Jorah Mormont gazed out and into the city that was Pentos, taking great care not to expose himself too much. He would bite down his pride enough to know that to underestimate the Stark Lord. Stark would have sent someone to at least keep an eye on him, if not to kill him. Had Ned Stark been, at the very least still regent, Jorah might've gotten away with simple exile but the Wolf of Winterfell was known to exact justice.
He had even been approached by an agent of the eunuch in King's Landing to be a spy, to monitor and observe the young Targaryen children. He had outright denied him, knowing full well that the Master of Whispers would throw him to the wolves should a lucrative opportunity present itself.
But that got him thinking, he was a sellsword and a good one at that, and a former Northern lord. Those two things alone could present him as an incredible advisor to the up and coming Viserys.
That's what brought him to Pentos, specifically Illyrio's manse.
"Jorah Mormont." The rotund and yellow-bearded man smelled of oils and fragrances that made the hairs inside his nose knit and burn close together.
"Master Illyrio." Jorah stated with a hint of contempt and barely disguised disgust. How people even bathed in that stuff was beyond the former northern lord, even one as extra as him. Water and simple soaps did the trick just as well.
"May I ask how you fare this fine evening?"
Jorah turned slightly and regarded the fat man for a quick moment and didn't respond. "Young Stark's agents won't be here, at the manse that is." Illyrio stated, albeit somewhat ominously as if he was assured yet afraid at the same time. "No doubt they are waiting at the entrance."
"You know of Hadrian?" While it wasn't a far stretch for the well-connected man to know about him, it was weird that he seemed afraid of the young man.
"Ah yes. Lord Impaler. Those of Essos have taken to calling him that." Illyrio stated, shaking himself from the slight daze that took him over. "The wares of the North have gained a lot of traction, especially in Tyrosh, Myr and Lys. Reachmen are even selling their crop to the cities in the Bay of Slaves, albeit under the protection and supervision of the North."
The former Mormont lord scrunched his eyebrows in thought. "Lord Stark is dealing with slaves?"
"No, he's smart. He is the top, middle and end man in a deal made by the Reach." Illyrio's belly rumbled as he laughed loudly. "The Reach can't sell anything here in Essos. The damn flowers demand to high prices for the food they want to sell. The North buys it at half the price and turn around and sell it for three quarters of it, turning a twenty and five percent profit. They split that with the Reach at a sixty to forty. Not that the Reachmen know."
Jorah whistled at that. He had to further quell his pride to give Hadrian, his respect in that regard.
"What did you want?" The former Mormont lord asked after a few moments of silence.
"Ah, his grace has asked for your presence." The Magister conceded, with slight mocking in his voice. It was no secret, to those in Essos, that the Beggar King was…well, a beggar. To Jorah, he was a means to an end. Should Viserys be able to get the khalassar he wanted, Westeros would be in deep trouble.
Especially given the climate and Jorah was no slouch in the politics that plagued Westeros. The limited contact he did have with his ex-wife when they were still wed taught as much. The Tyrells and the a good majority of the Reach would side with Viserys as would a good majority of Dorne. If anything, the Dayne household would either remain neutral or side with the Targaryen loyalists.
If Tywin was still alive by the time they went to Westeros, then they would face all of the Westerlands but Jorah highly doubted the Old Lion to live as long and the gold they wielded could only command so much respect as an Imp did not strike fear into the hearts of those that he would rule.
The few houses that remained in the Crownlands after Robert took the throne would most likely side with Viserys as well, only if Tywin was dead however.
Should that come to past, they would most likely have a few houses of the West also at their command. With those numbers, they would easily subdue the Stormlands and the rest of the Crownlands.
That left the Eerie and the North, arguably the worst to go to war with. However, the Eerie had grown complacent. Jorah was no fool. Under Jon Arryn's leadership, who had left stewardship under the Royce's, they grew fat, stupid and lazy. It didn't escape his notice that they had committed little to no troops in the Greyjoy Rebellion.
