Chapter 29.

'I am so sorry.'

7th Moon. 297AC.

As news of the Westerland skirmish slowly spread across the Seven Kingdoms, many began to worry about just what was going on and if it would grow larger.

In the Reach, Olenna Tyrell sat at a large balcony, sipping a goblet of arbor gold as the warmth of the early afternoon sun cascaded down from the skies.

Next to her, Willas Tyrell, her grandson read through a letter she had passed to him once he had arrived, his ornate looking walking stick resting next to his chair.

"So… Gregor Clegane has gone rogue."

Olenna snorted, relaxing further into her seat.

"It was bound to happen in any case. That monster has always been a rabid dog. And like a rabid dog, should have been put down and left for the vultures to feed off of."

Willas snorted wryly as he folded the parchment and set it to one side.

"Rather disturbing of you, grandmother. But I do agree in a sense. I heard about the obscenities he committed in the late Lord Tywin's name during the war of the mad king. And yet, he still managed to escape prosecution. I do wonder who let go of his leash this time. The imp perhaps? Or the imp's uncle?"

"Bah! As if the Mountain would follow the disgrace of Tywin's seed. No. This has the work of his sister all over it."

"Cersei Lannister?"

Olenna hummed.

"Ever since she married a Marbrand, I had wondered. I remember the child. Very foolish, insipid and beautiful the hateful shrew was. Much like her twin. And everyone knows Tywin's hatred for the imp. If Jaime Lannister was in the Kingsguard and the imp was not fit to rule, then…"

"Then Cersei Lannister would have been expected to take up Ladyship until she had a son."

Olenna nodded, her smile sharpening.

"But then the King married her off to what would be seen as a lesser house in Cersei Lannister's opinion, and then gave the Lordship to the imp. She never did forgive House Targaryen for the fall of her house. First, Aerys would not allow her marry Rhaegar Targaryen, and then her father died fighting for the mad man AND she lost the power she wanted. What better way to get it back than now?"

Willas hummed thoughtfully even as a servant poured him a drink.

"So this is not a skirmish?"

"No. I believe it is just the beginning. Except she is taken out of the equation fast. And I don't think the imp is loved enough for that."

Willas chuckled.

"Well, as long as it doesn't crop over to the Reach, then may the best contender win."

Olenna huffed.

"It better not. The Greyjoy rebellion is not even up to a decade ago. We don't need more men rushing off and dying for useless glory. Now boy, when will I hear an announcement from your wife?"

Willa's raised an eyebrow as he took a sip of his wine.

"Hm?"

Olenna rolled her eyes.

"About the babe in her belly of course!"

Willas' eyes widened as he choked on wine and coughed out, slapping at his chest much to his grandmother's exasperation.

"H-how did—"

"Did I know? Stupid boy. I have watched many walk these halls with babes in their bellies for decades now. I can tell when a woman is with child. Tell me, how long?"

The soon to be 26 name days old stared owlishly at his grandmother who irritatingly sighed, making a grasp for her cane before he hurriedly replied.

"We only found out a few days back and wish to wait a little more before announcing. But she is at least a moon along."

"I should hopefully see a great grandchild before I kick the bucket."

Willas sighed fondly.

"It is you, grandmother. I believe you will live longer than us and see all our children."

Olenna sniffed.

"Live longer than you all and become skin and bones? I would poison myself before that happened. And what children do you talk about? I very well am not expecting any from Loras, what with his relationship with that Baratheon nuisance. Garlan is half in love with knighthood and chivalry. Perhaps I may get from Margaery soon. If only she married the Prince, then perhaps one would be on the way now."

Willas rolled his eyes. He had heard this way too much and tired of the conversation.

"Well it was not bound to happen, grandmother. Now we move forward. There are other eligible young men out there. Hasn't father been looking into her suitors for a while now?"

Olenna nodded thoughtfully.

"Perhaps the Baratheon boy would do. If his bastard cousin could take away the prince then the boy had to pay somehow."

"Grandmother!"

"Silence boy."

Willas stifled a chuckle as he continued.

"Jon Baratheon, hm? I remember him. Good lad. And he seemed rather enamored by Margaery as well. Better than Jasper Arryn in any case."

Olenna snorted.

