Jasmine's Notes! Wow, some of you ranted and raved about the announcement of Tyegon's marriage like I had just slaughtered the Starks early! I would like to thank those of you who understand that no pairing is ever set in Game of Thrones until the series is done and over with and were generally interested in how the plot would pan out and felt it interesting that things would be changing for Westeros and possibly even abroad. Some changes will be small, others far larger with wide, sweeping repercussions. That said, I would like to thank everyone for their reviews, but like George R.R. Martin himself, I'm going to write what I want to, with what plot I want to and Tyegon's final pairing will be with who I want it to be.
The chestnut colored mare stomped at the earth as it made its way northward amongst the packed caravan on the King's Road. It's dark haired rider was jostled about, his fine breeches hugging the animal's wide side as a pair of cream colored riding gloves gripped the reigns. "So, uncle, what do you make of this arrangement with the Greyjoys?"
"Ah, so you have learned of your upcoming nuptials, dear nephew," the Lannister dwarf said, eyeing his nephew with his mismatched eyes from beneath his black and yellow hair. "It will not lie, it was difficult to find you a match, much more difficult than your brother. Robert's obsession with marrying the houses of Baratheon and Stark is well known. At first, they went to the Martells, but after Lady Elia's demise during your father's rebellion, and who they believe ordered such actions, their answer was quite obvious."
"What about the Tyrells," Tyegon asked with a raise of his dark eyebrows. "I would have assumed a marriage would have been seen as fitting to the people of Highgarden."
"Indeed, so much so they already were in talks with your uncle, Renly, about marrying their only daughter to him," Tyrion said with a glint in his eye. "Of course, Margaery Tyrell's brother, Ser Loras would be moving with them to Storm's End as your uncle's shield sworn." A look passed between nephew and uncle as they both thought of the rumors about Renly Baratheon and Ser Loras Tyrell.
"I see," Tyegon said quietly, biting his lip in thought.
"The Greyjoy's though are an uncivilized people, always warring with the coast when they get the itch," Tyrion continued. "With Theon being warded to the Starks, the job was half done of keeping them in line, and by marrying you to Asha your father hopes to keep them better under thumb once Lord Balon should be heaved into the ocean's waves."
"I suppose it would be profitable," Tyegon said after a moment. "With the help of the crown and the Lannister coffers, mining operations could be made easier on the islands, provided we get our share. Armor and weapons would be made at more profitable price for the land, and we would have access to their ships to better defend the west."
"Now you are thinking like a Lannister," Tyrion said with a smile at the black haired boy. "Money and men, how odd to think of those two things together, I much prefer the thought of money and women," the man known as the imp said with a teasing smile. "But they are seemingly all that father thinks about, how to get more of each."
The prince gave his uncle a quick glance before turning his wildfire gaze back to the road. "He can be a good man, you know. I feel much closer to him than I do my own father."
"I wouldn't know," the dwarf said with a shake of his overly large head. "I have much more in common with your father than my own. How strange."
"My prince," a deep rough voice said from behind the two men causing them both to turn. "Word from the front is we are nearly there. Your mother has requested we halt for the time being, so that the royal family can be groomed and outfitted to meet with the Starks," the hound said with a growl, as if he thought the idea of them needing to spruce themselves up was a joke.
"Thank you, Ser Clegane," Tyegon said clearly as he brought his steed to a slow stop. He turned and watched as his brother's sworn shield brought his own horse around and moved back toward the blonde heir to the crown. "Nice fellow," he muttered sarcastically.
The dwarf snorted as he remained in his saddle watching as his nephew's retainers rushed forward to help him into his armor. "The man's a dog, hence the name, the Hound," he said with a chuckle. "The man's little more than a mercenary, and nearly as good a killer as his brother, Ser Gregor who now sits as the head of the House Clegane."
"Yes, well," the prince began as his shirt of chainmail was pulled over his tunic, "he could stand to better his manners some." He carefully stepped into his matching chain breeches, before the retainers began to fashion on his armor. "Though, I suppose any great length of time with my oh so loving brother would whittle away anyone's patience with the royal family."
