A/N: We're reaching the conclusion of the Rebellion. A mad dash to the finish, stay tuned!
Enjoy and please comment :D
Chapter 53: Danger Signs
"Arrrrrgh!"
Lord Commander Gerold Hightower's bellow just managed to dwarf the clamor of clashing blades. Immense greatsword in hand, the White Bull charged at Rhaegar, swinging with all his might. Rhaegar leapt back several feet. Gaining time, he just managed to anchor his feet to the ground. Absorbing the powerful blow with Blackfyre - sparks almost shooting out from how hard they clashed.
Gritting his teeth, the aged yet still powerful knight poured all his energy into making Rhaegar break. ''You will die, Dragonspawn." Such was nothing like Ser Gerold, and he didn't do it by choice. But Gerold Hightower was the only man in Rhaegar's circle of trust that matched Robert Baratheon in build and strength - as such, the perfect foe in sparring matches.
I will not lose to that insect again. Grunting, Rhaegar twisted to the right, forcing Gerold to stumble forward - momentum carrying him several paces away. He will never have Lyanna… I will kill him first!
Panting, he and the Lord Commander circled each other in yet another spar - Rhaegar losing count in how many since he had awoken almost a moon ago. They were close contests and often lengthy ones, Rhaegar winning some and Gerold winning others. A state of affairs that would be useless on an actual battlefield.
He attacked first, fire in his eyes as he raised Blackfyre at Gerold. Moving to swing high… only to swing low at his feet. The knight scrambled back, knocked unsteady - Rhaegar took advantage by slamming his shoulder into the White Bull's chest. Earning a punch to the cheek for his trouble, breaking his attack.
Rhaegar shook his head to clear his vision, tasting blood. Heat seeming to roil off him, he launched himself at Ser Gerold. Blackfyre almost flying in a continuous wave of attacks, one handed as he twirled and punched. Slash sending Gerold's greatsword to the side, Rhaegar kneed the White Bull in the stomach - winning the spar and watching the older knight double over in pain.
"By gods, your Grace," Ser Barristan called out.
Breathing quickly, Rhaegar found his wits coming back to him. "Gerold…" He didn't know what came over him. The fire… the power… "Forgive me for that."
But Gerold shook his head. "No, that was well done, your Grace," he groaned, standing up. "You should use that when you face Robert… now just… I need to sit down."
Chuckling, Oswell shook his head. "Oh Gerold., I told you not wearing a codpiece in battle would come to haunt you." Patting Barristan on the back, he motioned for the Kingsguard tent. "Best let him lay down. I'll stay with his Grace." The older knight nodded, letting Gerold lean on his shoulders as he guided him to the tent - Oswell following Rhaegar to his own.
Within, they weren't alone as Rhaegar expected. "Gods, brother," said Ned, shaking his head. "You're gonna kill yourself with all that training."
"Has to be done, Ned."
"What kind of King would he be if he exhausted himself to the point of collapse?"
"One that lives on the battlefield," was his answer.
Sensing this back and forth was going nowhere, Elbert Arryn interjected. "Alright, now can we get back to the discussion at hand, Ned?"
Sighing, Ned nodded. "Howland's scouts came back. Robert is on the move again."
Rhaegar let out several mumbled expletives, moving to the map stretched out on his camp table. "Marching towards us or to Riverrun?"
"To Riverrun. He likely thinks we're still there,"
"I'm not sure why we aren't still there," snorted Elbert. "We had fortifications and good ground. He would have annihilated his force coming at us."
"That isn't a given," Rhaegar replied. "They need to come deeper to us on ground we choose. This war will only be won if we annihilate him." He drew a line with his finger. "Tomorrow we march again, deeper into the southern Riverlands."
Ned raised an eyebrow. "That's almost to the Reach or the Westerlands, brother."
"Well we certainly can't go North. Get the orders out… please." With reluctance, Ned followed Elbert out. Lya… why aren't you here. You can get this pain out of your husband.
Alone at last, Rhaegar moved to where his egg sat in the brazier, watching the charcoal underneath pop and sizzle in the flames. Is this what you want of me? The ethereal figures from his visions… they often called to him in his sleep, but were so fleeting. Nothing of what they said seemed real to him… yet he knew.
"With this, you will conquer."
"Remember your fire… remember your blood…"
"Your Grace," Ser Oswell stated behind Rhaegar, the King not turning at the voice. "The Lady Melisandre is here."
He caressed the scales of the scorching egg, allowing the fire within to calm him. "Good, send her in."
Hair tied back, Melisandre had adapted well to the army being in the field. Her dress was lighter, adapted for riding and marching, a pair of trousers - red as per her style - worn underneath. It made Rhaegar think of Lyanna… his beautiful she-wolf. Such had been her favored style whenever they went on rides. I think Elia adopted it too… His two brides, the missing pieces of his soul. Everything was empty without them.
"You summoned me, my King?" Melisandre asked, hands clasped together.
Rhaegar didn't turn. Head down and back facing Melisandre, he withdrew his hand from the scales. Seeing not a thing dotting his palm aside from steam from his sweat. No burns. "You told me long ago that I had a great destiny."