"If your father dared set her up with that womanizer, I would throw him down the stairs. Rowena Arryn might be a good mother, a sharp mind too, but her son is not desirable for marriage. Pity to whoever the boy marries too."

Willas nodded in agreement. It might not be known, but amongst some select few, they knew the kind of man Jasper Arryn was growing up to be.

2 bastards already and not even in his 20s yet. He had even had one when he was but 13! It could be forgiven, of course. Perhaps he was too young to understand how such things worked… But a second?!

He would never have that for his sister. She only deserved happiness, and that boy would not be it for her.

"Has your brother told you of his plans to travel back to the Stormlands?"

Olenna spoke up once more with a frown and Willas nodded.

"Of course. He wishes to leave in a few days."

"Stupid boy. What does Baratheon have that cannot be found in the Reach?"

Willas opened his mouth but his grandmother continued.

"And he better be careful with his doings. I have heard rumors surrounding him being a sword swallower. My grandson he may be, but I will not condone negative eyes and mouths on our House. Talk to him."

The future Lord of the Reach nodded somberly. Perhaps it was the excitable thought of being a father, but even he didn't want any stain against his family… and the future ones to come.

King's Landing.

Small Council.

"What needs to be discussed first?"

The King spoke up once he say down with his council that afternoon.

Jon Connington, Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Stannis Baratheon, Lord Wyman Manderly, Lord Monford Velaryon and the Grand Maester Pycelle.

And then the final member who was still a new face to said council members. The exotic looking Chataya.

"The Westerlands, your grace."

Jon spoke first with a frown.

At yes. He had heard about the madness Gregor Clegane had dealt a town of small folks and it had turned his stomach and filled him with unease.

"Has there been any word of Clegane?"

He directed at Chataya who shook her head.

"Not at the moment, your grace. It would seem someone is controlling his actions though. No man that vicious and rabid lays low this easy."

"So this wasn't just a fit of madness?"

Monford Velaryon asked almost disbelievingly and Chataya nodded regally.

"Indeed."

"Should we not do something about it? This is the Westerlands!"

Pycelle spoke up, dabbing sweat from his forehead while his 3 chins wobbled and Stannis Baratheon cut in with a sneer.

"And why should we?"

The Grand Maester puffed up at that, face red.

"It is our duty as members of the small council, to serve—"

"Oh you'd know MUCH about serving now, wouldn't you?"

Chataya absentmindedly spoke up while observing her well painted and kept while Wyman Manderly and Monford Velaryon snickered at the red look on the Maester's face.

Rhaegar decided to cut in before it escalated like many of his council meetings did. It was why he always ensured the meeting never took longer than an hour if he could.

He'd rather have longer hours with his Hand instead. Jon knew how to do his job after all.

"I am afraid it is impossible to dictate the affairs of a Kingdom, Pycelle. As the laws set by King Jaehaerys, the crown cannot actively control the affairs of Kingdoms except explicitly asked to do so. Especially in-house affairs. And this is a Westerland affair. Except this becomes an issue between two or more kingdoms like the Greyjoy rebellion, we will not disrespect my Vassals."

Ser Barristan and Stannis Baratheon nodded in agreement before the Commander of the Kingsguard spoke up.

"If it gets too much, then perhaps his grace may send Jaime Lannister to aid his brother."

Jon nodded in agreement and Rhaegar agreed.

"Very well. For now, we send a letter to Lord Tyrion Lannister. If he requests for aid, then we shall step in. What I can do for now, is use my powers against Gregor Clegane."

He shuffled through a parchment, placing it in his front and taking the royal stamp in hand.

"With you all as my witness, from this day forth and till his death, I strip Gregor Clegane of his knightly title. A knight protects and fights for what his right. He has desecrated that meaning, and he deserves punishment for such actions. Let it be known. This man is no knight. The letters will be sent across the Seven Kingdoms."

Some members of the council murmured in surprise.

It has been ages since a Knight had been stripped of his title after all. It was something not done, as being a Knight was something men were protective of.

Ser Barristan stifled a shiver even as the King stamped his decree, passing it to his Hand who took it.

"Any other news?"

Chataya spoke up.

"News from Pentos. I have heard of the unfortunate passing of Varys."

Wyman Manderly perked up in surprise.

"Oh? That cockroach is dead? Ha! I thought he'd end up living a hundred more years. Good riddance to bad rubbish!!"

