PART II: The Great Game
The Red Keep
300 AC
By the time the Kingsguard had made it to the Red Keep with Robert's puffed-out corpse atop a large carriage, everything had gone tits up.
Jon Stark had been one of the first along with his father to enter the courtyard.
While the Gold Cloaks were showing out the smallfolk who were attempting to glance at Robert's body, he and his father had made their way to the King's escort.
Both Jaime Lannister and Barristan Selmy looked quite haggard, with dirt, blood, and dust smudged all over their faces and hair. Their armor was ragged and battered, and their white cloaks were torn to ribbons.
Besides Robert, there was perhaps one of the largest brown bears that Jon had ever seen. Its large barreled torso was filled with angry red marks, and multiple dozen entry points from spears. In particular, there was a large gaping hole where its nose used to be, and the upper portion of its skull was partially caved in.
Robert himself was laid back with his hands splayed out either side of his head, an angry look of fierce joy was carved into his still reddened face as if he was partially happy for dying the way that he did in battle.
There were also a few others among the dead. How the four horses in the mighty carriage had taken them so far was almost a miracle.
But, as Jon noticed when he further inspected the King's dead body, it was not the bear that had killed him.
No, it was very clearly the seven well-placed arrows in his chest.
Once the smallfolk were forcibly removed from the courtyard, Grand Maester Pycelle appeared. He was helped up into the carriage by one of the gold cloaks, and then he began to cut open the King's ruined hunting leathers.
Jon soon caught a glance of the open mound of flesh that was Robert's belly. It was slightly uncomfortable to see it up close, but Jon's disgust was soon removed by the black-veined eyes that rooted from where the arrows had entered Robert's chest.
"...and how could you let this happen?!" Cersei Lannister was questioning Ser Barristan Selmy behind him, her voice breaking into a shrill hiss. Jon simply watched on, the answer forming preemptively in his mind. Poisoned arrows. He mused.
Who is behind it? Jon wondered. It wasn't a matter of how the killers knew it was the right time to strike-Robert more or less made the realm aware whenever he was going out on a hunt. It was a pattern of his. A strict one, judging by Jon's estimation.
And unfortunately, strict patterns of routine could be extremely deadly. Especially if they were read by an enemy.
"Manticore Venom," Quivered Pycelle, as he was helped down from the carriage. "Why, they assassinated the King with arrows dipped in Manticore Venom."
Everyone gathered-suddenly Tywin Lannister was there along with Lysa Tully-and with them came Joffrey and the Hound.
Lysa Tully was not nearly the picturesque Lady that her older sister was. Jon considered that perhaps the girl had once desired to be adventurous, almost like Arya, but that she had not taken the chance that Jon's sister had. She wore Tully-blue robes, and her once dark blue eyes almost looked curdled, while her heart-shaped face was set in a permanent pout.
Jon could feel the tensions between each and every individual gathered in the courtyard-soon enough Renly arrived also, along with Littlefinger and Varys.
Jon decided to read the expressions of everyone there, specifically the Queen, Littlefinger, and Varys. Yet all three of them were greatly concerned over the death of the King-Cersei was even holding Joffrey back from climbing up onto the carriage and seeing the corpse of the man who supposedly was his father.
"Enough!" His father's voice tore throughout the courtyard like a thunderbolt. Everyone quietened in a matter of moments.
Lord Stark looked to Selmy. "Ser Barristan," He said. "Explain."
Ser Barristan Selmy straightened, standing as a soldier would when debriefing his commander. "The King had ordered us onto a great Bear, Lord Stark. He took it down himself with his warhammer. Bloody insisted on using it. As we were making our way back to the city, we were ambushed."
"By who?" Tywin Lannister had asked curtly.
"We never saw them," Jaime cut in, looking at Jon's father. "They were in the trees, by my reckoning. They only fired at Robert. We managed to get him clear, but…" He trailed off, looking down at the ground, shame and guilt cracked through his expression.
That was enough for Eddard Stark.
He turned to Jon and looked sharply at him. "Gather two hundred men and scour the Kingswood. Take Ser Barristan and Ser Jaime with you. No one is resting until we find Robert's killers."
