." The little girl nodded in understanding. "Lyra, go back inside." The little girl nodded and trotted off. The woman named Selina smiled nervously "Children."
"Your daughter?" Ned asked.
Selina shook her head "No, an orphan. I found her living in an alleyway alone. I took pity on her and took her in, like I have with a few others. I suppose you could say that I collect strays."
"How admirable."
Selina nodded, "It really is a shame that these children are left to fend for themselves. I figure that I have to do something for these poor little creatures, King's Landing is no place for children."
Ned nodded in agreement. The two spoke a little more on Mhaegen and her baby but once he was sure that there was nothing more to be gleaned from her, Ned bid Selina a good day then went back to Jory and the others.
He was ready to climb up on his horse but stopped when he saw Jaime Lannister and a dozen other men in armor galloped up the road. The golden haired knight was wearing his armor and his white cloak of the Kingsguard and looked like a man who was ready to kill.
End of Chapter
(a/n: Well what do you think? I forgot to mention last time, Mick and Leonard are Captain Cold and Heatwave. Here we have Brother Blood from Teen Titans.
Next time: Things are heating up as King Robert dies, with trouble and treachery in King's Landing. Tyrion, free from the Vale, encounters enemies and friends, among them a bannerman named Luthor, Meanwhile in the North things only get more peculiar for Victor and the Nights Watch.)