She smiled, eyes sparkling even though no one could see them. "I did, my King. You will do great things."
His memories… the visions of the past flew through his mind. "There is someone… I have seen them in the flames and what I believe are Dragon Dreams. One of Lyanna's coloring but my eyes. Do you know of this person?"
"One cannot be sure, your Grace, but I do remember this person in the flames. I believe him to be of your seed."
My seed… The child of himself and Lyanna… no, Elia would be his mother too - the child of all of them. "I believe the gods spoke to me, Lady Melisandre. Your… claims no longer look far-fetched to me."
Nodding in triumph, Melisandre's smirk suddenly faded. "But the favor of the gods isn't enough." Such wasn't a question.
"No." He finally turned around, looking at her in the eyes. The flames upon the brazier made his pale skin and silver hair almost glow. "The gods favor those that fight." Chuckling dryly, he looked at the maps spread out over the table. "Robert outnumbers me. Robert outmatches me. He may be a dolt, but his forces are superior than mine in every way."
"The Lord of Light will guide you to victory. I have seen it."
"Of this I have no doubt, which is why we'll need to fight for it. We will need to outthink him into a trap." His eyes found hers again. "Which is why I need you to be my diplomat."
For all her foreknowledge, Melisandre didn't expect that. "Me, your Grace?"
Rhaegar nodded. "Aye. Most can deliver terms, but only you can make the other see the truth… or at least some of it."
That did make sense. Her King was a strategic mind. "Who, may I ask, will I be trying to convince?" At the name he told her, she raised her eyebrow. This would truly be tricky.
Quickly as she came, a servant girl brought in a stack of clean linens before darting off on some other task the old midwife of Casterly Rock sent her on. "Alright, my Lady, the babe is coming soon. You're close to the last push."
Sweat coating her forehead, the Light of the West was exhausted after nine hours on the birthing bed. "I can't," Cersei wailed, thrashing her head from side to side.
"Yes you can, child," Genna told her, placing a hand on hers.
"I can't, Aunt Genna… too much pain." Her words were pointless though. Stubborn as a lion and a direwolf, her babe was coming out of her and coming out now.
Genna's lips pursed, determined to rally her niece's spirits in the absence of the babe's father. "You can. You must," she insisted. "You are Cersei of House Lannister. A lioness roars, it doesn't whimper."
Avoiding her hand - he learned the hard way it wasn't a good idea, his left palm still not fully functional yet from where she squeezed it - Tyrion pushed in his two copper stars. "You are far too stubborn to let a direwolf push you around, sister. Keep at it, much like that time I had too much sausage…"
"There is no comparison between your shits and this, Tyrion," Genna snapped at him.
Cersei suddenly squeezed her eyes tightly shut, gasping in agony. "Oh gods… it's happening!" She thought the past was pain. Losing Joffrey was pain, but this? By the seven, it was as if her father's guards were ripping her insides apart.
Lifting her head from her position, the midwife looked Cersei in the eye. "My Lady, they are both right. You have to push. Now."
Gritting her teeth, Cersei did as instructed. Crushing Genna's hand in hers while the other fisted the bed, an immense surge of pain and strength formed in her abdomen as she pushed. "GHHHHH," Cersei ground out between her teeth. Beside her, Tyrion winced at it while her aunt tried not to cry out in pain from her vice grip, but neither could compare to her current plight.
Her face was red with tears and sweat, nose soggy with snot as the veins popped out from her exertions. "Push, Cersei, push," Genna urged. Push she did… and push… and push, a scream nearly scorching her throat as it echoed through the room. Then… the shrill cry of a babe filled the aftermath. It was the most wonderful sound Cersei had ever heard.
"A beautiful, healthy son," the midwife announced happily.
By the seven… Everything ached, but Cersei was already reaching frantically at the midwife. "Give him to me… please!"
"Be patient, Lady Cersei. The cub needs to be cleaned and so do you."
Softly, Genna placed a kiss on her forehead. "You did wonderful, sweetling. Just a little bit longer for you two to recover." The cries grew fainter as the midwife took her babe to the far side of the room, and it tore Cersei apart. My babe… mine…
What had to be the most agonizing time of her life ended just as soon as the pink, swathed bundle was placed in her arms. "My little son…" At the first glimpse of him, Cersei knew her heart fell instantly for the precious babe. "You look just like your father." At first glance, no. The boy even at birth had golden tufts of hair like a Lannister, but Cersei could catch the subtle Stark features. "Oh, my beloved little boy." Holding him close, Cersei never wanted to let him go.
Tyrion placed a hand over his heart. "Finally, someone smaller than I in the family. Little Lancel is growing taller than me and it's embarrassing." Japes aside, the tear trickling down his cheek belied how happy he was.
Clasping her hands together, Genna beamed at the look of unadulterated joy that spread over Cersei's tired face. Holding the little bundle - her own great-nephew - never before had she seen Cersei this… purely happy. Triumphant, yes. Smug, yes. Never happy since Joanna passed, which said much about the state of House Lannister under Tywin. Proud and strong, but cold.
Babe cooing in his mother's arms, perhaps some life could return to Casterly Rock. There were children, but now the main line was fruitful once again.