Jon nodded and turned. He made his way to the royal stables, and behind him, he heard the two knights of the Kingsguard fall into step.
They made their way out of the Red Keep and headed directly for the harbor.
There they found the additional reserve of fifteen-hundred Manderly men-at-arms from the fleet they'd arrived with. In less than an hour, they'd assembled two-hundred-forty-three soldiers. Then, they'd gone into the Kingswood across the Blackwater Rush.
The operation was military, efficient, and quiet. By the time Jon spread the company out across the wood, he'd counted far more than two-hundred-forty-three.
Some gold cloaks who had remained loyal to their King-not the bought and paid for yes-men typically hailing from the City Watch-had also joined their company. Jon kept notice of them, particularly the men leading the foreign packs of gold cloaks into the Kingswood behind his own men.
He directed them further into the Kingswood. At his side, Jaime Lannister and Barristan Selmy kept silent. Each man was giving a hard look at the oak trees laid overtop hills of dirt and fresh snow.
Using anger to mask their shame. Jon suspected. They believe they let their king die.
It didn't matter how much either man personally enjoyed the company of Robert Baratheon. It was the fact that Robert died-was violently ambushed, even on their watch.
A failure like that would never fully sit still within a man's consciousness.
Jon glanced up towards the hills. It wouldn't do to bring up the subject of two of the Realm's most talented knights. Better still to give them another task-something to focus on in light of Robert's death.
It would-in a way-lift their spirits. And it would also make the two men feel far more useful.
"Ser Barristan," Jon glanced at the white-haired knight. The old man's hard gaze had softened somewhat as he looked at Jon. "Where exactly did you see these archers?"
The old knight nodded to the upper hills on their left. The steep climb of bramble, oak branches, and muddied snow was still fresh with morning dew. "They were in the branches, Lord Stark. They must've been lying in wait for us."
"They were clearly trained, too. Expertly." Jaime added, no doubt wishing to add his own mind to solving the problem in front of them. "Standard men-at-arms are not that good with a bow or crossbow. They typically practice until they get it right."
"Aye," Selmy concurred. "These men were trained assassins. Disciplined, and worked to the bone. Their accuracy was pinpoint."
Jon imagined the barreling wagon trotting along the rough dirt road, and then Robert himself roaring with laughter at his defeat of the mighty bear. Then, suddenly, seven arrows each landed consecutively on his torso. One after the other, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud!
The gears in Jon's head began to turn and whir almost mechanically. Was it possible that the same party behind Jon Arryn's death was also responsible for Robert's?
But what would Littlefinger have to gain from Robert being killed? If anything, Robert only enabled Baelish through his lavish spending. He was more useful alive than dead.
What if it wasn't Littlefinger? The question had sprung from the depths of his mind.
Yet Jon hadn't a single clue why anyone-save Cersei Lannister would want the King dead. But even then, Cersei had seemed more than surprised at the death of her husband, though such shock could've been easily faked by a courtly woman like her.
If they were both connected, then it was clear that whoever was behind it, held great respect and admiration for Jon Arryn, while also harboring a deep hatred for Robert Baratheon. Manticore Venom was not a pleasant way to go, and only one arrow would've been needed for the job. Manticore Venom had an almost instantaneous lethality-the victim would've been dead instantly.
Why seven arrows? Perhaps many might see it as symbolic in a way. Robert was a practitioner of the Faith of the Seven in name alone. But Jon suspected that would be reading too deep into it.
Whoever wanted Robert killed, wanted him dead quickly and surely. There was no chance of escape or survival. Not with seven arrows tipped with Manticore Venom. And they clearly wanted to humiliate Robert, his having been killed during his own hunt in the Kingswood was a prime way to drive home the message. They didn't care for the Kingsguard, but why?
Both Jaime Lannister and Barristan Selmy were wearing their armor, helmets, and all. Arrows were useless against plate armor unless the killers were armed with powerful longbows that could penetrate the durable steel plates.
Robert himself was only wearing his hunting leathers, though. A longbow could easily pierce leather at that range.
Why not kill Robert's Kingsguard, too?