He boomed out, eliciting winces from the others. Lord Manderly might not be as loud as his fellow Northerners, but he was still a man of the North regardless.

"Do we know what happened?"

Jon Connington asked in curiosity.

"He fell down a flight of stairs."

That certainly surprised them further.

"Huh."

Pycelle finally spoke up as he remembered something.

"Ah, your grace. I had almost forgotten. A letter came this afternoon, from the Iron Islands."

As he said that, the men's shoulders stiffened.

A letter from the Iron Islands?

There hadn't been in years and Rhaegar honestly preferred it that way.

"What news have they brought to us?"

"Balon Greyjoy, your grace. It would seem that he took a nasty fall from his balcony a few days ago during a nasty storm. He fell to his death below Pyke. Balon Greyjoy has passed."

Rhaegar's eyebrow raised in surprise as he tapped at the round oak table, deep in thought as the others discussed around him.

"Well, I say this is good news! Out with the old and in with the new."

Wyman spoke up with a satisfied smile, after all, if it was to be agreed upon, the North suffered a lot from the Ironborn.

He turned to Pycelle.

"Did they say anything else? I believe Lord Stark has the new Lordling under him."

Pycelle cleared his throat.

"It does not work that way. Having studied the Ironborn, I can very well say young Lord Theon will not be around to bury his father."

Rhaegar looked up at that.

"And why not?"

"Because when a Lord of Pyke dies, they close their borders for morning for a few days until the burials are done and the Lord is returned to their Drowned god. Then because Lord Theon lives on the greenlands, as it is called, the followers of the Drowned god known as the Drowned men will go to the boy himself, baptize him in the ways of their religion. And even then he cannot go straight to Pyke."

He looked at the Hand who immediately understood.

"Ah, yes indeed Pycelle. Your grace, because of the rebellion, Theon Greyjoy is a hostage on our lands. He needs your permission to leave. He has to come here and swear fealty to you by himself, before he can be officially recognized as the Lord of Pyke by the other Kingdoms."

Rhaegar nodded while Monford snorted.

"Those drowned men and their silly traditions. Baptize him? What if the boy drowns?"

Pycelle answered once again.

"Then to them, it means the Drowned god rejects him. He has a sister, does he not? One Yara Greyjoy? A captain in her own right."

Stannis grunted.

"Perhaps we should watch them carefully. We don't need the boy usurped by any member of his family. We spared his life so we could have someone civilized become Lord of Pyke after all."

Jon sneered.

"The boy grew up in the North. Being civilized cannot be expected."

Wyman Manderly puffed up at that and even Ser Barristan frowned disapprovingly.

"Oh shut up, Connington. Perhaps you need to fill that stomach of yours for you spew nonsense. More eggs in your diet will do you good."

Jon stuttered in offense as he stared at the Lord of White Harbor and Lord Velaryon snorted, enjoying the Hand getting talked down.

"What would the egg do for him? Haven't you heard, Lord Manderly? Our dear Hand has already lost use of what makes him a man—"

"RUMORS!!!"

Jon snapped out with a red face and Rhaegar sighed, putting a hand on his friends shoulder to calm him.

He had grown tired of barking out orders to stop them from calling each other names over the years. As long as no swords or weapons were drawn, that is.

"Enough from all of you. On the Iron Islands issue, let them bury their Lord in peace. Perhaps with Them Greyjoy soon to be leading them, this will bring in an era of betterment for them. Maybe a marriage to a Northern or Riverlander House would do him good as well."

The council nodded though Jon seemed to still be reigning himself in, glaring in anger at the Master of Laws and Master of Coin respectively.

Rhaegar sighed into his chair.

"Very well."

Beyond the wall.
Craster's Keep.
WARNING! MENTIONS OF INFANT DEATH AND SACRIFICE!

The nights were slowly becoming unnervingly cold.

At least here at the Keep, they had some warmth. The fires keeping them safe while outside, the cold winds howled like a woman in distress.

The girl sat by the fireplace, watching over her younger sisters… nieces?... She did not know.

She was the oldest amongst the group of children, with the next one being 10 name days.

Throwing another log into the fire, she ignored the painful cries of another sister in the other room on her birthing bed.

It sounded painful.

One of her baby sisters whimpered where she lay on the floor as another scream of pain escaped the room.