As if possessing perfect timing, the door swung open to reveal the Lord Paramount himself. "Is it done?" Tywin growled. Lips in a thin line, there wasn't a hint of affection on his face.
Genna smiled regardless. "It is, brother. Come in."
Rolling his eyes, the tall and imposing lion stalked in, staring down at the sleeping babe and awed mother. "So that's my first grandson?"
"I should certainly hope so, father. Else I haven't pulled out quick enough." From his lack of response to Tyrion's ribald jape, perhaps he was in a good mood.
After glaring at her brother, Cersei placed a kiss on her son's soft head. "Aye, father. The golden lionwolf Robb Stark."
He grimaced. "Robb Hill, rather. Damn Reyne name." Tywin muttered the last, knowing just where the first name arose from. Bending down, scrutinizing little Robb as he would a newly forged blade, he snorted. "Looks like a Lannister at least." It would have been difficult to explain Stark features before the time of greatest advantage.
"Would you like to hold him?"
Tywin stood, moving towards the door and ignoring Cersei's request. "See to it that he's fed and clothed. That babe is valuable to our house." With the slam of the door, he was gone.
Huffing, Cersei cuddled Robb closer to her. "As if I would let anyone hurt my precious lionwolf." Sighing happily, she cooed and brushed the babe's cheek, smiling as he turned towards her finger.
"Let that be a lesson for the lot of us," Tyrion chuckled. "Never get between a mama lioness and her cub." His chuckles turned to laughs. "Oh, just to see the face of the great Lion of Casterly Rock at his bastard grandson being born was worth being stuck here."
"He is not a bastard," Cersei hissed. "He is perfect. Conceived of love"
At that moment, the babe began to stir. Squirming softly and whimpering. Genna saw the signs before either her niece and nephew. "Someone needs his first supper. I hope you know what to do here, Cersei."
Cersei rolled her eyes - much her father's daughter in that regard. "Yes, Aunt Genna. I am not completely addled."
"Father would disagree…" Tyrion began, only to change his mind. "Actually, as of now you, I, and Jaime are tied over whom is the stupidest Lannister… ow."
"That's quite enough, nephew," Genna scolded, hand ready to smack his head chidingly again. "Now if you want to see your sister's bare breasts…"
Holding up his hands, Tyrion made his way to the door. "Alright, alright. I know when I should leave. Just don't hog my nephew for too long, sweet sister." A cheeky grin adorned his lips as he ducked out of the room.
"That boy has the worst of your father," Genna mused. "I hope dear Robb earns the best of him and his own father."
Feeling Robb latch to her nipple, quenching his hunger with milk, Cersei closed her eyes. Picturing her love. "I could think of no better man for him to take after than his own father." Gods, Ned. I wish you were here. Robb would be his heir, the future Lord of Winterfell. The thought made her hold little Robb ever tighter.
No matter what, he was hers. And by the gods she would not let him come to harm.
Night falling upon the capitol, Lord Varys gazed out the window at the many lights twinkling from the great city. Thousands of candles flickering into the darkness, almost serene under the reign of Aerys II Targaryen. It almost seemed as if there was no war for the throne. That everything was at peace.
But none knew what he did. The whispers of the city, of the alleyways and taverns - people crying out for justice. For their true King, the only one that cared about them. These were Varys' people, and he would fight for them and their interests with all the secrets sung to him. Gold, land… no, secrets are the true currency of power. Varys knew them all, and it made him powerful indeed.
Hence the man just now arriving in his chambers. "My Lord," Jaime Lannister said, Kingsguard armor fully polished and hair perfectly coiffed. "You sent for me."
"Yes, Ser Jaime. I have something very important for you." Offering some wine, he was slightly surprised when Jaime declined. "On duty?"
"Guarding her Grace," Jaime responded.
A smirk. "I'm sure you are, Ser Jaime." Varys declined to sit, keeping at Jaime's level. "Do you know how I operate, young Lannister?"
He shrugged. "You run spies and tell the King what they say."
"If it were only so simple. I operate by making people happy." The confusion on the knight's face, it did amuse him. "Of knowing what makes them happy."
Where is he going with this? "I can't fault you for that."
"Happiness… those birds that are happy sing even the most hard songs to come by." Shaking his head, there was a tiny grin on Varys' face. The spider gave nothing away so this was deliberate. It made Jaime even more suspicious than simply Varys' presence did. "Casterly Rock… it is a place with significant interest to any person that deals in secrets as I." He walked to Jaime's right, not making eye contact. "My suspicions point to your father drawing such interest. Old, jovial Tytos Lannister was never interesting in any way but gossip."
"Your point, Varys? Because you're boring me right now." Jaime added to the effect by yawning, hopefully drawing the eunuch out.
"Whispers out of Casterly Rock point to carnal knowledge that has previously been a hallmark of our dear royal family." Jaime felt his eyes widen in spite of himself. "Young love isn't something I have experienced but nor do I disapprove, but I must ask what you were thinking in regards to yourself and the Lady Cersei?"
Hand going to the hilt of his sword, Jaime glared dangerously at the Master of Whispers. "Watch yourself, eunuch, lest you end up like the Reynes."