To humiliate them, most likely. Both Jaime Lannister and Barristan Selmy, while the most competent of Robert's Kingsguard, also had tarnished reputations. Jaime for killing the Mad King at the end of Robert's Rebellion, and Selmy for bending the knee to Robert at the Battle of the Trident.
Both knights would be regarded with contempt now that another King had died on their watch. Even if Robert never had a chance, to begin with.
Jon came to a decision. He looked to the steep hill that Barristan Selmy had pointed out to him. "We'll start there and see if our assassins left a trail for us to follow." He said. "Ser Barristan, take command of the eastern caravan. Scour the Kingswood to the west and the south. Ser Jaime and I will take the others."
"Lord Stark," Selmy nodded. He smiled his appreciation at being trusted with command and turned his horse around, heading up to the tip of the spearhead that was their company.
Jon ordered for the western company to follow his lead while Barristan took the other hundred-and-forty-five into the southern Kingswood, splitting their forces. They would cover more ground this way.
Both Jon and Jaime climbed up the hill on horseback, making their way up along the northern path and towards the mountainous oak trees covered in fresh snow.
"Here," Jaime brought his horse to a stop as they sidled up to a mighty oak with branches as long as lightning bolts. Rough-worn roots had rolled out of the ground, covered in a thin sheen of snow that had frozen onto the bark.
A great warrior. Jon smiled wistfully at the tree. Maester Luwin had once told him that trees fought each other for the ground they grew on. For the water in the ground and the natural soils below the surface. An old and strong tree like this one was a tree that had defeated all the others around it, becoming the victor who had grown into a bastion of nature.
"This was where the assassins fired, see," Jaime pointed to weathered marks on the oak bark. More than a few pairs of feet climbed up this tree.
Jon saw light footprints in the snow around the tree. "Not all of them climbed, though." He said, his analyzing mind had taken over. Now it felt as if he were hunting, albeit a different sort of game. The most dangerous game of all; men.
Men, who also happened to be trained killers, if Barristan and Jaime's suspicions were correct.
Either that, Jon figured, or they must've been outstandingly disciplined. Or both.
There was a light trail of footsteps leading from the base of the tree further up the hill heading north. They stalked them from the beginning. Knew when Robert entered the Kingswood.
Jon slung off his horse's saddle and set foot on the damp ground. He crouched and continued following the loose trail of bootprints. There was a detail that was nagging him.
The steps were orderly, calm, and symmetrical. As if the men responsible had run in marching formation.
"What is it?" Jaime asked, looking in Jon's direction and then down at the trail he was following.
"They ran," Jon said. "But not in a chaotic manner." He pointed to the sequence. He could see it, seven men marching briskly two-by-two with one in the front. "See."
Jaime also got off his horse. "Yes…" His cat-green eyes lit up. "I do," He followed along much faster than Jon had. The Kingsguard traced the boot prints in the snow further into the forest. "They marched here the same way they left," Jaime said, putting his gloved finger to the ghost of an opposite print.
The two men continued following the trail. Jon quickly spotted a knocked-over tree in their path, the sinew of wooden tendrils splitting from the capsized tree trunk was frozen over. It was here that the two lines melded into one.
Jon could see the seven killers each jumping over the great log one at a time. This was not some hit job, it was a military operation that required the utmost precision. Which itself meant these were highly disciplined soldiers.
They passed by the tree. Soon enough, Jon began to hear the sound of rushing water, and the salt breeze of the sea greeted his nostrils.
In front of them was a small cove carved into the rockface that stood against the Narrow Sea. The little beach of pearly gold sand was covered in wet snow, the black-blue water contained fresh chunks of ice and slush as it rolled up against the bank.
Jon stepped out onto the beach and felt the cold salt air against his already red cheeks. His newly acquired beard had held up a sturdy enough defense against the cool breeze.
Behind him, Jaime had also looked along the beachside, trying to see any more tracks in the snow.
Jon immediately saw it. "There," He said, pointing to the dip in the snow just before it met seawater. It was as if a boat had landed there, had been dragged out of the sea, and then been thrust back into the ocean. "They came by boat."
