Reviews make me write faster! I use the quatermaester interactive game of thrones map when writing.
As it seems people on r/TheCitadel need reminding, dequeering characters is Not OK.
There's a new Renly and SI supposedly being planned, for instance, where the author is positively gleeful to have dequeered him. With sneering homophobia and outright m/m 'hygiene' smirks the only response to every concern raised about how the physical and mental causes of sexuality mixing in a gay character and straight SI would produce a bi or pan SI character rather than a gay or straight one.
I'm not even going to get started on how genderbent SI authors who, rather than consult trans people to accurately portray the crippling gender dysphoria that would result, instead have a few 'ha ha I'm so quirky' sentences and that's it.
If you're enjoying this story I'd ask that you don't dequeer characters in your fandoms, and don't give your reading and commenting time to stories that do.
Renly Baratheon
I was nervous as we assembled in Lady Olenna's solar for the last time.
It had only been a few moments since Garlan had pulled me aside on the way up the stairs and informed me that he'd already given a summary of our meeting with Septon Humfrey to the family. But to be careful with my speech when I announced the changes to the laws of succession to others as I'd accidently said that returning the laws of the Iron Throne to the days of Viserys I would make them match the rest of Westeros.
Garlan believed it to be a simple misspeak made in the heat of negotiation.
I, however, knew that I'd fucked up.
There was little textual evidence for the laws of succession outside the Iron Throne after the Dance of the Dragons. I had simply had to guess whether the daughter of a first wife came before the son of a second.
I had thought that, after the example of the Dance, all it would have taken was one or two powerful first wife families refusing to accept their blood being set aside because their daughter died in the birthing bed to extend the precedent that the Black's victory had set.
I had been wrong.
I had been right about the Dance making it an anathema to remarry if a lord already had children with their first wife, to avoid the problem raising its head entirely. But I had been wrong about the line of succession. It was still boys first, no matter what wife they were born to.
The misstep itself wasn't what was causing me to doubt myself, it was small in the grand scheme of things. Rather it was what it represented.
I had the omnipotent reader's view. I had background information, the theories, and authors notes peeling back the fog covering the history and workings of the world to a level that no one else could match.
And I had still been wrong.
Left and Right closed the doors behind us with a solid clunk and I placed the broken pieces of the glass candle on the table as Garlan and I joined the others.
Loras beamed at me in the candlelight, pleased to finally be counted among our number, but the others simply looked expectantly.
I choked. Unable to say a word.
I had been wrong.
This wasn't something unimportant like whether FAegon was a Targaryen, a Blackfyre, or a peasant boy. He was invading with an army and needed to be killed, that didn't change no matter who he actually was. If I was wrong in my assumptions about him being a Blackfyre, there would be no real consequences beyond the appearance of the thing.
This was the Others, the apocalyptic end coming for us all, and I was relying on my own judgement for how to combat them. The same judgement that had just been proven wrong despite all my advantages.
If I was wrong in my assumptions about them the consequences would be catastrophic at best. World ending at worst.
I shuddered at the thought, even as the urge to reach through the worlds and strangle GRRM burned in my chest.
The Winds of Winter and the massive amounts of information it undoubtedly contained about the White Walkers and Children of the Forest had still been unpublished when I was stripped from my home. Which left me like RMS Titanic, steaming full ahead into unknown waters that I knew were filled with dangers. Gambling that I would see any problems big enough to sink us with time enough to turn.
Would my gamble prove to be as poor as Captain Smith's?
I had spent weeks, before and after my arrival, reading every scrap of information about the Others I could find or remember. I believed that I had constructed a theory that was internally consistent, used a lot of the information that was available on the Others and the Children, and wasn't directly contradicted by any of the bits of information that it didn't use. But it was still a theory.
A theory.
My theory.
My assumptions.
My decision.
And I had just been proven wrong.
If I was wrong again I'd killed us all. There was no rescue ship that could be summoned with a desperate CQD, no safety that any number of lifeboats could flee to that the Others wouldn't eventually reach.
I looked at Loras and his family, calmly awaiting my information. Awaiting my commands.
My throat tightened even more at the sight as a dozen ways my theories could be wrong screamed in my head.
Frowns gradually spread cross the faces of the assembled Tyrells.
"Well, Your Grace? Out with it." The Queen of Thorns harrumphed.
I tried, but although my mouth moved, no sounds would come out. At least not on the first few tries.
Loras reached out and took my hand, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles.
"F-F-F-First we must speak of Dorne and of Doran. T-Then the final matter, which will be distressing for everybody." I croaked out, finally managing to overcome the lump in my throat with my partners show of faith.
"Hmph. I would say I'm to old to be distressed by anything anymore, but you always seem to manage it." Olenna griped. "Very well. What's that overly cautious cripple up to?"
"He isn't a cripple, and he isn't overly cautious." I replied, my voice growing stronger. I had committed to the course when I had myself elected Storm King, it was too late to turn back now.
The withered old matriarch groaned, pinching the brow of her nose. "My agents tell me his knees are swollen to the size of a melon and an apple, and his finger joints are the size of grapes. Supposedly he can barely stand or write even on his best days. How is that not crippled?"
"He would have us believe that such symptoms are those of gout my lady." At her acknowledging nod I turned to her eldest grandson. "Willas, did you ask Maester Lomys how gout causes the joint swellings that are its worst symptom?"
"He said it was the growth of crystals in the space between the bones Your Grace." The Wilted Rose answered calmly. "The Citadel has few qualms about cutting up our bodies once the soul has departed and has discovered this with certainty."
"Crystals between the bones of the joints." I emphasised. "I realise that none of us are maesters, but I think that even we can understand that…"
"If the swellings are as big as the reports say, then the crystals would be so big that the joints couldn't work. They'd be completely dislocated; no amount of willpower can force such a joint to function." Loras cut me off eagerly, clearly remembering more than one training yard dislocation incident. "If it was gout, then with those symptoms he wouldn't be able to stand or write at all. Prince Doran is faking his infirmity with some foul Dornish poison he can stop taking whenever he likes."
"Well done my love." I gripped his calloused hand tighter.
Loras preened as I praised him.
Olenna and Willas, however, both gripped the table till their knuckles turned white.
"How could we miss it?" Willas growled out eventually.
"We didn't know how gout affects the body and Lomys didn't know the extent of the symptoms, only the effects. So when we asked if the effects on Dorran matched the explanation none of us had any reason to doubt the story." Olenna spat.
"But if he isn't as nearly as crippled as he pretends, if he's using something else to fake the symptoms and can stop taking it at any time, then every time he retreats to the Water Gardens to convalesce he could actually be anywhere in southern Westeros or Essos. None of us have eyes on him in his Water Gardens apartments. Not even his own kin. And he's out of sight, supposedly bedridden, for moons at a time." Margaery remarked calmly as she looked at her eldest brother and cocked her head.
"Moons where he plots and plans and sets things in motion all across the south of the world while our eyes remained fixed on an empty chamber in the Water Gardens." The Queen of Thorns groaned. "Well played Doran, well played."
"Why do you not think him overly cautious?" Margaery asked when it became clear that the other two great schemes in the family were content to simply stare into the candle flames and curse themselves for fools.