Varys looked hurt - sincerity absent. "You wound me, Ser Jaime. There is no threat here." Ruddy eyes twinkling behind soft cheeks, he was the epitome of calm. "I could very well tell his Grace, but he is likely to find it hilarious. You wouldn't be in danger, and your Lord father would perhaps join Rhaegar to reclaim his honor, which we both desire. No, that has no value." And it was now that he sunk the knife in. "Cuckolding his Grace on the other hand…"
Before Varys could continue, Jaime had picked him up and slammed him against the wall. Green eyes filled with an animal fury. "How do you know," he hissed, voice low.
"The Red Keep holds no secrets, Ser Jaime," Varys said, far calmer than the situation called for. "You have a compulsion to love the wrong persons…" He trailed off as Jaime began to squeeze his neck.
"Give me one reason I shouldn't kill you where you stand." Already he had killed one to protect Rhaella - what was another to him? Even if it sent him to the gallows, Jaime would gladly sacrifice himself for her. It went beyond his honor as a kingsguard. "Nothing to say?"
Gasping for breath as Jaime let him go, Varys' face was flushed red. "If you… think… that I would… let my death kill this whisper… you'd be wrong." His smile returned at Jaime's white face. Unlike Tywin, the lad had no subtlety. "But I seek no quarrel with Queen Rhaella nor yourself. The song will not be sung, but only if you complete something that I require done properly."
Jaime's emerald eyes grew just as cold as his father's in that moment. "It won't be anything done against the one true king or my dragon. You may as well take me to the gallows and be done with it."
"Your dragon, hmmm?" Varys' eyes twinkled with amusement, making Jaime want to strike him down. "Oh, this has nothing to do with them. Just a personal errand."
As much as he hated to admit it, Jaime curiosity piqued. "Care to inform me of this personal errand in more detail, Lord Varys?" Curious, but dread built up in his stomach nonetheless.
"An old friend of mine in Pentos, he found himself at the wrong end of something his Grace wanted…" There was an almost wistful expression on his face, mixed with sorrow. "As such, he is no longer among the living."
Jaime prided himself on reading people fairly well, not as good as his brother, father, or sister but he could see that the spider was being honest about this. "I'm sorry for the loss of your friend." It didn't matter to him, but Rhaella did. "And this has to do with something belonging to that friend?"
Varys nodded. "Someone, not something." There was an almost equal danger about Varys - outwardly nonthreatening, but one could find themself with Jon Arryn's fate if they double crossed him. "His family. They needed to be hidden and I brought them here. When the city falls, and it will, they cannot be in it." Eyes bored in on Jaime with a sudden intensity. "You will receive instructions sometime within the next moon. Follow them explicitly and speak this to no one, and her Grace shall be safe and your whispers kept unsaid. Are we clear, Ser Jaime?"
Damn you… Jaime nodded his assent. Damn you, Varys. "Her Grace, the Queen… she's the only pure soul left in this pile of shit called a capitol." He shook his head, smiling out of frustration and love. "All she wants is for her family to live. To protect her children, Rhaegar, Viserys, and the one growing inside her… but the King…" He grew closer to Varys, not slowing even as the eunuch backed up. "The King has her thinking she is broken. Think about that, the beautiful Rhaella Targaryen, Queen Alysanne reborn thinking that there is no hope. That is why I am here, to protect her."
"Ser Jaime," Varys spoke, arms up as his back hit the wall.
"To keep her from harm." His sword left his scabbard, Jaime reaching up to press it to Varys' neck. "I love her, Varys. You may laugh, but I do… Rhaella and my duty to King Rhaegar, that is all that matters to me." For once, true fear formed on Varys' face. "I'll play along to this, but hear me." One could see the same gaze that Tywin wore when he destroyed the Reynes and Tarbecks. "I will slaughter every man, woman, and child in this keep to keep her alive and unharmed, starting with you." The sword came down, Jaime sheathing it. "Are we clear, Lord Varys?"
Straightening his robes, it was Varys' turn to nod. "Seems we have an understanding, Ser Jaime."
The things I do for love.
And for her, I'd do them gladly...
Regardless of the moons she had already spent at Winterfell, she would never acclimate to the drafts that howled through the corridors. The castle was built upon natural hot springs that mitigated the freezing cold from the outside, but it was mere small comfort to Lady Catelyn Stark. Especially in her condition… "Oooh…" A hand drifted to her growing belly. Stay still, little one.
"My Lady," the balding maester of Winterfell trotted beside her, chains clinking as he walked. "Perhaps you should get some rest in your room. I'll oversee court for the day."
He was silenced by Catelyn's raised hand. "I am not an invalid, Maester Luwin. I am the Lady of this castle and thus have the duty to my husband." The Mother damn her if she shirked her wifely duties - Brandon was already taken away from her, next target of the Seven's wrath could be her precious babe. No, my handsome son will be born alive and healthy. "The north needs to see that its Warden's seat still remains decisive and powerful even in the Warden's absence."