"Blast!" Jaime swore to himself. "They've been gone for hours. They could be anywhere in the Crownlands or the Stormlands by now."
Jon looked sharply at the Kingsguard. "You didn't know."
"No, I didn't." Jaime agreed. "But I should have been prepared for something like this." He said angrily. "It was my duty to protect Robert… And now…" He clenched his fists tight.
Jon said nothing. He heard traces of Arthur in Jaime's frustration. The Sword of the Morning would have agreed with Jaime in this instance.
You're only paranoid until you're proven right, Arthur had said to him once. Then everyone agrees with you.
Indeed, it was a different type of player to assassinate the King so close to home. To brazenly make do with Robert in the Kingswood was bold enough.
And yet, Jon wondered, who was behind it all?
Who was the mastermind behind the brazen assassination of Robert Baratheon?
And, Jon dared to think, were they also responsible for Jon Arryn's own death?
As Jon turned to leave, a strange feeling in his gut told him that he'd find out soon enough.
The Kingswood had been completely scoured by nightfall.
Jon had ridden back into the city with the rest of his men, taking an additional fifty men-at-arms with him to the Red Keep as a safeguard.
It was as if the brief peace and calm that he and his father had brought to the city was completely disrupted once more. The people were once again on edge, guardsmen patrolled the city streets clutching their weapons tight, ready to draw them at a moment's notice.
Jaehaerys' Square was sparse during the evening, with the merchants around the square having tidied up their shops and stalls for the day and making their way home in preparation for the next.
Once they'd reached the top of Aegon's Hill and had seen the all-too-familiar walls of reddish-pink stone, they'd passed by the tall bronze gates and dispersed into the main courtyard of the Red Keep.
Jon dismounted, handing off his reins to one of the tired stablehands who stood close by. He was then approached by a crow-eyed servant. "Your Lord Father is expecting you in the Tower."
Jon simply nodded. Then, he marched directly for the Tower of the Hand. Though in the pit of his stomach, he could feel the oncoming dread, the shame for not coming back with answers, with Robert's killers.
It hadn't taken him and Jaime long to climb the tall flight of stairs, eventually reaching the top of the tower and his father's office.
Both Mandon Moore and Arys Oakheart were standing guard outside, signaling to Jon that more than a few members of the royal family were inside. Walking by both men, he'd put his hands on both doors. Even from the other side, he could hear the shouting and heated dialogue of those present.
Jon pushed the doors open, getting a blast of the Queen's frustration. "I demand that something be done about this at once! If the King can be assassinated in his own front yard, then what precedent does that set for his children?! Surely some fool will get the bright idea to attack my children in the streets now!"
Both Cersei and Joffrey were present, the latter looking despondent with his eyes red from having cried. Respected Robert a great deal, it seems. Even if he isn't Robert's son.
Tywin Lannister was also there, sitting stolidly across from Jon's father. He had calmly looked in their direction as they entered, looked at them for a few moments, and then turned back to his wailing daughter. Renly, and even Lysa Tully were also sitting in the other two chairs opposite Eddard Stark.
Despite Cersei Lannister's shrill demands, Jon's father looked every bit like one of the cold, unruly statues in Winterfell's crypts. His hard grey eyes watched the raving woman calmly. "Robert's killers will be brought to justice, Your Grace. On that, you have my word." He looked over in Jon's direction, his eyes locking with Jon's.
Jon shook his head. The shame he'd felt earlier had boiled over and redoubled in but a few seconds as his father looked away and ran his hand down his face. Jon could not bring himself to look at his father. He didn't want to see the disappointment in those cold, grey eyes.
And yet, he was forced to swallow that shame, as it was on him to report on what they did find in the Kingswood. It was an ugly, distasteful feeling, one that he'd never wanted to endure ever again, especially as he approached the most distinguished nobility in all of Westeros. Everyone's eyes were on him in but a handful of seconds, waiting for answers.
"We did not find Robert's assassins," Jon said, forcing himself to remain ice-cold in the moment. He buried the shame he felt deep down in his chest. Later, he'd dig it up, dispassionately examine it, and then bitterly filed in with other thoughts of guilt and remorse that he would rather forget altogether. Right now, he needed to be professional. If not for himself, but for his father's sake. "However, we found where they had come from, and what kind of men we're dealing with."