"Speaking of the family," Tyrion started with an impish grin across his lopsided face. "I shall be diverting my path from theirs when we reach the village," he said with a chuckle. He laughed openly as he watched his nephew roll his eyes at his obvious behavior. "You should join me nephew, a boy should never reach your age with his cock dry."
"Thank you but no," Tyegon said, his eyes swiftly cutting to where his father was being worked over by is own crew of men and women, trying valiantly to get clothing that was seemingly far to small for his bulk around his body. "I believe I shall wait to scratch that particular itch with my bride. I hear the suspense is always better than your first time anyway."
"Very true, Tyegon, but it's best to get that first one out of the way," the imp admitted. "After all, you don't want to fall into your wife's arms like a fresh trout do you?"
"I'm to marry a Greyjoy, uncle," Tyegon said with a grin. "I'm sure she'll be used to fresh trout."
"Do as you wish, but as for me, I plan to drink and fuck my way through every whore in the north before we ride south again," Tyrion said with a leacherous grin. "I've nearly fucked my way through each of the seven kingdoms. Perhaps when we return, I'll head to Dorne and taste of their fruits."
The raven haired prince shook his head. "You do that uncle, but I'm not covering for you," he warned. "Should I be asked, I'll tell them exactly where to find you," he said as he accepted his helm from his final retainer, fully suited in his armor.
"If they know me, they won't need to ask."
Lord Eddard Stark, Head of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North felt his stomach roll with nerves as heard the clomping of hooves as the procession from King's Landing moved through his gates. First through were men carrying the banners of House Lannister, the golden lion on a field of red, who were swiftly followed by a legion of the Kingsguard in their gold plated breast plates and white cloaks.
Behind them came the boy who could only be Robert's oldest, Prince Joffrey, wearing clothes of fitted red leather, so clean they could have only just been put on, and across his shoulders was cloak of heavy black fur with not a trace of dirt within its hair. As protection, he rode just ahead of a man in black armor with the helm made to look like a snarling dog. Sandor Clegane, the Hound and the prince's sworn shield, and if the rumors were true, a man nearly as brutal as his elder brother.
Behind the Hound came another figure in black armor, though his was thinner and seemed to be made for speed rather than protection. The roaring lion helm, complete with the antlers of a young stag helped identify him as Robert's second son, Tyegon, the only one of the king's children to have his hair they said. Behind the two elder princes came another congregation of the kingsguard serving as a buffer should they be attacked from the rear.
Next came a carriage of dark wood, imported from the across the Narrow Sea and drawn by four mares, their manes and tails braided in absurdity. Ned, as he was called by his friends and wife, could only imagine it held the queen and her two youngest children, plus whatever servants were needed to make her life more comfortable on the long trip.
Finally, surrounded be a legion of men, came the king, a look of contempt upon his face as he rode atop a shortener steed with thicker than average legs. His hair was as wild as it had been in their youth, and his beard a tangled mess of a thing. The king's gut hung heavy over his belt and pushed on the buttons and stitching that kept it contained. Nearly as one, Ned, his family, their servants and the men who swore him allegiance went own on bended knee as a couple of stable boy's rushed forward with a set of steps for the king to descend from.
With a heave he brought his leg over his horse and began to his descent, his footsteps purposeful as he marched across the mud strewn ground. He didn't stop until he stood barely two feet from the Ned's head, and with his fingers motioned for the Lord of Winterfell to stand. Silently Lord Eddard moved to his feet, his face clearly showing his worry that something was wrong, other than the raven they had received declaring Jon Arryn's death.
King Robert, The First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, King of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm eyed his long time friend and ally and harrumphed. "You've gotten fat."
Ned lifted an eyebrow as he glanced down to the King's great girth and back up. Within moments the king's serious face turned to a beaming smile as he laughed. "Gods Ned, it's good to see you," he said as before the two men embraced one another like brothers. "And Catelyn," he said as moved to embrace her as well. Soon enough the King was moving down the line, meeting with children of Winterfell one by one.