Luwin nodded, his wrinkled face giving away nothing. "Understood, my Lady. Forgive my imprudence." He was of the south, yet had adapted to Northern custom almost fully… including faith. A line Catelyn would never cross - a master mason from White Harbor and a man of the Seven was already laying down the schematics for a sept adjacent to the ruined old keep. Catelyn could see it now, a place for her and her children to stay connected to the Gods while giving the returning warriors proper work to earn coin and feed their families. Ned will be proud of me, as I'm sure Brandon is.
But the daily matters took precedence. "Mordane, see to it that two of the steers in the livestock pens are slaughtered and the kitchens salt their meat. We're running low in our stores and winter is growing harsher."
"I shall have it done, forthwith, my Lady," the grim Septa stated.
And yet, there was a hesitation there. "Is there a problem?" Septa Mordane had adapted little to the North, nor did she seem to want to. While even Catelyn had taken to Northern dress, she still stubbornly clung to that of the Riverlands faithful. Her spiritual guidance had been essential for Catelyn to get through her mourning and marriage, but it did not help her attempts to earn the respect of the smallfolk or castle staff.
Curling her nose, Mordane looked irritated. "The lead cook… he's a bastard. Marrying a good maiden of the Faith from White Harbor too. She deserves better."
"I understand your concern about him, but fire the cook I will not. He does his duty well and if Ned hears about my efforts there again…" Catelyn trailed off, the consequences unsaid. She had barely earned his amity back after the episode with the bastards moons before. "They will simply have to stay where they are, unfortunately." Mordane nodded with a sigh and went off on her tasks. "Come, Maester. Court won't hold itself."
The maester muttered something under his breath and followed the redhead. Just do your duty… just do your duty.
Court that day was rather sparse. With the bannermen gone south to fight in Rhaegar's quest for the throne, most payment disputes and drunken brawls requiring justice disappeared, while petty crimes requiring pit and gallows dropped precipitously. Before Catelyn to seek dispensation of House Stark were two wives of bannermen requesting grain for their starving children - granted but at reasonable amounts considering the need to conserve their winter stores - and a innkeeper asking for permission to open up a second establishment on the kingsroad which was granted, as long as he paid a proper fee to House Stark for a license.
Catelyn yawned, feeling her stomach growling for a hearty pork stew and onions. Sustenance for the growing heir. "Is that all, maester?"
Peering at the parchment, Luwin looked up. "There is one more requesting audience but I took the privilege of placing him at the last slot."
"Whatever for?"
"He does not come from Winterfell but rather White Harbor, and not with the sanction of Lord Manderly's court."
Frowning, Catelyn gestured to the guard - an older man with grizzled white hair, too aged to fight but well enough to serve in the household guard. "Let the person in. Anyone willing to peaceably seek bread and salt is welcome to speak." It was how her father held court and she would do well to imitate him.
All eyes fell on the man that entered. Catelyn's eyes widened in surprise, for it was not what she expected. "My Lady, Septon Rollard of White Harbor and Archsepton Quirrel of Gulltown," the herald spoke, the tone in which he said 'septon' filled with animus. If the plump, friendly men of the Faith had any quarrel with him they did not show it.
Recovering quickly from her surprise, Catelyn beamed. "Your excellences, welcome to Winterfell." An archsepton's authority was only dwarfed by a member of the Most Devout. One lived in Riverrun given its status as a Paramount seat, but for one to travel all the way from Gulltown in the Vale indicated an important matter. "Would you like guest right?"
"That would be lovely, my Lady," Septon Rollard stated, and the salt and bread was quickly brought out. Now, they were inviolate - much to the discomfort of the northmen. Kill them they would not, but a little tar and goose feathers was different. "I am sure you wish for us to state our business."
"You may stay the night, of course," Catelyn offered. "But you seek formal audience and I would like to hear it."
Clearing his throat, the Archsepton stepped a few paces forward. "My Lady, nothing can bring me more joy than to see your marriage to the Lord Ned Stark. For too long has our continent been isolated and divided from each other. Building ties… it is the most vital of goals. Such is why his Grace, King Rhaegar, was blessed by the Seven."
Smile on her face, Catelyn nodded. "I couldn't agree more."
"Which brings it to the heart of the matter, my Lady." Looking over at the Archsepton and given a nod, Rollard spoke up. His face… uneasy. Unlike the more confident Quirrel, he had lived for many years among northmen. Outside White Harbor itself, his kind were unwanted. "Recently, Lord Quellon Greyjoy brought his people and the rest of the Seven Kingdoms closer together by allowing the Faith access to his lands, while in no way cheapening his own culture," he hastily added. "The Most Devout, through us, would like to request the same be done for the North in the sake of unity."
Before Catelyn could respond, Luwin pulled her aside. "My Lady, I must advise you to decline. This will not be taken well."
Catelyn scoffed silently. "If the Greyjoys allow it then there is no harm."
"Quellon Greyjoy is on his deathbed and his sons will reverse everything he did…"
"You are too worried, Luwin. I will not throw my late goodfather's attempts to broaden the North's reach out of silly prejudice." Rubbing her belly absentmindedly, Catelyn flickered to the Septons before looking back and Luwin. "Rhaegar is supported by the Faith and the North, and this can only bring us closer together." Attention fully to her guests, Catelyn beamed. "Honored Archsepton, I invite you to dine with me tonight to further discuss this matter."
