Chapter 27:
A/N: The long awaited chapter...apologies, this sort of fell off the bandwagon. I also got stuck with the plot line and couldn't bring myself to continue it.. But I suppose with the beginnings of the new season, it seemed fitting to try and continue this story. Thanks again!
Tyrion Lannister stretched his sore neck from a sleepless night as he strolled through the corridors of the Red Keep. He was tired, anxious and restless, having spent the last few days reading almost every single book in the royal library that had relation to famous battles and sieges of King's Landing.
Stannis Baratheon and his fleet was almost at their doorstep and Tyrion knew full well that the army of King's Landing would simply not be strong enough to defeat them. Yet no one in his family seemed to recognize the perils they were in. Not King Joffrey, not his dear sister, or even Varys. And it was this daunting fact that kept him up most nights.
As he walked through the courtyard, he suddenly caught the sight of his two favourite adversaries that he often enjoyed conversing with – even if they were enemies.
The coin and the spider were standing face-to-face like a enbattled old married couple, huddled deep within their own conversation that they did not notice Tyrion at all.
Ah! The advantages of being a dwarf, he joked to himself.
Curiosity simply got the best of him, knowing full well the number of plots and schemes Petyr Baelish and Varys had brewing in their heads. He knew they hated one another for reasons he could not completely understand, always trying to outdo the other; best each other's game. However Tyrion was never quite able to figure out what their end goals were – or if there was one at all.
Which is precisely he needed to keep an eye on them. He placed himself behind a column and crouched closer to the floor and remained completely still.
"It seems like our little bird survived the perilous escape from King's Landing right into Robb Stark's camp. Surely, it would seem that she could not have escaped with some help. Forgive my curious flaw, but the mystery is simply too much for me to handle. I must ask, Lord Baelish if you had heard anything?"
Petyr Baelish chuckled in amusement.
"What makes you think I had anything to do with it? If it were up to me, I'd have that Arryn girl's head on a spike. She's been nothing but a sore wound on my side. I'd have you to thank for that, Varys. You've taught her well – she lies and schemes just like the spider who weaves his web of intrigue so deep that he's got the entire court caught in it," he replied with distate.
"I do have my uses," he knowingly agreed. "And yet I heard a curious rumour today that tells me you might have had a bigger role in her escape. If its true, I'm not sure how the Lannisters would react...perhaps your head on a spike?"
"Amuse me," Petyr sneered. "What rumours have you heard? What have your little spiders told you?"
Tyrion, still in his hiding spot suddenly became even more interested in this conversation. Cersei had thrown a fit when she found out her only leverage to maintain the status quo against the Vale had mysteriously disappeared from her grasp. It was the last straw for Cersei Lannister – her hostages were disappearing or dying one by one ruining their advantage of controlling their enemies. It was something he knew his dear father would not tolerate for much longer.
"A mystery man, from the east arrives in King's Landing. I pose a question: what does a slave from Volantis have business here?" Varys began to ask.
"Many men from the east comes to King's Landing. It's called trade and commerce," Petyr retorted.
"Ah! But this one ended up at one of your brothels. And I must say, he was quite recognizable. So many intricate markings on his face – even if he did make the effort to hide his face."
"Stop talking in circles and just accuse me," Petyr stated, suddenly growing impatient of Varys' riddles.
"Why did you help her? You know Cersei needed Isabel in King's Landing. It was the only way to keep the Vale from entering the war."
"The Vale is already involved," he coolly reminded his counterpart. "Every minute she sleeps with the wolf, she's involved. Every minute she disobeys Cersei's orders, she's involved. Every minute she rallies her allies, she's involved."
"So you admit your role?"
"I admit that I was trying to help the realm, just like you. I simply took another perspective, by removing her from the equation. She's an obstacle. The sooner we get rid of her, the better. Call it collateral damage – I'm sure you're familiar with the term," he explained.
"But it seems like your plan failed then," Varys corrected. "Isabel Arryn is still alive...still sleeping in wolf's den."
"All plans are subject to failure. Perhaps I did not give enough coin to entice her guide to finish her off."
Varys gave a knowing smirk and glanced sideways towards the floor. "Hm, perhaps not all men are motivated by coin," he suggested.
"What is Isabel Arryn to you?" Petyr suddenly asked. "You protect her, then abandon her...and then decide to protect her again. I know you Varys all too well. You feign friendship, but you use your friends to a means to an end. We all know that Varys, Master of Whispers doesn't have any true friends. So tell me: is Isabel Arryn just another little chess piece in your game? Do you even care for her well-being?"
"And you mean to tell me you care?" Varys shot back.
"I admire her ability to remain an opposing problem. And her ability to avoid death."
"We all have our roles to play in this game...and she is simply not yet done playing. I am just a humble man, helping her through her journey," Varys cryptically replied.
"Now that's a certainly a curiosity," Petyr mused, "What is your role in the game of thrones? A bishop? No, you are no man of religion. A knight? But I do not see your sword. Perhaps you're just a pawn like all of us...useless and...dispensible."