The King's movement allowed the Queen to step forward to meet with them. "You're grace," Ned said hesitantly before he bent to kiss her hand in greeting. "I hope the journey was not to long for you."
"Ned," The king's voice called out, catching his attention. "I wish to see the crypt. It's time I paid my respects."
"My love, we've been traveling for a month, surely the dead can wait," Cersei answered her husband in Ned's place. The King's response was only to glance at his wife for a brief moment before he turned and swept away, leaving his long time friend to hurry after him.
The platinum blonde hair of Daenarys Targaryen spilled down her back in elegant waves as she looked out over the city of Pentos an its outlaying mountains of rock with no trees or grass to set it apart from the barren land that surrounded them. Her rich purple eyes were shadowed in doubt and worry as she thought of her only sibling, Viserys, the Beggar King. She felt no want to think of him as 'the Dragon' as he demanded to be called in his fits of rage which often left her ivory skin dotted with hues of yellow and purple.
She knew his plans, knew that he was going to have her married off to some heathen beast of the plains that called himself a Khal of the Darthraki people. She had heard rumors and stories of the horse loving barbarians and their savagery. She didn't want to married to a monster that like, but rather to go just go back to the Seven Kingdoms. Her brother, and their host, Illyrio Mopatis, were always going on about how the people hated her families butcher and gave secret toasts to them, waiting for them to return so they could become an army once more and take back what was theirs.
"Daenerys," the call of her brother rang out, and she turned her head slightly toward the noise that had interrupted her thoughts. "Daenerys," he called again, this time with a hint of steel in his voice as he grew nearer to the bathing room where she waited for her bath to cool. Calmly, with all the pomp of a servant, she made her way down from the balcony to see him rushing in, a dress held in his arms. "Ah, there you are! Look, Illyrio has bought you a gift!"
Viserys was much like her in looks, if taller than her by a head. Though, his eyes were darker in hue than her own, she often feared looking into them. Inside his eyes she felt she saw the madness of the Targaryen men, the same madness that had led a rebellion against their throne. "Go on, feel the fabric," he said innocently like a child holding a new toy.
Her hand slowly lifted so her fingers could drag along the material that would be hers to wear as she stood before the Khal like a slave on the block. "Mmm, isn't he a gracious host," the beggar king asked as he eyed the material appreciatively.
The dethroned princess liked their latest host, he had given them food and shelter, clothes to wear that weren't rags and books to read and learn from. He was the most generous host they had ever found in all the time that she could remember. "He has kept us for over a year and has never asked for anything," she said allowed, looking at her brother.
"Illyrio's no fool," the would be king said with a smirk. "He knows I won't forget my friends when I take back my throne." His eyes raked over her body for a moment before he bundled up the dress and held it away from his body so one of the servant girls could rush forward and take it. "You still slouch," he said annoyed, before he reached behind her neck and began to undo the strings that held her dress up. "You have a woman's body now," he added as she slid her dress from her shoulders and down to her waist, exposing her ample breasts to the light.
Daenarys went quiet as his hands began to run along her body, her eyes moving to the far wall of the bath as she thought of anything else other than fighting back against his unwanted handling. "I need you to be perfect today," he was saying as his thumb caressed her breast. "Can you do that for me," he questioned, causing her eyes to shift back up to his. No words could escape her throat as she fought back the nausea of his touch. "You don't want to wake the dragon, do you?"
"No," she whispered like a trained dog showing its obedience. Finally he released her and began to make his way out of the bath, his ego seemingly stroked.
"When they write of my reign, dear sister," he said, pausing at the door to the bath. "They will say it began today." With one last look at his sister's youthful body, he turned and made his way out of the room, leaving Daenerys alone. Her purple eyes shifted to the water of her bath, and how it boiled and streamed in its heat. With deliberate steps climbed into the blistering water to wash away her brother's touch, and felt nothing from but the water lapping at her soft flesh as if her body did not acknowledge the heat.