Quirrel bowed. "You are truly a servant of the Mother, Lady Catelyn."
He didn't know why he had taken to playing with it. The most priceless possession in House Martell's vaults, taken off the Young Dragon so many decades ago in what even he had to acknowledge was the height of dishonor… Ironic that it was so easy to pilfer. He didn't even have to sneak into the vault, though it didn't hurt that the guard on duty that day had been a longtime lover of his.
That Ellaria asked that he be invited into their bed was only the cherry atop the pastry.
Yes, Oberyn Martell had a wonderful life. A beautiful paramour. Endless mistresses and lovers in their bed. Two wonderful children that made House Martell proud. Another on the way… and yet he couldn't enjoy any of them. Not now, not with the cloud that covered all of Dorne in darkness.
"You're not eating, Oberyn," Qorgyle said through a mouthful of stuffed olives. While their palates weren't the massive helpings of roast meat and potatoes as the rest of Westeros, that didn't mean they couldn't be gluttonous.
"He's just missing his piece of ass," chuckled Ser Ryon Allyrion. "Never thought I'd see the day Oby Martell let someone tie him down. Certainly didn't let my bastard lover tie me down."
A knife hit the table, embedding in the wood with a sharp clatter. "Watch yourself, that is my daughter," Lord Harmen Uller barked. "You may have guest right, but so did Lyonel Tyrell." Ser Ryon gulped, chastised. No one wanted to end up with two hundred scorpions dropped on one's bed.
Oberyn chuckled in spite of his mood. Hellholt was built on an oasis in the middle of the Dornish desert, and as such its people were shady and unpredictable. Half of the Ullers are half-mad, and the other half are worse. An old Dornish proverb that fit Lord Harmen and certainly fit his daughter. Oberyn figured that was why he and Ellaria loved each other so much.
"To answer your question, my friend," he began after a long silence, "No, I don't have much of an appetite at the moment." Fiddling again with the treasure, he shrugged. "And no, this time it isn't due to there not being a delectable being in my bed, but rather the plight of our beautiful land."
The three Lords dining with him at the head table - nowhere near the other diners that at this time also included Harmen Uller's wife and trueborn children - all nodded. "Yes, I understand," Qorgyle replied.
Grimacing, Oberyn clenched his fists. "The whole world laughs at us while our daughter languishes, our armies diddle their thumbs, and Sunspear abrogates its leadership all because of my brother's cockless tactics." Eyes widened, surprised at how open he was about attacking his brother.
"Starfall?"
"The one and only. When have we tolerated a foreign army so listlessly? A Stormlands one on top of it all?" Oberyn still remembered Elia's frantic plea… addressed to him and only him.
Brother… help us. There is nowhere left to turn. No one who can save us but you. Many will rally behind you if you lead them.
I don't know how long we can last. Please hurry.
What sort of man would he be if he didn't act on his sister's impending death at the hands of Renly Baratheon? Not one that deserves life.
"You mean to do something about it?" Lord Harmen asked, though it wasn't really a question.
Eyes narrowed, dangerous as a snake's, Oberyn merely tilted his head. "I do, but I'll need an army."
Regarding what was essentially his goodson, Lord Harmen didn't need to be told twice. "How many men do you need?"
Alone in his solar, Doran Martell sipped at a concoction of his own making. Fruit juice and Tyroshi rum, a potent combination. He leaned back in his plush chair and savored the tartness. The heat that washed down his gullet. Of everything in the maester's cupboards that were marked for the treatment of his aching joints, only this provided relief while keeping his thoughts in order.
At least for the moment. Alcohol was alcohol after all.
There was a knock at the door. "Enter."
Areo Hotah strode in, his bulk stretching his uniform close to the seams - lacking the charm those as Oberyn possessed in spades, Doran's sworn sword showed off his physical assets for the ladies of Sunspear… it worked quite well from what he heard. "My Prince." He bowed. "Alone tonight?"
"Aye. Mellario is still frosty with me due to planning Arianne's fostering at Godsgrace once winter breaks." He shrugged. "It is what it is."
"Perhaps you should find someone else to ease your stress."
Doran shook his head. "More problems caused than it would alleviate… though I presume you didn't come to speak about my private life, Areo?"
The Summer Islander nodded. "Lord Yronwood has arrived in Planky Town with two thousand men."
A scowl appeared on Doran's face. "He promised four thousand, that wretch." Ever since Oberyn bedded his father's paramour and then killed his father in a duel with a poisoned spear, the Yronwoods had been a thorn in his side - understandable, but irritating. You're as much of a headache as our sister, brother. "I should wring his neck and give you that keep."
"I doubt I'd make a very good Lord," Hotah grunted. "In any case, he says it is due to your insistence on secrecy. Easier for the Dalts or the Tollands to move troops than him."
There was a point to be had there. Doran ignored it, for he knew Anders Yronwood didn't care about matters as such - had he wished to, he'd have marched four thousand at his Prince's call. "It doesn't matter. We'll make due." Sipping again at his drink, he noticed that Hotah hadn't left. "Anything else?"