"I could see little of the future of Dorne in the glass candle." I prevaricated, more unwilling than ever to fill in the blanks of information myself after my proven misstep. "But I did see some. Doran has great resources available to him in his family. All of them are skilled, loyal, and deadly. While Trystane is but three-and-ten, Quentyn is seven-and-ten, and Arianne four-and-twenty. Along with Oberyn, his two eldest children are available for any task he wishes. So, let us suppose that to progress his schemes, the Prince of Dorne needs to seduce Daenerys Targaryen, – who some call the most beautiful girl in the world – while also making friends in King's Landing, and discovering if the boy calling himself Aegon VI is truly the son of Elia and Rhaegar. Who would you send where?"
Garlan snorted contemptuously. "Even I know the answer to that. Oberyn would be the best choice to seduce Daenerys as, though he's older than is ideal, with his experience he'd have her eating out of the palm of his hand in a moon. But it can't be him. Of the three he's the only one who knew Jon Connington enough to tell an imposter. Or who saw Elia and Rhaegar enough to tell if the boy actually looks like one, the other, or a mix of them both. So Doran will have to send his brother to discover the identity of their supposed nephew and send one of his children to seduce the Targaryen girl. Quentyn, by all accounts, is as charming as mud so he couldn't seduce a serving girl, let alone a beautiful young girl surrounded by charming admirers. But mud is inoffensive, found everywhere, and goes unremarked. It also it sticks. He's the perfect choice to make friends and gather information in King's Landing. Meanwhile Arianne's seductive habits are both keenly honed and also hide a fierce intelligence, she can be sent to Essos. While the gods are likely not as kind as to make the Targaryen girl susceptible to seductive advances from a fellow woman, Arianne is skilled, charming, and competent. And she has more than enough experience to carry out a platonic seduction, just as my sister has managed so marvellously with Lady Arya. Not ideal, but it's the only way you can arrange the three agents and tasks without courting disaster."
I dropped the bombshell. "I saw Oberyn sent to King's Landing to make friends. The Mountain crushed his skull when he tried to take revenge for his sister."
"What?" Margaery's question was deadpan. Judging by their expressions none of the others could believe it either.
"It gets better." I smiled bitterly. "Quentyn was sent to seduce Daenerys Targaryen. When he failed, he tried to take a dragon as that was the true goal all along. He failed at that as well and was burned alive for his efforts. Arianne drowned in Shipbreaker Bay, trying to cross and discover the truth of her supposed cousin. For all her skill with people she had never left Dorne and didn't respect the storm and sea the same way she did the sun and sand. But I have little doubt that even if she had survived the voyage a poor end awaited her at Aegon Blackfyre's camp."
"But…All of them are so competent, why did they not turn back when it became clear to them that they were so poorly suited to their tasks and demand that the prince assign the better choice? Why did Doran make such poor choices in the first place?!" Loras exclaimed in horror, his eyes darting between his siblings rapidly.
Unlike the others, he was realising for the first time that even wonderfully confident and skilled players in the game could still die.
That his family could die.
"Because Doran feels nothing." I answered calmly. Trying to put modern psychopathy into terms they could understand.
"What rot." Garlan scoffed.
I let the disrespect slide. Garlan was a passionate man; he likely couldn't comprehend that someone could feel absolutely nothing.
"You've seen many people over your long life of course, My Lady." I held Olenna's gaze. "You know of those like Cersei, those who can feel and empathise but for whom their own wants trump everything else, and to whom anything they perceive as an insult must be answered. No matter how it was intended and no matter how unwise retaliation would be. All combined in a manner that mere selfishness, greed, and pride cannot explain."
It was a very basic description of a narcissist, but Olenna raised an eyebrow in acknowledgement none the less allowing me to turn to Margaery.
"And all of us will know of those like young Joffrey. Those who have a weak conscience, feel little guilt, and only feel attachment to a bare handful of people who are closest to them at best. They are impulsive, violent, prone to frequent fits of rage, and care not who knows all of this about them. Indeed, many revel in it."
Margery's pretty face was marred by a frown as my basic translation of the symptoms of a sociopath obviously matched with at least one person she knew of. Though the damage they could cause was usually limited by them not sitting on the Iron Throne. I turned my gaze on Willas.
"But few among us indeed will have met, or rather recognised when we have met, someone like Doran Martell. They have no feelings, no empathy, no conscience. But they can pretend to have them, and pretend well. Doran feels nothing, no love, no loyalty, no rage, no guilt. But he can fake them if they serve his goals. Apparently, if you're used to their true nature, watching such a man 'turn on the charm' when they decide they need someone's cooperation is one of the most disturbing sights in the world. Because even though you know its false you still find yourself believing it."
"Oberyn….." Willas choked out. "It can't be true, Oberyn would have noticed."
I offered the Wilted Rose a sympathetic smile as he was sitting too far away for me to grip his shoulder in solidarity.
"All the best manipulators know that the best way to get someone to believe you is to tailor your manipulation to something that they want to believe. Oberyn Martell is a passionate man. He doesn't just want, he needs to believe that his brother loves him, and that he feels the same anger as he does over their sister's death. As for his children, what child doesn't want to believe that their parent loves them? So all Doran has to do is to produce a simple show of emotion once in a while, and they will all deceive themselves into believing that those are his true emotions hiding behind his cold, inscrutable mask. Not realising the truth really is that Doran cares as little for most of his kin as he does for a slave pulling oars on a Volantine trading galley."
"Impossible." Margaery whispered in horror, clutching at Loras and Garlan's hands as her head whipped between them.
"Doran told his brother and his two eldest children that he loved them, something that he does so rarely each time is specifically calculated. Then he rammed that implication home by telling each of them that that he was trusting them above all others, that the very fate of Dorne itself rested on them succeeding. All while sending them on tasks that they were so ill suited for that their deaths were virtually certain. All when he had far better suited and equally skilled and trustworthy agents available. Can you think of another explanation?"
My words hung heavily in the air as Margaery remained silent, as did the rest of her family.
"Most." Garlan whispered into the dead silence.
"I'm sorry Garlan?" I questioned, not have been able to hear him.
"You said most." The gallant knight stated desperately. "Does he love at least some of his kin?"
"I believe he loves Trystane. In his own way." I allowed. "Whether it is what we know as love is another matter, but Doran certainly seems to intend for Trystane to succeed him. It is the only reason I can see for him disposing of his two eldest children. His reason for disposing of Oberyn is easy, he was too restless. The Red Viper's desire for vengeance for Elia had finally outgrown Doran's ability to mellow it with promises of future action. It cost Doran more to control him than the value Oberyn provided to his schemes was worth, so he to go. But Quentyn and Arianne? Both are highly competent, highly valuable pieces on the cyvasse board. And for all that Doran does not care about them as people or kin, he does care about that. He would not waste them unless they were in the way of his plans."
"And what plans are those?" Olenna snapped out tightly.
"I don't know." I spread my hands in ignorance.
"Don't play games with me!" The Queen of Thorns bellowed as she smashed her stick onto the table making everyone jump. "You claim that Doran is ten times the threat I thought he was! And I considered him a big enough one already! You name him as one of the most callous and calculating type of men walking the world with the power and gold to set it all on fire and now you claim not to know his plans?! After all you have discovered? You are lying!"
As her grandchildren flinched away from the old matriarchs' blazing anger I was left cursing once more that the Winds of Winter had been unpublished when I had been ripped from my home.
I pressed my hand over the broken pieces of the glass candle in the centre of the table as I prepared to try and bullshit one of the most experienced players of the game in the world.
"I don't know because Doran caught me looking, and he very nearly killed me."
My calm statement in the face of the old matriarch's rage brought her raging anger to a halt.
"How?" The Queen of Thorns hissed.