They felt secure in their mountains and beyond that they felt themselves superior to everyone else and given that they were one of the main contributors to the downfall of the Targaryens, they would either bend the knee or be put to the sword. If Jorah knew anything about Viserys, that much he could guarantee.
The North, his homeland, was the only real cause for concern. Had Moat Cailin not been rebuilt and the navy forces of the North been commissioned, it would've been an easy, albeit costly, fight to bring them back into the fold. But now, the more the former Mormont lord thought about it, the more he felt that any invading force into Northern lands would be met with both crippling losses and defeat. The Moat itself would be a tough nut to crack and navigating safely through the Neck would be a challenge in and of itself.
That was only the start of the North natural defenses. If they came at inopportune time, winter could set in and invading the North would be all but impossible. Combine that with the fact that his people were adept at guerilla warfare, they wouldn't be able to bring them back into the fold. The only real option for the North was to bring them in the same way Dorne was brought into the Seven Kingdoms.
Marriage.
And Hadrian Stark would not stoop as low to do that. Not if he could ensure the North's independence.
Jorah soon found himself in the presence of Viserys, where the platinum hair teenage boy was loudly demanding another pitcher of wine from one of the many 'servants' that worked under the wealthy Pentoshi Magister.
"My lord," The arrogant Targaryen boy had taken to Illyrio's wealth like a bee to honey as he merely waved a dismissive hand in their direction whilst being attended to by two servants. "I need your advice regarding something."
"Your grace?" The northman did not like taking orders from the boy-king. He much preferred the company of his sister, Daenerys. It helped that she was incredibly easy on the eyes, even if a little soft-spoken.
He would, however, provide any advice to the would-be king.
"What do you think of Westeros right now?"
And so Jorah told him all what he thought of only moments prior, dismissing the question as mere coincidence.
"Hmm." Was all Viserys voiced, before he took a healthy drink from an opulent chalice. "When," He stressed this word with an insane gleam in his eye and an arrogantly, loud, voice. "I get the army of savages, you will be my Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. It is the least I can do for someone who is a wealth of information. The Starks will be put to the sword as well as all those who betrayed my father." He quickly got distracted by another servant who was walking by with a tray of food.
Jorah nodded but that wasn't what he wanted. He only wanted to return to Bear Island and live out the rest of his days in peace.
The former Mormont lord knew this day would never come. Should he step into Westeros again, or more specifically the North, he would be killed on sight.
That didn't mean he wouldn't take such a prestigious position though.
"Khal Drogo will be here in three days time!" Illyrio declared, shaking him from his thoughts. Jorah wondered what they could possibly offer to the warlord that would get him to invade Westeros.
The northman quickly left at that. It was time to indulge in some of the more pleasurable aspects of life, to keep his mind from the politics of the world. He would get what he wanted, above returning home. The death of Hadrian Stark. The boy that started his path to embarrassment and scorn. He would see the boy-lord dead before the balding man met the Stranger.
Hadrian Stark was in his solar writing letters when Myrcella walked in after a quick knock. Hadrian, in the years since leaving King's Landing, had been incredibly busy. His many projects were a time consumer, along with his training, and court responsibilities there was not much he had in the way of spare time for himself or others.
Jon, with the assistance of Arya, had taken to ensuring the day to day running of the castle at least and doing his best in taming Arya's more adventurous tendencies. Theomore had more less been cut out of the entire equation, only attending meetings he was absolutely needed in (there were none), attending to the sick (which they were few if any), and attending meals where he sat in silence.
Hadrian had even been able to take over messenger birds in the form of owls and hawks, which were both much harder to spot and kill, even for skilled hunters such as himself. It was rather simple in that he only had to imbue said bird a small sliver of magic and from there the bird was able to develop a core on its own.