"When will it be over?"

The little girl whimpered out, only for her to be shushed by two other girls.

It would do no good to attract his attention after all.

Gilly herself remembered the one time she had attracted her father's attention. She still remembered the sting of her eyes and cheeks. Her mother had feared she'd lose her left eye for a while.

Once she had recovered, mother had raised her to be honest, quiet and less prone to poking her nose where it didn't belong. It had taken some time and many beatings for Gilly to learn.

But Gilly had always been an observer. Watching and learning. Gilly doesn't want to be a sister wife. Father was old and his breath smelt and sometimes he hit her across the face like he did the others when drunk.

The weak cries of a newborn resonated across the room and everyone perked up.

Not Gilly though, no.

She held her breath as her father rose up from his seat in the corner, slightly hunched as he walked into the birthing room.

Gilly swallowed tightly, her wide doe eyes focused on the door as she craned her gaunt neck as if trying to get closer.

"NO!!"

She fell, scrambling back at the horrified shout even as the door slammed open and an angry Craster walked outside, holding a new and naked baby still crying and showing it's discomfort at being manhandled.

Gilly watched as the new mother stumbled outside as well, blood dripping down her bare legs and Gilly looked away in slight disgust even as her 15 name days old sister cried.

"NO! Please, give him to me! I will care for him!"

She cried even as the other women tried to hold her, some in pity and some uncaring.

Father ignored her even as he shrugged on a fur jacket and put on his boots.

"Please!! You won't know he's here!"

Her sister yanked herself from the other women's arms, falling to her knees and grasping tightly at Father's leg as tears rolled down her cheeks.

"Please! Give him to me! You will never hear him! I'll eve give him to the crows—"

The loud sound of Father hitting Muna across the face and a crack as she fell to the ground, blood dripping out of her nose even with her heartbroken cries made Gilly wince as she saw his angry face.

"I am warning you, girl. No boys in my household! Next time, bear a girl like you are told to! Better clean yourself up while you are at it! You are to give me another child in the next 10 moons!"

And with that, he opened the door, ignoring the growing shries of the newborn boy and marching out while Muna cried her eyes out and the other women tried to care for her.

A little further away, Nella stood, watching the scene with an almost uncaring face.

She was one of the older sister wives at over 40. And it was said that she only bore boys for Father. 8 boys… gone.

Gilly had always wondered what happened to her brothers. Were they given to the crows? Perhaps other wandering free folks?

She glanced at the slightly opened door, and then back at the other women. Her mother seemed to be busy with the younger ones who were crying in confusion and fear.

Gilly had always been a curious one. No one was watching.

She snuck out the door while no one was watching.

Craster's Keep was surrounded by the woods and a couple of and some lakes nearby.

Gilly knew the only way her father would head to was the clear one he usually warned them all away from.

She had never been away from the Keep for long. She had only ever been half a league away until she and the others were commanded back.

She shivered in discomfort as the cold wailing wind hit her hears and she whimpered slightly, beginning to feel slight pain, especially her fingers and ears.

As she moved further, she spotted the silhouette of her father and quickened her steps though ensuring she kept her distance as much as she could.

She quickly ducked behind a tree when he stopped in what seemed to be a small clearing where he knelt down, placing the babe against the cold snows of the ground, eliciting louder cries from the babe.

Craster looked unconcerned even as he unsheathed a knife.

Gilly's eyes widened in horror as tears built around her eyes at what she knew he was about to do.

As Craster raised the knife in both hands above his head, he opened his mouth, and began to sing something in a very haunting tone and language.

Gilly did not understand what he was saying. It did not sound like the Old Tongues her mother had tried teaching her. It didn't sound like anything she knew.

It sounded cold.

Wrong.

Craster meanwhile, called out to the Cold gods as he always did. The gods of his father and father's bore him. He called out, ready to soil sacrificial blood in their names, just as he had always done with his sons.

But things had changed over the past few moons. The air had changed. Magic had awakened, and with it, something in the lands even more beyond the North.

The invocations he sang, were used in times since passed when the Long Night had not been driven away. The invocations once used by followers and worshippers of the Great Other, to call upon his creations, to sacrifice to them.

The Others.

Gilly shivered and whimpered as the cold seemingly picked up and she fell to her knees, teeth clattering and shoulders shaking uncontrollably.

