To TheTiroshi: Thank you. I am glad you're enjoying the story.
To Guest: What can I say, I like experimenting. :) Glad you enjoy it.
To Guest: Thank you. Will do.
They took him in the middle of the night from his bedchamber. Two strong men, armed to their teeth, had burst into the Lord Hand's bedchamber as if they had the right to and grabbed him from his warm bed, dragging him through the small corridors to a chamber that would serve as his lodging.
How long he'd been locked away, Sloane did not know. It might have been days. There was nothing passing for light in the chamber but for a small sconce on the wall, leaving him in perpetual semi-darkness, at the mercy of his thoughts.
And think he did. He thought upon all sorts of matters, business unfinished and even plans of revenge.
Edgard Sloane paced the length of the room, hands curled into tight fists. Like a restless beast she shifted to and fro, stopping every now and again to listen to whatever sounds came from without. Somewhere in the distance the clang of metal striking metal rang through the hallways. That ghost of a sound reverberated within the small chamber of his dwelling. Not halting in his pacing, the dour man started to wonder at it.
Why would metal be striking metal? It came not from without, from the training grounds, but from within the keep. Yet it had been distant. Distant enough to not concern him yet close enough to raise suspicions. Damn and blast. Gritting his teeth, the Hand of the king resisted the urge to bang on the door and demand once more that he be freed.
Lannister men guarded the entrance to the narrow space and they would not budge for anything. Not gold, nor positions. Tywin had trained his men well. But it was to Sloane's sorrow that he had. If he could not bribe his way without, then how was he to know what had happened to the Queen Mother. A soft curse caught in the back of his throat, refusing to be released into the mid-darkness.
His legs had grown tired. Were he a decade younger he might have paced for a few hours longer. As it was, however, the wreck of a body he inhabited shamed him by giving in to weakness. Alack, there was nothing for it but to sit upon the ground and wait for news. Any sort of news. And that was what the man did.
He had known it to be a mistake, calling Tywin Lannister to King's landing. The Queen Mother had insisted, as payment for the betrothal that had fallen through. Edgard had told her it would have sufficed to send her condolences, but nay, she had wished to show generosity. It was unsurprising that she'd fallen into a trap of her own making. Tywin Lannister was a shrew man. He made no apologies for his deeds and did not hide the fact that he wishes to climb higher and higher still. It chafed to know that a young man had beaten him at the game despite years of experience. The opponent had been underestimated. Never again would the Lord Hand make such a mistake.
That was if ever there was a second chance. There might well not be. The gods only knew what plots ran rife within the Red Keep in his absence. What a failure he was, he had promised His Grace Jaehaerys that he would take care of his daughter and the child-king. Were the man alive, he would have known how to keep the realm in line.
What could a mere boy do? Rhaegar Targaryen was a bright lad. He might have grown to be the best king the realm had ever had. Would that he had. Would that his own lady mother had been more careful in her step. The patience and discipline the mother lack, the boy had aplenty. The dedication his father had not had burned bright inside the young King. Was all of that to perish beneath the cruel blows of greed come from lords that were supposed to be allies?
The only consolation was that he could not be left to rot within these walls for much longer. Tywin would need to decide his fate. And soon for that matter. No doubt word has spread already about his absence. Edgar wanted to be done with the matter one way or another. If he was to escape the hangman's noose or Slynt's blade, then he would gather his forces. And unlikely option, to be sure, but one must hope for the best if the desire was not to fall into lunacy.
Thanked be the Father for his justice, Slaone had managed to write home to his lady wife. If he failed to come back to her, she knew what to do. Coin she had and jewellery beside to exchange for more coin if need be. The thought of her living in a far off land, somewhere in Essos, did not sit well with him. Not when Elyn, poor dame, had leaned upon him all her life. To suddenly be left alone in the world, it was almost unthinkable. Yet necessary.
Tywin had his plans and would no doubt wish to rid himself of impediments. Having opposed the lord for much of his tenure, Edgar knew he was among the first upon the list. Accordingly, he had prepared his family for the blow. He had chosen to play the game of thrones knowing fully well what awaited him if he lost.
There had been glory and pain was to come, neither strange to human life. He sat up at a long last, stretching his legs to push the blood into flowing. Eyes gazed upon the door, thinly veiled anticipation upon the wizened face. It would open soon, he felt it in his bones.
As if to confirm his belief from without heavy steps beat a steady pattern, telling of advancement, against the hard floors.
Certain moments in a man's life were marked by time itself slowing to a halt, disintegrating as if to say that there was no measure to count by, that no value could be placed upon them. Whether it was because these moments were crucial, or whether a random occurrence was at fault, was to be determined by any man on his own. The certainty was the following, in the wake of such, the world was turned on its head and nothing was what it had been.