"I saw the fate of his children, so I looked into Doran's future so I could try and figure out what in the seven hells he was doing. He saw me. He has a glass candle as well."
I closed my eyes and let my mind fill with the image of Saruman communicating via the Orthanc Palantir. When I had immersed myself as deeply into the emotions and mindset as I could I opened my eyes and stared straight into the calculating eyes that seen off so many threats to House Tyrell.
"I See You"
I had tried to capture a little of Sauron's menace when I uttered the immortal line, but it wasn't that that caused the Queen of Thorns to jerk back and curse.
That came from the broken halves of the glass candle under my hand lighting up the solar a brilliant orange, as both halves suddenly showed a lidless eye wreathed in flame.
I jerked my hand back before the broken candle tried to project any more of my thoughts to whatever active candle I'd accidentally caused it to lock onto while thinking of Saruman.
I swallowed tightly, flexing my fingers and trying not to give away that I was just as shocked and disturbed as the rest of them as I spun more lies out of thin air. "I've no idea how the Valyrians practiced magical combat via glass candle. Doubtless it was both elegant and devastating. But my and Doran's fight was like two alley cats trying to rip each other to pieces, to tear memories and feelings apart until what was left was a mauled mess rather than the coherent whole of a person's mind. Or at least that's what he was doing. I was focused on fleeing and trying not to die as it seems the Prince of Dorne out matches me in magical combat as much as the Knight of Flowers does on the traditional battlefield."
Loras had leaned so far off his chair as he grabbed my shoulders he was practically sitting in my lap. "But you got away? Nothing was torn from you?"
"Nothing that I've noticed so far." I allowed, making a note that that would also make a great excuse for me to use if I fucked up something Renly should definitely know. "I managed, thank the gods, to hide behind the candle, to use it as a shield. It saved my mind but…"
I reached around Loras and patted the two broken halves. The meaning clear.
"Well. There goes the idea of acquiring you a new glass candle." Willas cleared his throat as his grandmother let out a slow calming breath, pushing the now dark pieces away from her with her walking stick. "Doran will undoubtably be waiting for you, and you will not find it so easy to escape again."
"And now a man can predict things even better than you watches unchallenged, while you have been blinded." Lady Olenna growled out. "Everywhere we turn enemies multiply, I begin to wonder if it is even possible to survive. Perhaps we should just flee and be done with it."
That admission made her grandchildren's jaw drop.
"There's nowhere to run my lady, but we aren't out of the game yet." I muttered with a cynical grin, plunging on before anyone could ask what I meant about there being no escape. "Prophecy is a fickle bitch. The clearer it is the greater the chance that it is a mere probability that can still be avoided. The prophecies of the Red Priests are supposedly the only ones that are never wrong, but they are so vague as to be even more open to interpretation than most, so almost none can use them properly. Many would go so far as to say that even the correct interpretations were arrived at by complete accident."
There was a subtle shifting as confidence began to return to the room as I reminded them that unlike when looking into the past, when looking into possible futures the ink was not yet dry.
"I have never heard of a prophecy that was both relatively clear and certain to occur. Of course there are some that masquerade as such, but in truth they are not prophecies at all, but rather scrying. That is; seeing events as they happen, or at most but a few hours in advance. It's something completely different and only looks like prophecy to most as the scryer sees things as they actually unfold, while others only learn of it when the news reaches them weeks later. With days or more required for the news to travel the scryer can always muddy the waters when it arrives and convince people that they saw the events days before it actually happened, rather than as it unfolded. The important part for us though, is that scrying with a glass candle requires another candle to lock onto, and thankfully Doran has rather stabbed himself in the foot on that front."
My nod to the broken pieces of the candle saw Olenna let out another long breath.
"Which means when he has is eyes on you Doran can only predict probable outcomes, not know what you're actually doing. So that's why you consult far more than a king should. How do you hide your actions from someone who can see possible futures? Bury him in possibilities by asking for as many plans and opinions as possible." Smiles appeared on all our faces as the formidable mind of the Queen of Thorns once again came to the fore.
"Just so." I smiled, accepting the cover for my constant need to consult so as to check that I wasn't overlooking a Westerosi custom that should have been blatantly obvious to me. Besides, it was true. Overloading a predictive matrix with inputs and variables was a classic attack to hide what you were doing, whether that matrix was housed in a human brain, a supercomputer, or a magic candle changed only the amount of variables needed to overwhelm it.
"We will all need to use every advantage we have against such a threat." Lady Olenna commanded, making all of us straighten by sheer force of personality. "Willas, lean hard on your friendship with that dammed Viper, see what you can get out of him. Garlan, try and strike up an overlooked middle son bond with the frog boy, and lean on your wife too. Leonette needs to see if she can get closer to the Viper's paramour or to the Princess Arianne. Get an introduction from Willas and have her spin a tale about how she's never felt accepted here and is treated as little more than a bastard or some such rot. Loras, if you've befriended or fucked any Dornish boys now's the time to rekindle the friendship. Your Grace, that young Dayne already thinks the sun shines out of your arse, use it. And Margaery, darling, two of your ladies are from houses near the Dornish Marches. See if they have any contacts we can press into our service. Doran has maneuvered us to the steps of the gallows without us suspecting a thing. All of us must expand our eyes and ears into that wasteland as fast as we can if we're to have any hope of winning this game."
The fire in the Queen of Thorns voice gave us all confidence as we accepted our assignments.
Everyone looked ready to file out before the withered old matriarch retook her seat.
"Now, Your Grace, the final matter you spoke of. Though I struggle to see what could be worse than this little revelation."
"The end of the world." I deadpanned.
The old woman gave a huff of laugher before suddenly stopping. "You're serious."
"Deadly so. The Second Long Night approaches, the Others have come for us all."
Olenna drew breath for what promised to be an epic toungelashing.
"You understand of course," Willas butted in, speaking carefully, "that extraordinary claims require extraordinary proof. Your Grace."
"Indeed." I inclined my head. "I'm in the process of acquiring it, and without it I don't expect you to believe a word."
"Well then, if that's everything for tonight." Lady Olenna reached for her walking stick.
My hand closed around hers before she could use it to rise.
"You won't believe a word of it, but we will discuss it anyway." The tension at my words could have been cut with a knife.
"And why, exactly, would we do that?" The Queen of Thorns growled, not breaking eye contact.
"Because if I am right, and I am, the only plan I have for us to live involves putting one of your grandchildren in immense danger." I responded to deep frowns. "And I have no intention of being accused of deliberately preventing you from having the time needed to search for alternative courses of action. Which will be exactly what I have done if I wait to tell you until the proof arrives."
The staring match lasted for a few moments longer before Lady Olenna huffed and sat back. "Get on with it then."
"Firstly, it's important that you admit that the Others and the Long Night were certainly real in the past just, as dragons were."
The old matriarch scoffed at my words so I added a layer of hardness into my voice. "Any maester or person of learning will tell you it is so about the Long Night. There's too much agreement over too many diverse sources that survive from that era for it to be otherwise. It happened."
"And if the Long Night happened then the Others were real." Garlan spoke up, his voice unwavering and strong.
"Garlan…." Margaery tried to keep the condescension out of her voice but failed.
"No Margaery." Garlan cut her off. "The Wall is nearly 700 feet high. Do you understand how impractical that is? It's only a hundred feet lower than the peak of the Hightower. You remember when Grandfather Leyton allowed us to stand at the beacon's base."