"Yet most people underestimate the power of pawns. Even the smallest and weakest men can take down an entire kingdom," Varys warned.
Their voices gradually became quieter and Tyrion peered over the edge to see the two men departing in opposite directions, leaving him alone in the courtyard.
Which game are you playing, Isabel Arryn, Tyrion mused.
He suddenly did not like the prospect seeing the Vale's ships with Stannis' fleet. It would seem, it would only be a matter of time before Isabel Arryn showed her true allegiance. It was a legitimate concern – Isabel Arryn controlled some of the strongest ships in Westeros. Yet deep down, Tyrion already answered his question.
Isabel could only look on helplessly as Robb paced back and forth in his tent. She picked up the torn parchment from the dirt floor and read its message with a heavy heart. She was filled with sadness, anger and sorrow and could not even imagine what Robb was thinking at the moment – or if he was even thinking at all.
A loud clash startled her, and she jumped in her seat at the sudden outburst by the King of the North.
"I'm going to kill him myself," he seethed.
"You couldn't have predicted this," she tried to reason.
"Well I should have!" he yelled back. "I send Theon back to his father...the same man who had rebelled against Winterfell. The same man who had his only son taken away to be raised by his enemies. I should have guessed that Balon Greyjoy would have tried make a move against us."
Robb stood perfectly still, in a feeble attempt to calm himself down. But the anger, hurt and betrayal could be felt; the tension hanging in the stale air. Isabel stood up and cautiously approached him, and wrapped her arms underneath his fur cloak. She placed her head against his chest and listened to his fast heartbeats, unable to subside the anger within him.
Almost instinctively, he wrapped his arms tightly around her shoulders and held her tight, burying his face at the based of her neck. She let her hand graze through his hair, letting the King of the North grieve for his home.
"I'm going to kill him," he whispered again.
"What of Bran and Rickon? How is your mother doing?" she asked.
"The letter didn't say...we can only hope and pray to the gods that he's kept them alive for ransom. My mother is...in pieces. First my father, then my sisters...just when we thought Bran and Rickon were safe...Winterfell is gone." he replied bitterly.
"There there is hope," Isabel stated. "We can capture the North and retake Winterfell. Theon is no warrior, and he's a coward with no honour. He will not hold Winterfell for very long."
"My fight is here in the Riverlands, Isabel. I cannot tear my army apart and fight two wars from both sides...I don't have enough men. And I don't trust the Freys or their bannermen."
Isabel took Robb's face and cupped his cheeks which were damp from his silent tears into her hands. "You have enough men Robb Stark. The Lannisters are in disarray as well. They have the entire fleet of Stannis Baratheon to worry about and Tywin Lannister is not going to ignore King's Landing when he attacks - you know he will retreat."
"Which is why I need my men to be ready when Tywin leaves the Riverlands. I plan to attack Casterly Rock when his attention is at King's Landing!"
"But it puts the war at status quo. With Tywin's attention to the South, you can put together a plan to take back the North. Somebody loyal to you..a Northerner; Great Jon Umber, maybe?"
"I need my best men here," Robb reiterated.
"Bolton, then?" Isabel suggested. "As much as I do not like the man, he retains a large number of bannermen. Perhaps speak to him or - "
His lips suddenly came upon her own, cutting her words. He was desperate, hurt and confused – at this moment, Isabel was the only thing that felt real to him. He kissed her nose and then her forehead, but let his lips linger on her skin.
"This is not your fight Isabel," he reminded her gently. "I did not ask you to help me retake the North...I suddenly understand how you feel. Fighting for your home...and fighting against the Lannisters. How do you do it?"
She kissed him again and smiled against his lips. "I would not have the willpower to keep fighting without knowing that you are by my side. The fight is worth nothing if you do not have something to live for."
"I feel like I've already lost what I'm fighting for," he said worriedly.
"Never forget who you are, my love. You fight for your father, your brothers, your sisters and your home. That fight will never die out...never. It will always fuel your heart,." she stated.
Isabel had stayed with him until she was finally able to convince him to rest his eyes. Robb needed his energy if he was going to fight two wars no, and it pained her to see him so conflicted and angry. Her head was laid against his chest with the fur cloaks engulfed around her as she methodically listened the Robb's heartbeats. However unlike her king, Isabel could not find the peace to rest for the night. Theon's betrayal had put her deep in thought, making her reflect upon her own journey.
If Theon was able to betray the Starks without remorse or guilt- a family that raised him like their own son, then how different was she?
The winds howled throughout the night, blowing through the open windows sending the flames and light in different directions across the room. Her ladies-in-waiting had given her extra blankets, warning her of the oddly cold and rainy night during the summer season.
"Are you sure the winds won't break down the castle walls?" she innocently asked.
Her septa laughed while she tucked the young Arryn girl in. "I'm sure, my lady. These castle walls are very strong. It will take more than tonight's storm to break the stone."
Isabel was not satisfied, for her naive and blissful mind was convinced that the gods were trying to blow her home down.