The door opened swiftly, breaking the spell. A mountain of a man trudged in, followed by Lord Lannister. The young Lion glanced with cruel eyes at his captive. I see you yet live. That is well. A traitor to the realm must be exemplary punished."
"It is now treason to oppose the likes of you, my lord?" Edgar laughed mirthlessly. "By the Seven, then I am a traitor and I am proud of it. Leeches should be burnt."
The reply earned him a punch to the stomach. The blow was delivered by the beast of a man Tywin Lannister had brought along. Something within Edgar broke, heat filling his midsection with alarming alacrity. His form could not seem to uncoil itself. Doubled over, the man struggled to look up.
"It is the likes of you that must perish for the realm to prosper. Promoter of a destructive model, you would have us all lose ourselves in the hands of an insane king's daughter." The blatant disrespect behind the statement startled the injured man.
"The insane king's daughter is the sole reason you are here, worm," he retorted. This time the blow fell upon the back of his neck, knocking him to the ground. He was not allowed to linger upon the cool stone and soothe his ache for the brute picked him up as easy as he would a doll and dragged him to his feet.
"Enough of that. I have come to let you know that by the King's order you declared a traitor of the realm and hereby stripped of your office as Hand of the King." The badge he had worn for so long was ripped from his chest. "You are to confess all your crimes and face punishment."
It had been expected. Edgar laughed. "I shall confess naught to you, Tywin Lannister. I am not guilty of any crime."
If a man could smile without smiling, then Tywin Lannister had perfected the art of his. All muscles in the man's face remained motionless, but by the glow in his eyes, he gladdened at the refusal. "Very well then. We shall make you confess."
The promise snaked along his back, slithering to the painfully pulsing point in his neck. It pinched and burned, dragging the niggling discomfort to higher levels. He clenched his teeth in refusal nonetheless and chose to walk as he was directed, on unsure feet. They were taking him below, he knew even without asking. That was where traitors were kept, that was where information was most forthcoming.
Yet they would have nothing of him. He would not compromise,
It was Lord Rickard himself that led her up the steep stairs, one hand holding a torch, the other balancing her. In the warm light she could make out sparse light streaks in her soon-to-be-husband's hair. They were not many, but at the back of his head, if one looked with attention, they were startling to notice. Certainly he must have been older than her, but Rhaella had not though to ask for an exact number. He was virile and still strong, it ought not to matter whether he was at the end of his third decade of life or the fourth.
The thought remained with her as they continued to climb up the stairs. "This is quite the journey," she said, if only to hear something. It had grown too quiet.
"The children should not be disturbed by what does on within the other parts of the keep," was the father's reply. At first glace it seemed a considerate answer, stemming from the love and care a man had for his children. Yet what could possibly trouble the small creatures within their own home.
A shiver ran down Rhaella's back. "I hope we shan't disturb them then," she said at a long last. But as those words left her mouth, her own experience came to haunt her. Has she not thought herself safe in her own home? "It would be a pity."
"I do believe that these two can sleep through anything short of an Ironborn attack,' came the offhanded reply, joined by a light chuckle. It was a poorly made jest but Rhaella could not help tittering along, dispelling some of the tension that had stiffened her shoulders. "That is, if they sleep at all."
Rhaegar sometimes gad trouble sleeping. Rhaella hummed softly. "Is it often that they cannot sleep?"
"It is often that they insist upon staying awake and terrorising Nan with their antics." Despite the gruff manner in which the words had been spoken, an underlying sliver of affection could still be heard. "Just the other day they have pushed the poor woman in a snowbank.
Finally they reached a narrow hallway, its grim stone radiating heat as the rest of the keep did. The nursery where the children had been placed for the evening came alive almost as soon as Rhaella's foot had reached the last step. A giggle sounded out from behind the door and a shot followed shortly after. It occurred to her that Lord Stark had had it wrong. The keep needed to be kept from disturbances, not the other way around.
A clang rang out and the door burst open releasing a crawling creature. A yelp of concern left Rhaella's lips when the child hurried on all fours towards the two of them, gaily dragging what looked to be a costly dress upon the dusty ground.
"Lyanna," a voice called from within the chamber and a heartbeat later an old woman staggered without. "My lord, Your Grace, I had not known you were arrived."
"Is a man no longer allowed to see his children?" the lord of the keep questioned harshly, bending the knee to scoop his daughter up. The child made a sound in the back of her throat but as soon as her wild mane was brushed back deftly by her father she started chatting a mile, gleeful at the attention paid to her.
"Settle down," her father spoke softly and curiously enough she listened. Her voice dwindled, coming to a halt and the child remained silent, apparently noticing for the first time that company had arrived. "Come, Lyanna, there is someone I should like you to meet."