He did not wait for the Queen or someone else to make any rash comments. "They came from the northern coast in a boat. After landing, they got out and made their way through the Kingswood as if they were marching to a battle. In proper formation, files, ranks, and all." Jon continued. "They were perched in a tree when the King's party had passed by, and all fired upon him consecutively like Ser Jaime and Ser Barristan had said. Then they marched all the way back to the boat the same way they'd come, and left."
"For where?" His father had asked.
"I don't know," Jon admitted. "They came by rowboat, however. And with the winds as unkind as they usually are in winter, I doubt they've gone across the Narrow Sea unless they found a ship."
His father nodded. "So they must be in the mainland still." Eddard Stark sat back in his seat. "Thank you, Jon." He nodded to him.
Jon felt an overwhelming sensation of gratitude enter his mind. He forced himself to not sigh in relief and took his place at his father's side along with Lya and Ghost.
"What good is that?!" The Queen asked, her grip on her son's shoulders tightening. "Do you expect these assassins to quell their blades while my son lives, Lord Stark?!"
"Quiet, Cersei." Tywin whipped his head sharply at his daughter. "If they wanted Joffrey dead, they would have killed him the same way they killed Jon Arryn. Now is not the time to quail and scream. We must take action." He looked calmly at Jon's father. "What is it that you suggest we do, Lord Stark?"
The Queen seemed all but disarmed by her own father's reprimands. Even though she fell quiet, Jon began to wonder whether or not the pressure she was putting on her son's shoulders would cause his eyes to pop out of their sockets.
And the fact alone that Tywin Lannister had deferred to Eddard Stark's authority spoke volumes about the severity of the situation at hand.
Everyone present looked to Jon's father for answers. And possibly even, for a way out of this mess they'd gotten into.
"Robert's body will be given to the Silent Sisters," Eddard Stark said. "From there, he will be placed in Baelor's Sept for seven days as is the funeral rite of the King. He will be buried there."
Then, his father looked sharply at Tywin and Lysa. "After Robert's funeral, I will be needing the aid of you both. I believe these men, whoever they are and wherever they came from, had fled to the Crownlands. We will be sending out parties throughout the Crownlands and along the borders with the Riverlands. Stannis Baratheon will also be summoned to court as I've not received word from him once in the last three moons. An investigation will begin starting tonight. All available resources shall be put toward it shortly after Robert is buried, and we will not rest until we find his killers. Is that understood?"
Both of the heads of House Lannister and House Tully had nodded. "My men are at your disposal, Lord Stark." Said Tywin Lannister.
"And mine." Said Lysa. "We must find these men quickly before they can strike again."
Jon had not failed to notice his father's lack of mentioning Joffrey's coronation. It was certainly not lost on anyone else present, yet nobody had said anything about it. And Jon was certain the Queen wasn't about to argue with her own father and the massive direwolf sitting next to Eddard Stark.
From there, the others had begun to shuffle out of the room one by one. Tywin Lannister was the first to leave along with his daughter and grandson. Then Renly had left, and then finally, Lysa Tully.
Jaime was the last. He gave Jon a firm nod and bowed to his father. Then he closed the twin doors behind him.
Jon watched as his father sat back in his chair and sighed. He gestured for Jon to take Tywin's former seat, which Jon did. "It appears we will be getting very little sleep in the next few weeks." He commented dryly. "Is there anything else you were able to figure out?"
Jon had already decided to share his suspicions with his father. "Only that it appears these men were simply hired to kill Robert." He said, much to his father's interest. Though he also suspected that they were being watched, or even listened to at that very moment. He would need to be careful with what he said. "I believe whoever had Jon Arryn killed had also made the order for Robert's death. It is quite suspicious as both the former Hand and the King died within moons of one another."
"How does that explain their deaths? Robert was shot, but Jon was poisoned with drink."
"It is simple enough," Jon said. "Lord Arryn died painlessly, whereas Robert died croaking with seven poisoned arrows in his gut. Our enemy, whoever he may be, clearly respected Lord Arryn enough to give him a quick death. Robert went down a more stony path. His death was clearly both longer and more painful by design."