"You aren't going to address Prince Oberyn's apparent departure? Or the gatherings of many bannermen at Sandstone?"
Doran chuckled. "The only thing that surprises me is that Oberyn thinks that I didn't know his movements, or that I wouldn't have been able to stop him had I truly wanted to." A shake of the head, followed by a scowl. "Fucking Baratheons, thinking they can invade Dorne and get away with it. Had the Stark whore been absent then I would have marched all of Dorne there myself." Aegon and Rhaenys… they mattered too much in his plans to risk them.
"And yet you didn't?"
A snort. "Hope on my part, that he'd just want Lyanna Stark for Robert's purposes. Seems though he's not attacking on Robert's behalf." Doran sighed. "You're dismissed. Leave me."
In solitude once more, Doran rubbed his aching knees - cursing Mother Rhoyne for afflicting him so. Never in his life did he know peace… not from his body, nor his bride, and certainly not from his damn siblings. All the struggles he put up with, they came close to destroying it all.
He looked at the window. Sister, you truly are a fool, yet you and your children are our only hope. Maron Martell's efforts would come to fruition in King Aegon VI Targaryen, which if Mother Rhoyne was kind would happen quite soon.
"A toast to you, goodbrother," Doran raised his glass, chuckling. "May you achieve victory even in death." Hopefully in death.
Leaning up slightly, Ser Benjen Stark just managed to shimmy his trousers past the mattress and to his hips. He was about to grab his shirt when two thin arms wrapped around his chest. "It seems almost perverse to leave this bed," purred a sultry Dornish accent. Followed quickly by a set of warm lips pressed to his shoulder blade.
Benjen chuckled, enjoying the attention of his bedmate. "Last night wasn't enough for you, Ash?"
Ashara merely held him tighter, peppering his shoulder and neck with kisses. "Perhaps I have learned quite quickly why Rhaegar fell so quickly for a Stark." This was not their first assignation, but the passion of their night clearly ranked it among their most ardent.
Tilting his head back, Benjen accepted a kiss from his lover, it quickly becoming passionate. Quite seriously considering sparing an extra few minutes to ravish her again, reluctantly he stood. Duty taking precedence. As such, his breeches almost slid back to the ground - only his reflexes stopped it. Benjen sighed. "Looks like I'm going to have to tie it just a little tighter today."
Frowning, Ashara stood as well, revealing her naked body. While the raven-haired beauty took his breath away as always, Benjen couldn't help but see several ribs visible against her skin as she stretched. Slender figure even thinner than when they first met. Working on her smallclothes, Ashara smiled sadly. "I look hideous, don't I?"
He shook his head. "Never, but I am concerned." The kingsguard certainly dropped much weight, but he had more to lose before things grew dire. "Your father insisted you have extra rations."
"And I gave those rations to Dacey. With her babe…" Her violet eyes were glossy with worry and sadness. "My nephew and goodsister need it more than I do… I'm sorry, Ben."
Benjen quickly hugged her, kissing her forehead comfortingly. "There is no need to apologize, my love. Just take care of yourself." His eyes met hers, cupping her cheek. "Promise me?"
Ashara cracked a tiny smile. "I promise." The two dressed in silence after, sneaking glances at each other every now and again. Only a moon before had Benjen and Ashara accepted the truth as to why her brother threw his arms open for the she-bear - with the world falling apart. With armies literally at the gates… why deny oneself's genuine longing? Benjen showed up at Ashara's door one night and the rest was history.
She helped tie the straps of his armor together, leaving him ready for the world Starfall found itself. "May the gods grant us another day."
"Aye." Dress of a light lavender faded and rather dull - like all of them were - Ashara opened the door to reality. Destroying their moment of escape.
The thwack of an arrow pierced the monotony of the battlements, followed soon after by a responding shaft smacking into the wooden mantlets. Benjen kept himself between Ashara and the outside world, peeking out at it through his vision slits. Long since erecting mantlets of their own, the Reach knights and Brave Companion sellswords were assembled right alongside the banks of the Torrentine all around the keep.
Everyone was sure that Renly Baratheon was up to something back there. A siege could only last as long as the political situation remained in flux - if Rhaegar won, he'd be on the chopping block within a day. "He's going to go bold," Ashara mused, as if reading Benjen's mind.
"If they can get across the Torrentine without massacring themselves, then they will. No doubt." Just how he could was the question that Benjen couldn't solve.
Talking it over with Ash, the two of them were busy in discussions when loud voices echoed out of the door to the royal quarters. "Elia, please don't do this…" Both looked at each other, hearing the Northern Queen's desperate, pleading tone.
"You're not making me change my mind, Lya," replied the Dornish Queen. Benjen knocked quickly and found the door opened by Arthur, a grim look on his face. Behind him, Elia's arms were crossed, face twisted in determination.
While Benjen slipped into the solar without a word - eyes immediately drawn to his despondent sister, tears streaming down her face and onto her swollen belly - Ashara met Arthur's gaze. "What is happening?" she whispered. In the corner sat Dacey, torn between the tension of her friends and caring for little Arthur Snow of House Mormont, a violet-eyed, brown-haired babe the splitting image of his father. Ashara stood by her goodsister, patting her shoulder while waiting for Arthur's answer.