She watched as her ladies-in-waiting left and she lied perfectly still while she counted until sixty before jolting back up and quietly tiptoed out the adjacent wooden door which lead to the nursery room where her newborn brother had slept.
He was barely six months old now, but was doted upon by his mother as well as their entire household. He had those big blue eyes, pale white skin and rosy cheeks that would make anybody smile. The ladies mused that one day, the young Robert Arryn would certainly be a heart breaker.
But Isabel completely disagreed with all of them – she thought her brother as a monster; an abomination to the Arryn line.
And tonight, she was going to fix that. She looked into his crib, and despite the thunder and lightning, her brother was soundly asleep under his blankets and fur.
It would only take one second, she convinced herself. One second and it would just be her again – like it always was.
She went to the window and opened it, letting the rain and the cold air right into the room. The sudden change in temperature sent a shiver through her body and she held her breathe, afraid Robert might wake and start crying.
But the room remained completely silent. She looked into the crib again, and saw his body slightly tremble and stir. Cautiously, she took his blankets and cast them aside, now leaving a barren newborn defenceless against the night storm and cold winds.
Isabel found herself taking steps back, distancing herself from her room. She held her breathe, counting to sixty waiting until her brothers cries would eventually alert the maester to the room.
But still, the room remained silent except for the howling storm.
Her back was now against the stone wall, and she was about to exit the room and return to her own peaceful slumber. The plan had simply gone too perfect. By the time they had discovered Robert, he would be wrought with a fever and if the gods were merciful, they would send him to the heavens.
As high as honour, another voice whispered.
This is not the way of the Andals, of your ancestors, it whispered again.
A growing guilt began to plague her conscience and she suddenly become conflicted. Would she dare leave her brother at the fate of the gods? Or would she, in the name of her family, protect him?
Robert began to stir and whimper, and Isabel knew she had to make her decision fast. His cries slowly became louder and louder and she felt herself stuck against the wall, unable to move or call for help. It was as if the gods were telling her to leave her brother's fate in their hands – an answer to her prayers and dreams.
The door suddenly opened and Isabel was quick to react. She leaped forward from the shadows, just as Maester Coleman entered to check on her brother.
"What is the matter?" he asked warily, suspicious of Isabel's sole presence.
She made sure her mask was in place, replacing her true intentions with one of a caring sister. "I heard his whimpering from my room, Maester. The shutter must have blown open from the storm."
The maester cautiously went towards the crib to check on Robert and covered his body with his blankets again. Isabel gulped, afraid that she was caught and would be in serious trouble. She stood perfectly still and watched as Maester Coleman placed two fingers on Robert's neck and then caressed his cheeks to lull him back to his previous slumber. He then walked over to the window and closed the shutters, latching them together so they wouldn't break open again.
He turned and gave one long and hard look at her. Her heart dropped to her stomach – he knew she was lying. Isabel closed her eyes and readied herself for a reckoning.
"It is late Isabel, go back to bed," he gently said.
"...what?" she said in confusion.
"I expect you to be in the study at first light tomorrow. We are rehearsing the High Valyrian language, remember? I need you and that sharp mind of yours to be ready. Now go on, off to bed," he instructed.
Still confused, she took a step forward towards the master.
"But...Maester Coleman? Aren't you..Weren't you..," she found herself fumbling her own words, unable to form a sentence, "Aren't you going to..tell my father?"
His eyes gave away a knowing look and he let own a huge sigh. "If I told your father every time you were out of bed, your father would never have a peaceful night."
"But... -"
"But what, Isabel?" he pressed.
She opened her mouth, wanting to ask him but decided to keep silent. Perhaps the gods were still on her side, and perhaps this was a secret that will never be discovered.
"It's nothing...good night, Maester Coleman," she quietly said, before slipping back into her own quarters.
The memory sent another chill down her spine, and she huddled against Robb's body for warmth. He unconsciously tightened his grip around her waist and nuzzled his face in her hair.
Theon Greyjoy was no different than her, and yet she had condemned him as a traitor and coward. But who was she to judge? She was guilty of the same charges, of the same treachery and betrayal. Yet somehow, she was seen as the hero, while Theon, Cersei and her little brother were seen as the enemies that needed to be put down.
Maester Coleman had never spoken of that night, Isabel suddenly noted. Nor did his feelings towards her ever changed. He had remained her closest and best tutor, never holding ill feelings towards her. But they both knew because of that fateful night, Robert would never grow into the handsome lord the ladies-in-waiting had once dreamt of. Robert's first seizure occurred shortly after that night, and it became a constant curse for Isabel – a stern reminder of what she was capable of.
And it truly scared her.
She looked up at Robb's face and gave him a light peck on the lips, letting the kiss linger for a few moments. Carefully, Isabel tore herself from Robb's entangled arms and removed herself from his sleeping form. She felt her heart breaking once again – but this time, she wasn't sure if she had a heart anymore. Everywhere she looked, she would see darkness at every corner, an enemy ready to attack, and a young boy with big blue eyes and rosy cheeks staring at her.
I started this war a long time ago. It's time I finish it and seal my fate.
A/N: Enjoy! xx