"I remember the heat being so intense I was afraid my hair would catch like a torch." Margaery muttered sourly.
"The ships passing Battle Isle looked like ants, and the people on them smaller still." Loras recounted. "It's impossible to fight any single person from such a height. Even if a bow could be accurately loosed so far with the wind to contend with, no man could see clearly enough to aim it."
"The only way The Wall can be defended is against an army." Garlan took over from his martial brother. "There's no possible way to fight someone, or even a small group from such a height. All you can do is loose arrows and barrels of caltrops and frozen rocks at large groups and hope you hit something. The Wall was not built to defend against raiders. It was built to stop an army."
"The resources needed to build it are too large to comprehend. It would bankrupt the entire Reach a dozen times over." Willas cut in when their grandmother scoffed. "The men of Westeros, despite being seven separate warring kingdoms, came together to build it. And maintain and expand it in the eight thousand years since. They weren't motivated to do so by fear of mortal men. They were terrified of something in the frozen far north."
"Something that they didn't think they'd permanently defeated." Garlan challenged. "Something they thought would come back."
The room was silent once again.
"You've done your job well." The Queen of Thorns griped while glaring at me.
"I simply pointed out a few numbers and asked some questions of the last few days." I demurred. "The conclusions are ones your grandchildren came to entirely on their own."
"That doesn't mean we think you're right." Garlan cut across me harshly, Willas nodding in support. "Rather, eight thousand years with no sign heavily implies that both you and the builders of the Wall are wrong. That the First Men inflicted a mortal blow and their fear of the Others return, though understandable, was unnecessary as it simply took time for them to die out."
"A fair point. It is an exceptional length of time…to a human." I reposted. "To a dragon it is but twoscore generations, and to a Child of the Forest it's apparently less than a single lifetime. Perhaps to an Other it is merely a long rest. Or perhaps they were so badly weakened they needed some celestial event to grant them the power to awaken again. Those happen on cycles of thousands of years and one tale of the origins of dragons speaks of a second moon or comet, so their effect on the strength of magic can be at least inferred. But regardless of the truth, in the end it matters not what woke the Others after so long slumbering. All that matters now is that they have not only awoken, but they are beginning to move."
"And how did you see this hmm?" Olenna grunted. "Decided to use the candle to observe old forgotten legends on a whim, did you?"
"I decided to observe the fates of the Stark children. Specifically, Jon Snow and Bran Stark."
Garlan frowned, but it wasn't him that voiced the question.
"Jon wasn't supposed to be with us?" Loras frowned, before flushing as his sister smirked at him effectively admitting he was now fond of the bastard he'd so resented to start with.
"He was supposed to join the Night's Watch and he never learned of his magic. He died at Castle Black, murdered because he actually had the balls to try and fight the Others rather than close his eyes to that which terrified him."
"Oathbreaking scum!" Loras spat fiercely. "Tell me their names."
"Not important." I dismissed.
Loras hissed like an angry kitten. "He is…he was…my squire! I will decide…"
"Not important! I have dealt with it!" I tangled my fingers in his beautiful curly hair, but before I could pull his head back to expose his throat Margaery cleared hers.
The knowing looks and smirks from Loras' family made us both blush, but I refused to release my grip on his hair as I resumed my explanation.
"The Others made themselves known, the Night's Watch rode out to investigate and were slaughtered. Jon Snow escaped back to Castle Black where he was elected Lord Commander and began to plan to fight the Others. But those brothers who hated him, were terrified of the Others, and refused to put their prejudices and vendettas with the Wildlings aside when faced with the end of the world murdered him in a mutiny."
Their disdain for my brief summary was palpable, but still the potential fate of someone that they knew and liked chipped away at a little of the Tyrell's disbelief. Enough to make them listen.
"What a waste of his power." Olenna spat in disgust. "No wonder you wanted the bastard here in the south with us, and I thought it was just because he was a Targaryen bastard."
"Grandmother?!" Margaeryexclaimed.
"Oh really darling, it's quite simple when you step back and think about it." The Queen of Thorns grinned. "Once you strip away the desire to revel in the fact that the honourable Eddard Stark was as weak for a pair of tits as the rest of mortal men, you're left with a rather obvious set of circumstances. He left looking for a sister that had been captured and raped. He returned with his sister's bones, a child, and a claim that the child was his. Were it any other man everyone would have scoffed at such an obvious ploy, but because everyone wanted to believe that such paragon of honour was as flawed as the rest of us, we all swallowed it. I didn't think Lord Stark had it in him to lie so well, but then that was rather the point."
"But he isn't legitimate?" Willas questioned harshly.
"Even if Rhaegar and Lyanna went through a wedding ceremony the doctrine of exceptionalism is dead, no Targaryen can take more than one spouse at a time without dragons to enforce the Faith's compliance." I agreed. "As for divorce, as we all know the Faith will grant it, if enough pressure is brought to bear and they aren't made to look foolish in public when doing so. But Rhaegar is dead and no divorce from Elia Martell was ever entered into the record."
"You're certain of that?"
"Almost. I'll be making absolutely certain in the coming days when my agent reaches the Citadel as it's the last location that such a record could be held that I haven't had searched. But I doubt there's anything to find. Rhaegar was a delusional rapist who believed everything would just fall into place because he willed it. I sincerely doubt he was one for proper planning and recordkeeping."
"Not like you." Loras muttered, glancing over to the quill and stack of parchment that had begun to appear in every solar I regularly spent time in.
"Rapist?" Margaery questioned. "You speak both as if Lyanna Stark went willingly and as if she were forced. Which is it?"
"Both." I answered truthfully, recounting the conversation I had had with Ser Barristan Selmy about how gaslighting could allow someone to be kidnapped, raped, and imprisoned without a single moment of physical violence, or them even realising it was happening.
A calculating raised eyebrow was the only reaction from my betrothed. She was clearly familiar with the technique, something that made me smirk and feel a little thrill of pride. So many looked at Margaery and saw only the demure lady that was a master of courtly courtesies and perhaps had a little influence over her husband to be. I was honoured to see the calculating manipulator and schemer who was prepared to defend and advance her family and herself with every bit of the considerable skill she had.
"We were talking about the return of the Others." Loras pouted. Clearly put out by my gazing at his sister with devotion.
I gave a reassuring tug on his tumble of brown curls and was rewarded with a hitch in his breathing.
"We were." I pressed a chaste kiss into Loras' blushing cheek. "I saw how they destroyed the world when I looked into the future of Bran Stark."
"I see." Garlan deadpanned. "And what gruesome fate awaited him?"
I winced. "Though his fate was indeed gruesome, before we touch on that you have to understand the origins of the Others."
Willas pinched the bridge of his nose and spoke for all his siblings. "Do we, do we really?"
"If you don't, you either won't understand a great deal of the events, or I will have to explain their origin in disjointed pieces when it becomes relevant. Which will be much more difficult to follow."
Margaery sucked in a deep, fortifying breath. "Very well, with us understanding that you are working with fragments of records, legends, and later stories, what was the origin of the Others?"
I gave a small smile at her pre-empting my caveats.
"In the Dawn Age the First Men came to Westeros over the land bridge from Essos and began to slaughter the Children of the Forest and the Giants and steal their land." I began, raising an eyebrow and daring any to disagree. When no one did, I continued. "Losing the war, the Children used sentient sacrifice and blood magic to shatter the Arm of Dorne and turn the land bridge into the Stepstones. But the First Men continued to arrive in ships. Supposedly, the Children were able to fight them to a stalemate, though more likely is that the First Men began to squabble and war amongst themselves just as much as with the Children. To remove one enemy from the equation, The Pact was then signed on the Isle of Faces. Giving the Children dominion over the forest and the First Men dominion over the open lands."