As Craster brought the knife down on the slowly weakening babe, he stopped, head tilting slightly as he turned towards something.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

Like feet against floor.

As a startled gasp escaped his lips, knife falling from his hands as he fell on his ass in shock.

Confused, Gilly decided to take a peak, only to stifle a cry of fear at the… things that had just come from nowhere.

Tall and gaunt, they were.

With flesh as pale as milk glass. Hair well coiled and white as snow, cold blue eyes like icy fire as bright as the blue stars in the sky.

They were… beautiful to look at. Beautiful and scary, with their face bereft of emotion and expressions.

Both held beautiful icy large swords, and when they moved, they glided like they were on air and yet their legs moved.

So unnatural, as fear gathered in her heart and she noticed her whole body shivering uncontrollably, her fingers slowly turning blue.

For the first time in 8,000 years, Craster looked upon the Cold gods.

"You're here… real…"

He whispered out in utter awe and worship as he eagerly knelt on his knees.

"I had thought… grandfather taught the songs to me, but I did not believe they would ever invite you to my dwellings. How may I serve, oh Cold gods?"

He pressed his head against the cold snow before raising it up in fanatic worship.

The two beings said nothing, until one raised it's pale and bony fingers, opening it's mouth. But rather than talk in a language understood, it let out an unholy shriek so despairing that even Craster had to cover his hears.

But the meaning was understood as the Other pointed at the slowly dying babe, and Craster's eyes widened with glee.

"The boy. You have come for the boy. You can have him. I will send them to you. However many you want! I shall—I shall provide them all!!"

He replied in a crazed voice and Gilly whimpered.

She had to get out of here.

She had to!

She had—

Two heads snapped towards her direction, and she stumbled on her ass. And yet, they stared…

All feeling left her as primal fear settled instead, and without care for what her Father would do to her, she let out a cry of horror, turning on her heels and running like the hounds of hell were on her tails.

As she distanced herself from the scene and the silhouette of her home got closer, all she could hear was her Father's crazed laughter echoing in the forest behind.

Gilly had always been a curious one.

But not anymore.

Summerhall.

Lyarra tossed and turned in her bed at night.

In her dreams, were flashes.

Flashes of darkness and light.

Ice and Fire.

Flashes of things she could not understand.

'Wake up!!!'

She sat up in bed with a gasp, heartbeat palpitating beyond what it should have and hands shaking uncontrollably.

Letting out a soft sigh, she laid back down on her bed, pressing a hand to her chest as if trying to stop the rapid heartbeat while breathing in and out in a controlled manner.

It wasn't working.

S had been busy this past few days. Learning from Lady Selmy what it meant to be the Lady of a household. It was more than she'd thought. More than what Lady Stark was teaching Sansa and Arya.

And then picking up on her training with Brienne and sometimes Aegon when he wasn't busy catching up with his duties and training his squire.

Lyarra suddenly felt goosebumps on her body as she stiffened.

Everything was quiet.

Too quiet.

The light in her room was dim but golden light cascaded her room.

The large windows in her room were open, and the silky curtains billowing slightly.

Something was wrong. Too wrong.

She sat up slowly, hand going under her pillow where she kept her trusty dagger and gripping it tightly behind her back as she stood up, narrowing her eyes as she looked around the room.

And then her focus was on the window in the corner, where a curtain billowed to the ground.

A shadow moved and she raised her dagger, crouching slightly.

"Who are you?"

She whispered out in command, and the figure finally moved.

A man.

With a shaved head of tattoo, he had a sad face as he held a dagger in hand, glimmering even in the dim lights of the room.

His mournful face settled on her.

"I am so sorry."

And he rushed towards his intended victim.

And that's it!

First off, Congrats Rhaenys! She's going to be a mother! It was bound to happen anyways. She's been married for about 3/4 moons now. Olenna is also really fun to write, lol. She's also really not a fan of Renly. Well, she's not a fan of many people outside her family anyways.

Poor Jon Connington too. He just can't her over the rumors!

Craster is also an asshole, isn't he?

As for Lyarra… ah well…RIP.

Next chapter, Summerhall goes crazy, in the Iron Islands a Kingsmoot is called, in the North Bran dreams as many Lords and Ladies begin to arrive at Winterfell.