"Elia is trying to convince Lyanna to have her morning ration… for the babe," Arthur murmured, equally distressed about the situation as Dacey was.
"Please, Lya, just eat it," the she-bear cried out, rocking baby Arthur so as not to disturb his nap. "You need to think of the Prince."
Unable to stop her sobs, Lyanna shook her head. "I'm already on double rations, far more than even the remaining bannermen get." Starvation was starting to tighten the defenders in a vice, only ameliorated by Davos Seaworth's blockade runs - and even that a close run thing. The gods were kind that no disease outbreaks had struck them, but lack of food could kill just as much as the vapors.
"It's not enough," Elia spoke. "Just please, Lya… I can't see another of our children dead… not again." She started to tear up herself.
"And what will Rhae and Egg and Jon think when their muna dies?" Lya wailed. She pushed the quarter loaf of black bread to her. "At least have half, my love… please."
Lip quivering, Elia merely nodded, the two women ending up being drawn into a tight hug by the other - Lyanna inhaling the scent of her beloved and Elia's hands resting upon the swell holding Prince Jon. A precious moment between the two lovers that both other pairs in the chambers were content to let them enjoy, turning instead to the other for hugs of their own.
Tension defused, Elia was slowly chewing on her loaf with Lyanna leaning on her shoulder when there was another knock on the door. Appearing was Ser Talan Sand, the commander of the Household Guard. "Arthur, you better come down."
The Sword of the Morning raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"The Baratheon cunt, he wants a parlay with you and… her Grace." His eyes flickered to Elia.
Sucking in a breath, Elia stood, finishing off the last of the bread. Her stomach rumbled with further hunger, but she ignored it. "Let's get on with it then."
She was stopped by Lyanna's arm. "Be careful."
Elia offered her wife a smile. "Always am."
Waiting in front of the drawbridge with two burly guards and the insufferable Vargo Hoat - even doing his Griffin's bidding had its limits on what he could tolerate - Renly Baratheon watched as the two figures of the Sword of the Morning and the Queen-claimant of Westeros walked out of the great fortress. He was fully armored, and to Renly's surprise so was she. A full set, crude undoubtedly, but combined with the red and black of her gown she looked quite Targaryen. A pity.
The letter still lay crumpled in his pocket, Connington's latest correspondence telling him exactly what to do. His Griffin instructed him to burn it, but Renly couldn't… it smelled like Jon. Calmed him on even the most stressful nights.
A tense silence fell as the groups converged, ten paces apart. "Renly, I could smell your foul stench from the battlements."
"Sorry, that's Hoat here… don't think he'd be insulted, he's pretty proud of himself." Vargo grinned, wiggling his eyebrows at the Dornish Queen. "I would like to inform you that the traitor Rhaegar Targaryen was killed upon the field at Harrenhal."
Elia didn't show any emotions, but inside it was like a sledgehammer. "You're lying," she ground out.
"I've brought proof." Smirking, Renly motioned for Hoat to step forward - a large bundle in his hands. "You can be for certain of the traitor's death."
Removing the hood that held it after the foul sellsword handed it to her, Elia couldn't help her gasp at Rhaegar's helm… the same one that he wore when riding out of Starfall all those moons ago. Dented and pierced, dried blood covered it. Even Arthur's eyes widened underneath his helm. "What do you want, Renly?" he spat. "This wasn't a mission to comfort a widow." No… he cannot be dead.
Renly shrugged. "Perhaps not." He motioned to the castle. "You can't hold out for much longer."
She narrowed her eyes. "You'd be surprised at just how much the Dornish can take. Perhaps you should be reminded of the fate of Orys Baratheon." A viper like grin formed on her face as Renly instinctively went for his sword arm.
"Say the word, your Grace," Arthur breathed, causing the men to go for their swords.
"Justhh thry it, Whithhcloak." The ridiculous lisp of Vargo Hoat was dampened by his look of venomous brutality as he made for his battleaxe… joined with a tiny lick of the lips at Elia. There was no doubt as to what he wished his war prize to be.
Gathering himself, Renly attempted to look taller than he was - puffing out his chest. "Lord Connington has instructed me to give you one week to surrender, and there will be pardons all around as long as Rhaegar's children renounce their claim to the throne and the Targaryen name. They can be raised in Winterfell and Sunspear as Starks and Martells."
Struggling to keep her composure, Elia stood straight and simply walked away. Refusing to give Renly an answer.
What could she say at this point?
"Your Grace…" Arthur began in a whisper.
"No one tells Lya," she replied back. "Not while Jon is inside her."
A/N: So much to unpack!
Robb is here! The eldest of the four new babes: Jon, Dany, and Sansa are the ones left.
The things Jaime does for love... already Varys is putting together something under the surface.
Oberyn is coming, but was that Doran's plan all along? A lot of you were wondering about his plans, so I hope this chapter answered some of your questions (while creating new ones, lol).
Fuck, Connington's plan is coming together. Next chapter will be the first where little Jon Targaryen shows himself, so be sure to review! If I get 35 before Tuesday, I'll update then :D