"Every child hears those bedtime legends, even the smallfolk." Loras snorted.
"I'm sure they do, it's a legend after all." I replied before my voice hardened. "It's also clearly a lie."
Margaery's eyes narrowed. "How can you be so sure?"
I gave the Rose of Highgarden my own version of her patronising smirk. "The Age of Heroes, the age that followed the signing of the pact, makes it clear. If you look beneath the surface. So many of the hero's legends that give the age its name involve conflict between the First Men and the Children of the Forest. Let's not forget our conversation of a few days ago on the origins of magic in the Stark and Tyrell lines. Brandon of the Bloody blade, father of Bran the Builder and the being who I believe to be the Last Hero Azor Ahai, earned his moniker at Blue Lake. Slaughtering so many Children of the Forest and Giants there that the lake has been known as Red Lake ever since. He lived near the end of the Age of Heroes. Does that sound like the Age of Heroes was the two thousand years of glorious peace ushered in by the signing of The Pact that the legends claim it was?"
"No. It doesn't." Garlan answered, frowning heavily as he doubtless tried to recall as many legends and bedtime stories from his youth as possible.
"So you're saying The Pact was a lie." Willas questioned slowly.
"I'm saying that the men who sang the songs and wrote the legends wanted to hide the fact that our ancestors were oathbreaking scum who violated it as soon as they had consolidated their position." I clarified to offended looks all around.
"That is…an accusation." Garlan muttered, clearly wanting to deny it but being too grounded in reality to deny the greed of man.
"As long as there is a single parcel of land left to steal the greed of man will never be satisfied." I shrugged. "You know it, I know it, everyone knows it. They know it from the new lord eyeing his neighbour's lands, the villager that moves the boundary line, the village that claims one of its neighbour's coppices, the farmer that dams the river and lets the village thirst in summer. When it is men colonising a land against people that they do not view as equals? That greed is even more intense. It's also utterly unrelenting."
"Maybe." Loras muttered mutinously.
"Would you keep to a bargain struck with smallfolk?" I questioned.
"Of course." Margaery answered for all the Tyrells. "Honour demands it, and it is important that House Tyrell is seen to keep its word."
The 'so on the rare occasions it doesn't it catches the unfortunate victim completely off guard' was left unsaid.
"Would Lord Lannister do the same?" I grinned at the uncomfortable looks that suddenly spread across all their faces. "I can almost hear Tywin now. 'I am altering the deal; pray I do not alter it further."
Loras shuddered at my imitation.
"I think we all understand, Your Grace." Lady Olenna spoke up. "The Pact was broken, but that was hidden as no one likes to admit that their ancestors behaved so terribly. Continue."
"It was broken repeatedly. 'The Pact' wasn't just one treaty, it was several. Each claiming to be the last, each mocked and disregarded as soon as men had had a chance to rest, sort out their internal strife, and let their greed grow once more."
My head was filled with treaty after treaty that the United States government had signed with the Native Americans, promising that this time, this time, they truly wouldn't steal any more land, that what was left was theirs in perpetuity. It was never true. Not until there was nothing left to take. That had happened everywhere colonisers landed; it would have been no different for the Children.
"If that was true the Children of the Forest would never have kept signing them. They'd know that the First Men couldn't be trusted to keep their word." Willas growled, sounding like I was pulling his teeth out.
"What else could they do?" I countered. "They were already fighting with everything they had, and they were still losing. They signed each Pact as temporary truce, as breathing room. Time to reinforce their defences, evacuate their women and children, and, the part that's relevant to us, to experiment. Their Hammer of the Waters had failed, so their magicsmiths were using every free moment to try and create a way of killing men that would allow them to at least defend what they had left. Maybe even reclaim the whole of Westeros if their gods finally heard their cries."
"They created the Others." Willas grasped my implication immediately. "What greater victory is there than to turn your enemy's greatest strengths against them? The legends say that the First Men's greatest strengths against the Children were their bronze weapons and their numbers. Avatars that could raise the First Men's dead against them and were immune to their bronze weapons…Pushing the First Men out of Westeros would truly be within the Children's grasp."
"Indeed, that is my summation of what scraps of origin the legends hold. How precisely the Children created the Others is unknown to me, but I am confident that they did. Especially as the Others were immune to the First Men's bronze weapons, but critically vulnerable to the Children's own dragonglass ones. They knew not to create a weapon they themselves could not defend against."
"If they knew enough to take such precautions, then how did the Others become the enemy of all life that the legends of the Long Night and the terror of the First Men speak of?" Margaery asked, calculation gleaming in her eyes.
"The Long Night arrived." I explained further when confronted with confused faces. "In all the legends of the Long Night's origin, from all across the known world, not once is there a mention of Westeros. It didn't begin here. Nor do any of the records from elsewhere speak of it beginning in their own lands, there is but one that does."
"Yi-Ti." All of us turned to Olenna in shock as my mouth dropped open.
"Don't look at me like that dear." The Queen of Thorns smirked at her granddaughter's stunned expression. "Between you and Loras there isn't a stableboy in this castle that hasn't been fucked by a Tyrell, and your other brothers saw to the chamber maids. Did you really think you were the ones to invent that? That I didn't take handsome sailors to bed when they docked at The Arbor? I didn't seduce your grandfather on my first outing I can promise you that!"
I was franticly trying to stifle my laughter as Olenna's grandchildren managed to look ashamed, defiant, and horrified all at the same time.
"I'm sure they taught you many things my lady, sailors do have such talented tongues." I waggled my eyebrows as Margaery whined, Loras shrieked, Garlan gagged, and Willas turned vaguely green.
It was difficult to get the words out through my hysterics, but I managed. "I'm just surprised ancient legends were one of them!"
"Yes, well, some of them were even more oafish than my late husband. Kept thinking I was actually interested in hearing about their travels instead of finding out what you can do with arms used to hauling oars and canvass all day." The Queen of Thorns smirked, laughing at more pained whimpers from her grandchildren. "But as fun as it is I suppose we should go back to more unpleasant matters. The coming of the Long Night. Supposedly it was caused in Yi-Ti when the Amethyst Empress was murdered and usurped by her younger brother, the Bloodstone Emperor. A nasty piece of work by all accounts; fond of terror, betrayal, mass executions, necromancy, human sacrifice, and casting aside the gods to worship a black stone that fell from the heavens. In the end it was enough to bring about the Long Night. I never believed a word of it of course, but my view on such things has begun to change of late."
"Indeed." I allowed. "And it is notable that when the world fell to chaos in the Long Night the legends say that the Bloodstone Emperor was strengthened by it. So too were those who were, if not his subjects, then at least his allies, those peoples that thrive on blood and suffering. Most notably the Ghiscari and the Asshai. Here? Well…."
I trailed off before tracing my fingers over the glass candle. "Control is a tricky thing. As we were speaking of sailors why not use the analogy? A ship trying to flee a storm must consider carefully how much canvass she flys. Too much and her mast will snap, too little and she won't be able to control her path through the waves. If the strength of the wind changes faster than her crew can raise or lower canvass then…."
"Whatever specific magic rituals the Children of the Forest created to create the Others, there's no doubt it would have been both necromantic and blood based in type, almost certainly sacrificial too." Willas mused, stroking his designer stubble. "If such spells became much more powerful with the coming of the Long Night as you suggest, then it's likely it was enough to overpower whatever means of control the Children had."