Tyegon had long ago learned the rich and cultured art of acting at least with contentment when he was bored out of his mind, an lesson his grandfather had pushed on him when he had once yawned in the middle of a meeting. Despite this, he was tired, bored and growing exceedingly tired of listening to the riotous rabble of the Winterfell men as he was watched his father openly drink himself into an early grave as he played with any busty wench or servant who strayed into his line of vision.
His mother was making nice with the Lady Catelyn and showing the same tell tale signs of fighting away boredom as he was. He didn't doubt the two women were talking about either the King's behavior or the prospect of marriage between his brother and Sansa Stark. The worst of it was, the feast was in their honor, and he couldn't excuse himself to rest. He had ridden hard for nearly a week to meet up with his family, and then rode nearly another full month to reach Winterfell, and his legs, back and neck were killing him.
He swore upon all the gods, that if his father and mother decided to head back home to King's Landing tomorrow, he would be forever branded as Kinslayer. His eyes flittered about the small dining hall where the feast was held until they landed on someone he felt obligated to speak to. Rising from his seat, he maneuvered through the crowd before he stood behind Robb Stark, Lord Eddard's oldest son and heir, and Theon Greyjoy. "Forgive my interruption gentlemen, but I would have a word Theon Greyjoy."
The Greyjoy heir gave Robb a smirk. "Duty calls, Robb. I will speak to you tonight after my return," the roguish teen said as he climbed to his feet. Seeing him in the proper light, Tyegon would say that Theon was a handsome man, with a freshly shaven face and hair the color of his own, even if it did lay more at ease about his head. His eyes were the same stormy blue as most of his relatives, and the prince hoped his disposition didn't match the legendary fury of his family.
The two stepped outside the hall, where conversations were not as likely to be overheard, by passing the prince's dwarven uncle as he entered. In the distance, Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell was slashing a training dummy with all his might, hopefully keeping himself entertained enough to keep his ears from straying. After walking a ways away from the door to the feasting hall, Tyegon turned to the man who would, supposedly be his future brother in law.
"First, I am not here to apologize," the prince started with a hard look at the older male, roughly four namedays his elder. "What I did at Lannisport was for the good of my people," he said with conviction as he stared down the no longer smirking Theon. "That isn't why I sought you out however. It has come to my attention that I have been set to marry your sister, Asha, and I wanted your thoughts on my intended."
Theon stared at the prince for a long moment, his fingers flexing as if longing to reach for a weapon that he did not have, before he closed his eyes and forced himself to regain his composer. "Aye, my father started the rebellion and my fool brothers charged in with him," the heir of the Iron Islands said in a voice that showed the line's rehearsal. "As for Asha, do I feel sorry for you," he said as his smirk returned. "I remember her fairly well from before my father's defeat and I was made a ward of the north. A short round little thing with gapped teeth and the fury of the sea," he said with a chuckle.
The prince frowned at the thought and wondered if his family in King's Landing were slighting him. Joffrey was to be wed to Sansa, a girl of extraordinary beauty, with hair the color of autumn leaves and bright blue eyes. Why would his mother and father draft him a marriage with a squat little troll if the boy in front of him was to be believed. His green eyes went back to Theon's face for a hard moment before he sighed. "Fine, I just wished to know of the woman I was meant to wed. You told Robb Stark you would be leaving and I do not wish to delay you in your movements."
The Greyjoy's lip twitched as if to snarl at the obvious dismissal, but wisely kept his face under control. "By your leave then, My Prince," Theon said with more than some disdain as he turned and began to make his way toward the gates.
Without anyone to speak to, Tyegon began to make his way toward his room. He had accomplished two goals in one and felt rather relieved for them. He had learned more about his future wife, and though he would like to say that appearance mattered little to him, the seeming slight of his parents tore at him. He had also escaped the feast, and could now finally spend the night on a soft mattress and enjoy the ease of his aching muscles and joints.
His bed wasn't soft though, he could barely tell the difference between the mattress an the ground outside the castle. His weariness though had his eyes closed and his breathing relaxed within minutes of laying down.