"Hello, Harry." Myrcella bounded to his side and hugged him slightly. Her previously dyed golden locks were now showing more dark brown roots and had only left her with tips of blonde. Hadrian, for all his attempts at showing his displeasure at being forced into a marriage with the girl, had rebounded on him and he saw the developing crush she had on the Stark Lord, who by now was twenty where she was five and ten.
Her birthday was fast approaching and thus the preparations for a wedding were now taking place.
Hadrian still didn't have a plan in place for ridding himself of this contracted agreement.
Outright refusal wasn't an enticing option as it would insult half of Westeros and Harry did not want to bring war upon the kingdoms just yet. After all, he did have to deal with the Seven, or rather six.
Killing her also wasn't an option. Contrary to popular belief, he wasn't as cruel or heartless as many south of the Neck regarded him as. Sure, he could abuse his power as Champion of Death, and have one of the Faceless Men take care of it, but it would raise more problems for him in the long run and he didn't need the death of someone who, for all intents and purposes, was innocent in the whole affair.
Needless to say, he hated not knowing what to do.
He nodded his acknowledgement and continued to work on the letters. Hadrian spied from the corner of his eye as she wrung her hands together in nervousness.
"Harry," She paused as she waited to get his attention. The Stark lord set down his quill and eyed the girl. She wore a simple forest green dress that had slightly muddy edges on the bottom and long sleeves that went to here wrists. Over it she wore a brown leather tunic that helped shield her from the more cold weather that was coming in. The tunic had the lion and stag royal heraldry etched above the right breast.
Her bright blue eyes shone with both nervousness and anticipation as she fished out a small parchment from a small brown pouch she kept at her hip. It looked similar to the ones that were received by ravens and since all Northern lords had gotten used to the fact of the more vicious birds of prey delivering their more important correspondence, it had to have come from south of the Neck.
She handed him the small parchment. "It's from my father." She said.
Hadrian quickly scanned the small parchment. It was merely notifying him that his presence was required at Moat Cailin.
The Stark Lord nodded and set the parchment down and stared at it for a full moment before nodding once again. He didn't like it one bit. Arya would be forced to come as well. It was an seemed if Moat Cailin was the destination then his uncle would insist on Arya being present. She would be disgruntled to say the least.
"Go and get ready, we leave after supper." He stated with a slight smile at the brightness that lit her face when he answered.
She giggled and left with a parting hug.
"Jaqen, find the Royal convoy." Hadrian said aloud as soon as he was sure that Myrcella was out of earshot. "Find out what the hell is going on." He nearly gritted his teeth and growled out the order. In all honesty, Hadrian was expecting the King to arrive at Winterfell on the new year considering Myrcella's birthday.
Something big would've had to happen to force the King personally to leave the Red Keep and all but order him to the south. Something that deeply scared the Demon of the Trident.
The Stark Lord was assured that even though his solar was empty, Jaqen would see to it that the request was carried out as fast as possible.
Robert Baratheon was scared. Not the I'll piss my pants kind of scared but the Something's wrong kind of scared.
Only a moon's past and Jon Arryn, Lord Hand of the King, Lord Paramount of the Eerie and Warden of the East, his father in all but blood, had quite suddenly, passed away.
Now normally, he wouldn't have thought much of it other than grieve, drink and whore his worries and troubles away.
But Jon Arryn was as strong of a bull the last time he saw him, which was only days earlier. What further perplexed him and caused him to worry was that, the Lord Hand was thoroughly examining the King.
Robert wasn't a stupid man. Many thought differently but he knew to conceal whilst in the court and den of vipers that was the Red Keep and the Crownlands as a whole.
So when Jon Arryn had come snooping around his family tree and his own features, he must've been suspecting something about Myrcella and, as much as he admired the old man, to bring his only true joy into the Game was something he would not allow. As even he did not know of Myrcella's true origins and only the lies fed to him by Robert.