"Exactly my thoughts on the matter." I smiled, pleased that Willas agreed with my take. "Whether total control was transferred to the Bloodstone Emperor, whether the Night King ended up only partially under his control as some sort of Lord Paramount, or whether any control of the Others was shattered completely, it matters little in the end. What matters is that the Children of the Forest lost all ability to control them and they began attacking all living things. Only their weakness to dragonglass and fire remained."
"Which wasn't enough, due to the fact that they could raise reinforcements from their enemies dead faster than they could be killed."
"And then that's where the legends become true again. A desperate fight, constantly pushed back with the dead feasting on the living until the Last Hero managed to get the Children of the Forest to trust us one last time. To give us everything they knew of the Others and how to defeat them. Enough that First Men, Giants, and Children together were able to push the Others back and break the power of Winter. Sending them fleeing into the far north and shutting the way behind them with the construction of the Wall. The unparalleled combination of the Children's knowledge and magic married with the First Men's numbers and industry and the Giant's brute strength. All used to bar the Others' way should they ever return."
The relaxed smiles that appeared around the room barely had time to grow before I reminded them of the twisted ending. "Of course the greed of man soon reared its ugly head again with the arrival of the Andals. Whether or not the First Men would have kept to this final Pact indefinitely can never be known, but the Andals didn't even consider the First Men to be their equals. Let alone another species entirely. The terms of the Pact were violated in every kingdom except the North, yet even there the Children decided to flee rather than gamble that that would hold true. They vanished, deep into the very depths of the Rainwood and Wolfswood and to the Isle of Faces. Never to be seen again."
There was silence for a long time before the Queen of Thorns sighed. "Well, lets get on with your little apocalypse fantasy. No one likes to spend overly long contemplating the crimes of their ancestors, it makes for very unhappy evenings."
"As I said, I saw most of it through the eyes of Jon Snow and Bran Stark." I reminded them all. "The Others are already awake and scouting."
"Preparing to march out, then advance until resistance is met." Garlan muttered, frowning. Like as not he was trying to remember any details he had ever seen on maps of the lands beyond the Wall.
"They met no resistance until the Wall." I winced. "The Wildlings are fleeing before them, they remember the old stories better than we. And they have the evidence of their own dead rising before their eyes to motivate them. Already they gather and march on Castle Black, desperate to cross the Wall and cower behind it with the rest of us. The Night's Watch rode out in force to investigate this and the whispers of the Others. Unfortunately, it was the Others that found the Great Ranging at the Fist of the First men and they slaughtered them all and added them to their army of Wights. The Night's Watch lost three quarters of its fighting men and its Lord Commander in that battle."
"Such losses would leave them unable to fight a large-scale battle." Garlan noted calmly. "How did they repel the Wildlings?"
"They didn't, they had reinforcements."
"From who?" Willas cut in, intent on studying the political angle as much as Garlan was the military one.
"It doesn't matter." I dismissed, continuing before Willas and Garlan could complain. "I can give you a blow-by-blow account of the troubles in the North, but I have already taken a great many steps to counteract them. To do so would only overload you with information that is already worthless."
Both Tyrells looked unhappy, but accepted my reasoning with a nod.
"The remnants of the Wildlings were allowed through the wall. Some of the Night's Watch mutinied and were put down, though not before killing Lord Commander Snow. The Wall was then breached and the Others and their Wights advanced on the site of their greatest defeat, on the site where Winter fell and where what armies of the living remained had decided to make their stand."
"Winter fell…Winterfell. How interesting, though with your thoughts on Bran the Builder being the son of the Last Hero I suppose I shouldn't be surprised." The Queen of Thorns grunted. "Well, what happened?"
"Total Annihilation." I whispered into the candlelit room to the disquiet of everyone else.
The Battle of Winterfell as portrayed in season 8 had been an utter abomination. Every single military unit was in the wrong place, and every single one of them was used incorrectly. From artillery being out undefended in front of everything else and swifty overwhelmed rather than behind the walls loosing volley after volley, to Dothraki light cavalry used as heavy Westerosi cavalry in a head on charge into an enemy that would not, by their nature, break, and who were too numerous to break through to reach the commanders.
The less said about the infantry outside the walls, the plot armour of the defenders, the pitiful fight put up by the Night King, and the Deus Ex Machina of his defeat the better.
"Your certain?" Garlan frowned.
"The only way any defenders could have survived the utter abomination I observed at Winterfell is if the gods themselves reached through the worlds and decreed it be so." I answered honestly.
The frowns of the others were light, but that was only because they still didn't believe me. Not yet.
"Well, if you hadn't spent too much time staring into that candle I'd be worried." The Queen of Thorns snarked. "I don't suppose you know how we came to lose so badly?"
"A dragon Wight breached the wall. As for the massacre at Winterfell, we were betrayed."
"By who?" The withered old matriarch asked, her eyes glinting with promise.
"The puppeteer wearing Bran Stark's skin."
That made heads snap towards me again.
"What?" Willas hissed.
"We don't know anything about the Others." I shrugged. "For all my research and searching through the fragments that survive even I only know that the Wights can be felled by fire, dragonglass, and Valyrian steel, and that only the latter two will work on the Others themselves. I have no idea if any of them will work on the Other's Lord Paramounts, to say nothing of the Night King himself. I have no idea how to stop them."
"But…" Loras stammered. "B-But you know everything!"
I reached out and cupped one side of the beautiful knight's face, rubbing my thumb gently along his cheekbone. "Oh my love, I know only what I have seen, and I saw only our utter defeat. The information we need to know how to kill the Others can only be given to us by the people who gave it to us last time. The ones who created the Others in the first place."
"Then why haven't you contacted them?" Willas frowned. "You've taken steps to do everything else, yet you haven't tried to speak to them."
"Do keep up dear or I'll start to think you're as oafish as your father." Olenna spat grimly. "The Children won't help us. They've been betrayed every time they sat down to parley with us. The only reason they're still around at all is because we've forgotten they exist. If they prove their presence again then they'll have what scraps remain stolen from them and find their lifeblood watering the dirt as soon as the Others are defeated. Is that not so Your Grace?"
"It is, my lady." I winced at the Queen of Thorn's thoughts matching so perfectly with mine. "Be they in the Wolfswood, the Rainwood, or on the Isle of Faces, the Children south of the Wall have clearly decided that to announce themselves to us means death. Simply a slower one than if the Others come for them. So they'll continue to hide and hope that we defeat the Other's on our own, and if we fail and the Others come for them? It's still a quicker and cleaner end than they will have at our descendant's hands, once the gratitude for their aid has faded. The greed of man for that which is held by others can never be satisfied."
"Then where do you intend to get the information?" Loras asked quietly, his lively brown eyes pleading with me to not shake his faith in me further.
"There are Children beyond the Wall as well as south of it. Separated from their southern brethren, they have a very different attitude. They're willing to be found my men. Indeed, they already have been and a bargain has been struck."
"That difference in attitude wouldn't happen to be an embracing of lying, betrayal, oathbreaking, and deceit would it?" Margaery groaned, dropping her head into her hands.
"I'm afraid so my lady." I winced as Olenna snorted at her granddaughter's antics.
"Men, always making new enemies. Well, what's this bargain and how have they dishonoured it? Supposedly mind, don't think for a moment I believe any of this entertaining rot."