Rhaella glanced at the child, nothing with a pang that her hands were dark as sooth. What had she been doing? An uneasy smile forced its way upon her lips. "You must be little Lyanna," she said, trying to encourage the child to interact by leaning in a bit closer.
The girt frowned. "I am not little," she complained loudly, lower lip jutting out, eyes glinting in the light in a much similar fashion as those of her father.
"Now, be civil," Rickard cut her off. "This is Lady Rhaella of House Targaryen, she is to be your new mother."
If anything could create a rift between child and step-parent than those were the words. Instinctively the child would shrink. And she did. Rhaella sighed. "My lord, I do believe I shall be fine on my own." She stepped closer towards Lyanna and Rickard gave her the girl. It must have been the father's presence that kept the she-wolf from struggling, for when Rhaella took her, she was stiff as iron.
The pristine cloth of her dress was ultimately stained by small fingers and palms pressed into her front for balance. A smidge of annoyance surged through the she-dragon. The girl clearly needed a guiding hand. If what she had witnessed was commonplace, then Lord Stark required a wife quite desperately.
"I believe you have a brother with you, Lyanna," she began, trying to speak in as calm a manner as possible, "would you be so kind as to make the introductions."
Still frowning, the child harrumphed in indignation, refusing to speak. Rhaella, not taking that for an answer, strode within the nursery, past the bulk of Nan, presumably the nursemaid of the youngest child. Sure enough, a small boy watched them come in, wide eyes trained upon the two women.
Lyanna was deposited next to her brother and Rhaella knelt before the two of them. "How alike the two of you are," she murmured, fingers rising to the youngest's head trailing along the soft, dark hair. "Are you alike in temper as well?" this she asked of Lyanna.
With a grimace, the girl threw her head back and proudly maintained her silence. Rhaella laughed at her antics, thinking that had she been her age and her father widowed, she might have reacted similarly. "I daresay you are not," she decided after a brief pause, turning back towards the boy.
Senseless sounds left the child's mouth. No doubt to him it meant something, but Rhaella could only smile and nod, pretending she knew exactly what he meant. "I can see, aye. You sister could learn a thing or two from you."
The moody Lyanna pouted, nose scrunching in distaste. "Benjen, stop!" she ordered, voice carrying over her brother's babbling. Alas, Benjen did not stop. Younger brothers were prone to not listening. "Benjen!"
"There, there," the former Queen consoled the older sibling. "You needn't take on so. I want us to get on well, Lady Lyanna."
"I don't want a new mother. I have one." Of course that would be the trouble. Rhaella gave one small nod.
"Aye, then I shall only be your friend." Reticent, the child remained staring at her, as if unsure what she ought to decide upon. "Surely we can be friends, you and I. And Benjen too."
"But you won't be my mother," Lyanna warned, mien taking on a cast similar to her father's. "Promise."
"I promise I shan't try to act your mother. There, will that do?" Rhaella rose to her feet, picking up Benjen in her arms and pressing her lips against his forehead at the realisation that he carried the scent that clung to babes, the scent of milk. It was a comfort to have a reminder of motherhood that did not hiss at the sight of her.
The child in her arms snuggled happily against her front, pressing his scant weight into hers. A small smile brushed at the corners of her lips, but she held it back. "Now that I have met the both of you, 'tis time I returned to my own chambers. Shall we see each other in the morning?" The question had been addressed mostly to Lyanna, for it was her trust that she had to earn apparently.
At the girl's nod, Rhaella passed the babe into Nan's arms and quietly made her way without. Waiting upon her was Rickard. Why he had not entered she could not fathom. But he looked at her with something akin to appreciation.
"Well, Your Grace, now you have met my children. What do you think?" He offered his arm which she took immediately, the movement a habit.
If she were to be truthful, she would injure his pride. If she were to lie, she would be attacking his intelligence. "I believe there is need of some accommodation time for all of us, my lord."
"A diplomat as well," Rickard said in a monotone voice which did not quite lend itself to jesting. Still, there was no sign of insult. Rhaella nodded her head absently, neither an agreement nor a disagreement, but something to do.
They made their way down the spiralling stairs arm in arm. Rhaella doubted she would ever be quite comfortable with their steepness, nor very trusting of the way the sconces lit the path, In a few moon turns she would speak to Rickard about moving the children away from there, somewhere closer and easier to reach. Children needed supervision, not glided cages.
A/N: Le clues.:
1) Oliw Ozmmrhgvi droo yirmt srh xfyh gl gsv Ivw Pvvk hl zh gl ulin z ylmw yvgdvvm gsvn zmw gsv prmt.
2) Xszixlzo nzpvh gsv szmwh tl yozxp.
3) Gilfyov rh xlnrmt.