The only thing that made him feel fear anymore was the growing power of the Westerlands and, more specifically, the Lannisters. They were garnering more and more support and influence within the Crownlands.
Blasted Jon Arryn had to just up and die though. No warning, no sickness, just…death. Pycelle attributed it to a high and fast working fever that plagued him and claimed that he couldn't do anything to save the man when he had first been brought to him.
Robert suspected foul play but couldn't figure who would want the Lord Hand dead other than himself of course when the King had spied the house lineage book on the table. But he hadn't ordered such a thing to take place.
The Demon of the Trident never felt so isolated in his life, with his only recompense being Ser Barristan, as Stannis had taken to staying with Dragonstone and Renly was neglecting his duties as both Paramount of the Stormlands and also Master of Laws and instead was too busy partying with Tyrells.
He needed someone to trust and have his back. The only one capable of doing that was Ned.
And that was how he found himself in the infamous Moat Cailin, striding into the town of Moaton and the outlying Forest of Dread. A certain fear and feeling of absolute hopelessness gripped his heart as the King gazed further at it from the comfort of the carriage.
It wasn't until the forest was out of sight was his gaze torn away. Robert leaned back into his seat in the carriage and found his sight resting on the demon he married. Cersei sat, or rather lounged in her cushioned bench with a disinterested glance at him before returning her head to resting on an outstretched arm. Joanna and was gazing out the opposite door with a wide-eyed expressions as they watched Moaton go about its daily activities.
By the Seven, Robert hated reminiscing on the past on what could've been. 'Myrcella should be here.' He thought bitterly. 'Lyanna should be here.'
He snapped those thoughts from his mind as they approached the gates of Moat Cailin and his somberness easily dissipated upon seeing the venerable and ancient fortress in all its glory. Twenty towers that rose up to the heavens, a thick curtain wall and the soldiers manning the crenelated platforms. He could feel an electricity and excitement in the air.
Robert felt the corners of his lips curl upwards and his soul feel content for the first time in a long time. For better or worse, the Stag King knew he would be safe in the North, he knew that despite everything that happened these past years, the North would always welcome him with open arms.
The large Baratheon man didn't even wait for the royal carriage to stop nor did he wait for his Kingsguard or the retinue of Baratheon men. The second he saw his old friend he opened the wooden door and stepped out.
He may have been fat and bearded but it did not at all impede his balance.
"Myrcella!" The Demon of the Trident opened his arms in a grand gesture where the Cailstark family and Hadrian Stark as well as Mycella were waiting patiently bowing on a knee, except his daughter who only curtsied deeply. He embraced his daughter and hugged her widely receiving one in return.
After releasing his daughter from a hug that would make any doting mother red with envy, the King of Westeros stood over Ned who he gestured to stand, causing everyone else to do so as well.
"My King, the Moat is yours." Ned stated formally and Robert barked a laugh. He never wanted to be King but Jon Arryn said that considering his on grandmother was a Targaryen, he was the most legitimate choice. Still, Robert disregarded the rules of formality and clasped his eldest friend in a hug that threatened the crush Ned's ribs.
"Come show me your family." Ned smiled at the genuine happiness that seemed to radiate off the man. It was distinctly different from the drunk and angsty man that sat on the Iron Throne. "Cat!" He exclaimed and embraced his friend's lady-wife.
Robert quickly went through the Cailstark children, while he spied Cersei get greeted by Ned. Robb and even little Bran were built like warriors. While Rickon was a little timid given his large stature, he still hid slightly behind Cat's skirts. The King chuckled boisterously at that. He approached Sansa and was a little disappointed when she was acting like a proper lady. In his opinion, ladies of the North should have a little wildness to them, but said nothing more than a nod and grunt of acknowledgement. Only when he stopped on Arya did he give a moment's pause.
Even with a little girl's features, she looked like the second coming of Lyanna. A brown pony-tail with two strands of errant hair framing her face. A simple grey dress with a leather belt at the wait and small dagger and dirtied cheeks.