The Queen of Thorn's proclamation of disbelief didn't have nearly the strength behind it that it had at the start, but I didn't comment on it.
"The Children may have learned oathbreaking on such a scale from men, but they still can't understand us or predict us well. For that they need a human, and they have one. They've taught Bryden Rivers the power of the greenseers and let him loose on the Seven Kingdoms in what he believes to be an attempt to prepare us for the Other's assault."
"Oh For Fucks Sake!" Olenna Tyrell bellowed. "Bloodraven would be over two hundred years old by now! Will you stop spouting such ridiculous shit!"
I let her fury wash over me, completely unaffected. Baratheons were immune to the fury of others.
"Yes; my reaction was much the same." I mused quietly, enraging the withered old matriarch even more. "But unless you have another candidate for who a silver haired one red eyed man garbed in the clothes of the Night's Watch with Dark Sister at his side could be I'd ask that you not question my conclusion."
"Two. Hundred. Years." Olenna panted, clearly resisting the urge to throttle me.
"The Children can live to over ten thousand. Is it truly surprising that they can double a humans lifespan with their magic if they so wish?" I shrugged nonchalantly. "Although to be fair Bloodraven is more tree than man at this point. I got the impression he was hanging on through sheer force of will long after even the Children's magic should have been unable to sustain him."
The only sound was the gulping breaths of the Queen of Thorns as she fought to bring her anger back under control.
"Perhaps you could tell us how this deal with Lord Bloodraven has been betrayed?" Margaery hesitantly asked, eyes flicking worriedly to her grandmother.
"All Bloodraven's plans so far have failed, likely sabotaged by the Children." I hedged. "All he is clinging to now is the chance to train his successor, the chance to pass on what he knows of how to defeat the Others to the next human greenseer."
"To Bran Stark." Margaery noted, frowning again. "Forgive me if I have remembered Lady Arya's stories wrong, but Bran is but ten. If all the Stark children have the magic of the Old Gods, why would he be Lord Bloodraven's choice? Granted his brother Rickon is but seven, and the ladies Arya and Sansa two-and-ten and four-and-ten. But Robb Stark is seven-and-ten now, and Jon Snow the same if the heir cannot be risked. Why Bran?"
"Because he's the easiest to manipulate. Lure him with implied promises of being able to walk again and he'll swallow lies that even Rickon would see through." My blunt assessment made more than one person massage their foreheads.
"The Children?" Willas groaned.
"Lord Bloodraven apparently appears in young Bran's dreams as a wierwood tree. It may well be possible to change your shape in another's dream when you enter, but I know not how. What I do know is that Bloodraven has been present as a wierwood when a Three-Eyed-Crow has been present as well. And you cannot double your presentation when dreamwalking anymore than you could at this very moment."
"Let me guess, young Bran believes Lord Bloodraven and this Three-Eyed-Crow to be one and the same?" Willas groaned.
"Indeed" I confirmed with a sad smile. "Through the wording of their introduction the Children's betrayal was not discovered. Bloodraven did not understand the question, did not recognise the Three-Eyed-Crow and simply assumed that Bran was speaking of his time as Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. Bran assumed that Bloodraven confirming he had once been a 'crow' was him confirming that he was the Three-Eyed-Crow."
"And we are certain that the Three-Eyed-Crow does not have benevolent intentions?" Margaery asked, exhaustion filling her tone as she slumped back into her chair.
"A crow may look similar to a raven, but that is where the similarities end." I replied with a half-smile. "In magical lore, ravens represent knowledge, wisdom, heroism, transformation, and good luck. Crows represent lies, death, and ruin. There's also the fact that they seem to have destroyed the best greenseer candidate to manipulate Bran into the position instead."
"I thought that the eye colour of their wolves indicated that the child Rickon was the most powerful, if we're excluding the bastard?" Olenna questioned sharply, her anger finally back under control. "It doesn't take bad intentions to realise that even a child of ten is a better choice than one of seven."
"A greenseer is smaller than usual, less robust than usual, and has deep green eyes. When I tell you that that description matches Jojen Reed exactly. A boy of two-and-ten and the only other person I know of who has the magic of the Old Gods, surely you see who the best candidate would be?"
"Don't tell me the Three Eyed Crow has stolen him from our grasp?" Margaery groaned.
"Appeared to him in a dream when he was nearly dying of fever and claimed his allegiance in return for his life." I shuddered. "The same way it claimed Bran originally. Whether either would have awoken on their own is unknown, but the Three-Eyed-Crow waited until they were desperate, vulnerable, and then they struck. They've repeatedly told Jojen he is but a greendreamer, not a greenseer and warg. Despite the boy having the power to have greendreams nearly constantly despite lacking access to a wierwood. Something that is supposedly far beyond a mere greendreamer's abilities."
"Then your plan is to steal his allegiance and use him instead?" Loras questioned.
"Don't be foolish boy, remember what your beloved said. Belief is one of the most important parts of magic, perhaps even the most important part." The Queen of Thorn's formidable mind was already steps ahead as usual. "This Three-Eyed-Crow has supposedly already destroyed the Reed boy's belief that he could be a greenseer. I assume he has some use otherwise he would just have just been left to die. But as far as magic goes, he's as crippled as the Stark boy is on a tourney field."
"His use was to guide Bran Stark to Lord Bloodraven, to the Children of the Forest, and then to be sacrificed and fed to Bran so the magic in his blood and flesh could give the boy the power boost needed to ascend from warg to greenseer."
All around me the Tyrells gaped like fish.
"You saw this?" Loras whispered.
"I saw Jojen dream of his own death but not try to flee the Children's lair, as if he knew escape was impossible. I saw him tell Bran that he was not the one that needed to be afraid when the Stark boy confessed to being fearful of the Children of the Forest. And I never saw him again after Bran was given a substance resembling blood and flesh to eat that would enhance his powers and 'bind him to the trees.'"
"Fuck. Fuck." Garlan the Gallant bellowed, thumping the table hard enough to send some of the candles spilling to the floor.
"Why all of this for the Stark boy?" Olenna murmured. "What does he offer that the Reed boy doesn't? Both seem to be easily manipulated."
"His family." I gave my theory. "The Children care not for his ability to replace Bloodraven as a greenseer and use the greenseer's abilities to help humanity fight the Others. That is Bloodraven's plan, one that they do not intend to see come to fruition."
"What then?" Olenna snarked.
"Bran Stark will die in that cave." I gave voice to Meera Reed's much belated understanding. "Once he's trained enough, opened himself up to magic enough, the Three-Eyed-Crow will possess and erase him. Wearing his skin like a summer fair puppet. And with the name Stark the skin puppet will cripple humanity's fight against the Others and ensure we all die."
"Why?" Loras exclaimed in horror.
"Vengeance, boy. Vengeance." The Queen of Thorn's voice was hard and cold. "The Children of the Forest have lost everything, have had their land and their future ripped from their hands by men. Now they intend to rip it back. They intend to let the Others and their Wights kill us, and then either re-establish control over them, or destroy them. They're willing to gamble everything on the chance, no matter how small, that they can take back their lands, their home, their future. Because just like their southern brethren they've decided that if men learn of them, they're dead anyway. Unlike their southern brethren they're prepared to roll the dice on spite, on vengeance, on ice and blood."
"Exactly my thoughts, my lady." I whispered. I had hoped, prayed, that my inferences and theories had been wrong. But when Olenna Tyrell arrived at the same conclusion my heart had dropped into my boots.