"So they hated Robert, but admired Jon…" His father echoed. "This only gets more complicated the more it unfolds…"
Jon was tempted to point out Baelish, yet if Littlefinger's spies were watching them, perhaps it might be Jon and his own father who were killed next. A brazen assassination like Robert's would be futile in the Red Keep, especially with the direwolves present. If death were to come for Jon and his father, it might be some other kind of poison.
It was incredibly frustrating to Jon Stark, that these mysterious enemies lurking in the shadows were far too cowardly to come out and face them head-on. Instead, they relied heavily on poison or unknown biological weapons such as ash-water.
He pushed those frustrations aside, however. They wouldn't serve him well, especially now that he needed to be careful. One single move and he and his father would be killed. "What is the plan?"
His father pursed his lips. "We'll need to focus on Robert's funeral in the meantime. And we must find a way to anticipate our enemy's next move." He paused. "We'll talk in the morning before training. Understand?"
"Yes, Father."
Jon left his father's chambers uneasily. He marched down the Tower of the Hand with only Ghost at his side. It was well into the night, he'd noticed, as he made his way into Maegor's Holdfast, finding his own chambers.
Jon realized that only in a few hours would he rise again to train with his father, so he simply washed his face, got undressed, and slipped into bed. By the twin doors to his room, he heard Ghost quietly lying down on the floor. The blood-red eyes were eternally watchful.
And as Jon turned over onto his side, he felt the ghost of Margaery's backside press against his chest. He attempted to recall her womanly scent of roses and candlesmoke, and the sight of her golden brown curls splayed out untidily across his chest.
Then he remembered; Margaery wasn't there.
As Jon flipped onto his back, looking up at the ceiling, and feeling the ache in his muscles pulse lightly against his bones, he wrapped his fingers around the boiled leather grip of the steel dagger he kept underneath his pillow, and slowly, gently, closed his eyes.
Then he slept, with the warmth and generous humor behind his gray-black eyes extinguished, and his features reverted into a stern mask, severe, stark, and cold.
Author's Notes:
Well, how about it? The first chapter in the New Year!
This one's been a long time coming (or at least it's felt like a long time since the 31st-for me it's felt like months since I've last uploaded).
However, I'm finally glad to say that we're back in business. Hope you all had an excellent New Years by the way.
I'll be posting more frequently once more. We're about passed the halfway mark of book three, so things are ramping up soon enough.
Next time, Starag gets another surprise (and very welcome) visit…
Stay tuned for that,
asonia99: Yeah, I never really understood why people use pseudo-teachers in their stories. Hence why I decided against having them in this story.
The way I see it is that Jon already has teachers to guide him (Starag, Ned, Arthur, etc).
He doesn't need some random NPC to come in and teach him about economics-Jon can decide to learn that shit himself after he receives a mind-altering epiphany (like he did when Arthur effectively told him that money isn't real).
Even better, he gets dealt harsh lessons by Life.
Or he gets to watch his father, Starag, or Arthur put together an effective strategy, come up with a cunning counterattack, be diplomatic or make a win-win trade deal, and so on.
Because that's how we as humans actually learn. By watching. By seeing other people do the thing that we're learning to do.
That's the kind of journey I wanted to put Jon through, and I think I've done a pretty good job at that.
Of course, you're always free to disagree. To each their own.
The Advocate7: I'm never going to be "burnt out"
I'm going to offend a lot of people here, but I sincerely believe that burnout is just an excuse to not do the work.
Writing is work, no mistake about that.
It's easy to come up with these vast intricate worlds and introspective characters. But when the time comes to sit down and put them onto the page…
Well, that's a bit harder.
For me personally, I might get busy doing something else (like I was in the last two and a half weeks), but I'll always make the time to sit down and write. Because even though it's work, I really do enjoy it. And I like to believe that it's something I'm meant to do.
But as I said. To each their own.
Alright, ladies and gentlemen. Time to get back out there.
Don't forget to do your push-ups and your squats…
And stay hydrated.
See you next time 💪