Robert forced himself away as he greeted Hadrian Stark with a shake of the arm and a friendly clap on the back. The Demon of the Trident was even more riveted by the young man's appearance. He was certainly Brandon Stark's son. Broad shoulders with a tall wired frame and tousled and wild raven black hair, a small stubble of a beard adorned his face and Hadrian's multi-colored gaze looked even more piercing and calculating than the last time he had seen him.
"Ned, take me to the crypts, I wish to pay my respects." Robert ordered. "Hadrian, come with."
"Come, love." Cersei stated sweetly, whilst eyeing Myrcella with a scorn that was only rivaled by Cat's own towards Arya's disinterested one. "Let us rest. We have been traveling for a month already. The dead can wait."
Robert didn't even bother regarding the cold-blooded woman with a look of acknowledgment. "Ned." And with that, he didn't even bother to check to see if his friend and Hadrian were following, already hearing the sloppy footfalls in the mud behind him.
They were silent as the three including two Kingsguard, Sir Oakheart and Sir Blount were tailing close behind, that was until they arrived at the tomb did Robert speak. "Oakheart, Blount wait out here."
Two different reactions met him at that. The ever dutiful yet soft-spoken Oakheart merely nodded and stood to the side while Sir Blount took on a surprised look. "Your grace, I insist that I accompany you, at the very least."
A hard and sharpened gaze from the King floundered further argument from the slow-witted Kingsguard. Blount quickly took to the opposite side of the entrance way.
The King watched as Hadrian quickly took the lead while picking a lit torch off the wall to Robert, he probably took up the mantle of honorary Kingsguard as his hand went to rest on his sword. Ned and Robert walked together while venturing further into the dimly lit tombs.
"Tell me what happened to Jon Arryn." Was Ned's delayed question.
Robert wasted no time in answering. "One minute he was fine and the next it burned right through him. Whatever it was." Robert paused as he might've come off as a little insensitive. "Loved that man."
"We both did." Ned replied as they continued to follow Hadrian deeper into the crypts. They both eyed the younger man for a second waiting for a snort or cough of derision. It was no secret that Jon Arryn and Hadrian Stark was a combination that no one saw friendship from.
When none came, Robert nodded his approval to Ned. "He never had to teach you much, but me." Robert and Ned chuckled lightly at that. There was no further need for explanation. Up until his marriage to Lyanna which was when he was six and ten and she five and ten, he was a real whoremonger and a fighter.
"Aye." Ned agreed with a barely disguised smirk but Robert saw it and immediately capitalized on embarrassing his eldest friend.
"Ah, don't look at me like that. It wasn't my fault, he was never heavy handed. Perhaps, a couple good whollops and he'd have me just like you." The both laughed at that and turned to each other. Hadrian stopped a little ways away giving them privacy.
"I need you, Ned." Robert bluntly stated after moment. "Down in King's Landing. Not up here where you are no damn use to anybody." The King quickly continued. "Lord Eddard Cailstark, I would name you the Hand of the King."
The King watched as Ned took on a confused look and finally decided on falling to one knee and bowing his head. "I am not worthy of the honor."
Robert had to suppress his smirk. "I'm not trying to honor you. I'm trying to get you to run my kingdom, while I eat and drink myself to an early grave. Damn it, Ned stand up." The northern lord quickly stood and they both regarded each other. "You helped me win the Iron Throne, now help me keep the damn thing. Let us rule, together."
They both walked towards Hadrian where they found something that made all their blood run cold. While both Ned and Robert felt a seizing of their hearts. A feeling Robert recognized as the same kind of dread that welled up from the forest on the outskirts.
Where there used to be a statue of a likeness to Ashara Dayne now sat a partially destroyed face with the heavy and armored stone coffin lid, broken in half and its contents empty. A cold gust of wind swept the room, causing all the candles but the torch to go out.
Until Next Time!