"So we have to kill them first." Garlan, ever the practical knight and battle commander spoke into the silence.
"We can't. They have information we need. Information on how the Others came to be, and how they can be killed once and for all." Willas declared, staring his brother in the face. "That's why you need me to take Bran Stark's place, isn't it Your Grace?"
The silence lasted for a moment before every Tyrell in the room was screaming at both me and Willas at the top of their lungs.
"I WILL NOT HAVE IT! I WILL NOT I TELL YOU!" Olenna's bellow cut across everyone else, finally silencing everyone. All of us breathing hard.
I opened my mouth, but a look from Willas made me subside.
He took his grandmother's hand in his and held it tightly even as she refused to look at him. "Dearest grandmother, we need that information. The Children have set a trap with bait that we cannot afford to walk away from. Someone has to take their hand and dance."
"Not. You." Olenna Tyrell growled out to her eldest grandson as she stared at me with utter loathing.
"Who else?" Willas spoke the words softly, but he didn't soften the blow they caused. "We need someone with the magic of the Old Gods to take the Children's hand and dance, to steal their bait and plunge their dagger into little bastards backs before they can ram theirs home in ours. Of all the Stark children only Jon and Robb are men grown, and of the two of them Jon is supposedly the best at scheming. Do you think he can dance with the Children of the Forest when even Loras is a better schemer than him?"
"There must be another option. There must be!" The old woman exclaimed desperately, shifting to grab her grandsons face in her hands.
"His Grace has been looking, he has found none." Willas smiled softly.
"I'll find someone." The withered old matriarch growled. "I don't believe a word of this rot but I'm still not going to risk it. How long do we have?"
The question was equal parts desperation and anger. I considered my answer carefully. Based on how things had progressed so far it was utterly clear that the book timeline was the one that this world followed, so it was unfortunately not long. If I hadn't fucked up the timing my best guess as to when Bran had crossed the Wall originally was May or June 299AC.
It was already October 298AC
"Whoever we send should cross the Wall in six months. We may be able to stretch that to eight but absolutely no longer. Willas is right, I have been searching but I have found nothing. There're no credible reports of magic in any other member of House Reed, and of the other houses there are but whispers of a girl in Dorne who has prophetic dreams. But she is both younger than Arya and is likely attuned to either Rhoynish or Targaryen magic.
"I'll find someone. I will." Olenna promised, grabbing her walking stick and storming out towards the rookery with far less frailty than she usually pretended to have.
"Willas you can't…" Garlan began haltingly.
Willas simply held up his hand. "I'm not a child Garlan. I know that you seek to protect me, just as you do our sister and baby brother. But this is not an enemy that you can fight. Of all of us only I have the magic necessary.
"It's too dangerous." Loras begged, his lively eyes filled with panic as they darted between Willas and me.
"Oh baby brother." Willas smiled. "Do you and Garlan intend to stay home when our banners march out? Or you intend to fight?"
"That's different." Garlan growled, curling his hands into fists.
"Is it?" Willas asked, simply raising an eyebrow. "How is it different when I sit here in safety while both of you scream in the mud and the blood? Praying that you'll both make it home just as I'll one day pray our sister survives the birthing bed."
"I'm supposed to look after you." Garlan finally managed to choak out, helplessness written across his face as his gaze was fixed on Willas' leg brace.
Bran's body had made it out of that cave despite being crippled. But it was as a skin puppet for the Three-Eyed-Raven, he'd only had to flee the Others. Willas would have to flee the Others and Children both, and his injury made him only barely more mobile than Bran.
"Your Grace." Willas captured my attention. "Man to man, and with no judgement for I know that you would have picked any other candidate before even contemplating bringing hurt to Loras, is escape possible?"
"It is possible. But…" I choked and held Loras' gaze even as his soft brown eyes begged me to make everything alright. "I will not lie to you. It's more likely than not I am sending you to your death."
Garlan threw himself back from the table with such force his chair toppled over. He stormed out before anyone could stop him.
"Loras." Willas called, thankfully making my lover stop looking at me with a face filled with betrayal. "Trust me. Just as I trust you to survive battles where the odds favour your enemy, trust me to know how to dance."
"Tis not your dancing skill that worries me." Loras whispered, looking at his brother's leg brace. "Tis your ability to run."
"Let me worry about that. You go and calm our overprotective brother while I try and calm grandmother's temper."
Willas led his baby brother out of his grandmother's solar, leaving only me and Margaery sitting in the candlelight.
"Killing one of my brothers. An interesting wedding present, Your Grace." The impenetrable mask of the Rose of Highgarden was firmly in place.
I locked eyes with my betrothed. "Tell me honestly, remembering that your entire family's lives ride on the answer, that you believe Jon Snow or Robb Stark are capable of dancing with the Children of the Forest well enough to get the information we need out before the Children plunge their dagger into their back. Tell me that and I will go to your grandmother right now."
Margaery looked away.
Very carefully she sipped the last of her water from her glass. Then threw it at the wall with a scream of rage as it shattered along with her perfect mask of control.
I slipped though the panel doors and onto the balcony as my betrothed threw a second glass, waiting to see if she'd join me.
The moonlight lit up the fields and woods surrounding Highgarden in a beautiful silver light, glittering off the Mander river as I leaned on the balustrade. Wishing that the world was this peaceful in truth.
Margaery slipped out after me and stood silently, staring out across the Reach. "If you've hidden another candidate from us, even a mere hint of one, they'll never even find what's left of you."
Her voice was deadly calm, not issuing threats, just stating a fact.
"I assume you don't consider Euron Greyjoy a candidate?" I gave a weak smile, continuing hurriedly at the look on Margaery's face. "He has magic, but it is the wrong kind. And…well…"
"He's a Greyjoy." Margaery answered after a moment, offering a weak smile of her own in return.
"I was going to go with he's batshit insane, but that works too."
The short sharp laugh from my betrothed was music to my ears.
"I believe you." I barely heard Margaery's whisper, and she couldn't look at me as she spoke. Staring out across the Reach instead. "I believe you. What are we going to do?"
I reached out and gripped her shoulder firmly in support, steadying her shuddering breathing.
"We won't go quietly into the Long Night
We will not vanish without a fight
When Winter howls with all its might
We'll rage, rage against the dying of the light"
Reference resources for the various theories used in the creation of this chapter are as follows. Please remember some of the Order of the Green Hand's points are excellent, but some are batshit insane. There seems to be no middle ground with them. In Deep Geek does good in world analysis, but doesn't like to take account of real-world magic and fiction lore that GRRM would absolutely have been aware of and taken into account when very deliberately picking names/appearances/attributes.
Doran Martell faking gout: The Order of the Green Hand – Doran Martell: Doubt the Gout
Doran Martell being a psychopath: The Order of the Green Hand – Doran Martell: The Stranger
The Long Night beginning in Yi-Ti:
In Deep Geek – The Great Empire of the Dawn
Quinn's Ideas – The secrets of Yi Ti and the Bloodstone Emperor
The Order of the Green Hand – Sons of the Bloodstone
Bloodraven and the Three-Eyed-Crow not being the same person (Book verse only, obviously they are in showverse):
In Deep Geek – Is the Three-Eyed-Crow Really Bloodraven? (against)
The Order of the Green Hand – Bloodraven / Not The Crow (for)
Quinn's Ideas – The Secrets of the Three Eyed Crow (for)
The Order of the Green Hand – The Old Powers Are Waking / The Three Eyed Crow (Jojen/Bran/3Ec interaction and context)