Tribulations
It was obvious. Melisandre had lost favour with the King. While she had never been popular with the court, Stannis's court had been emboldened enough to criticise her openly now, and yet the King had said nothing. It had been hard enough to gain the confidence of a man like Stannis in the first place. The man was hard, and not one prone to believe in portents and the higher mysteries. If it hadn't been for Queen Selyse, Melisandre would likely never even been able to meet the King. And now, with Joffrey continuing to live on, while others died in King's Landing like flies, Stannis seemed to be losing patience. His loss at the Battle of Blackwater hadn't helped. The King's Small Council had already started poisoning him against her, and she knew she was an easy target: a foreigner with a strange religion, challenging the High Lords: their beliefs, and more importantly, their position.
With the likes of Davos Seaworth whispering in the King's ears, Melisandre knew that the King's protection was ever dwindling, unless Joffrey was eliminated. And yet how was this to be achieved?
The priestess consulted the flames again…Joffrey had somehow managed to undo the magic she had invoked of R'hllor, something she had never thought possible. She could perhaps kill him yet, but the King was unwilling to provide even the meanest sacrifice now, too sceptical of her powers.
Was that why Stannis lost? Why Joffery yet lived? Because Stannis Baratheon was not truly faithful? Did Azor Ahai need to be a true follower of R'hllor? She wasn't sure. The prophesy said that Azor Ahai needed to have King's blood, and a man to lead them out of darkness naturally needed to be honourable, strong and true. Stannis, she knew, was all of these, and so anticipating that the Dark Night would soon be upon them, and she had felt Stannis was their best hope.
Yet the flames: they showed different pictures every time. Strangers she hadn't ever seen or heard about, and then Sansa Stark. Sansa Stark had King's blood, too, Melisandre knew. The blood of the Kings of Winter of old, even as they had been ousted by the Targaryen conquest. She wondered if it could be Sansa Stark, and eliminated her quickly. Robb Stark was a descendant of the Kings of Winter, and he had succumbed to R'hllor's magic. What would make her special? And yet, it was Sansa, not Robb that Melisandre had seen in her flames.
There was little to be gained at Stannis's side, she decided. If he did not believe, there was nothing she could do. Something had changed the night of the battle of Blackwater, when she had invoked R'hllor against the sacrifice of a hundred good men. The flames had changed. Who was she to question the flames. Perhaps Stannis's change in attitude was the will of R'hllor, pushing her to seek elsewhere, and while she was unsure about what her God was telling her, she decided that she must seek Sansa Stark.
Tywin Lannister wondered why he was fated to serve mad Kings. Tywin had been disappointed and humiliated by Aerys, but Tywin had retained his pride. He had gone back to the wealthiest of the Seven Kingdoms, only consolidating his power while Aerys slipped further into madness.
Joffrey, on the other hand was his own blood. A Lannister. Tywin had worked hard his entire life to put a child of his own blood on the iron throne. Retreating to Casterly Rock while Aerys was King was easy. Could he do the same with King Joffrey? What would happen to Tywin's legacy? The Lannister legacy? Be reduced to a laughingstock? It couldn't be countenanced. The boy had to be a Baratheon.
Aerys had been an inbred princeling, and the man's eventual madness had not particularly surprised his Hand. Madness or greatness was expected of the Targaryen coin toss, and given that Aerys wasn't great, Tywin always had an expectation on which side that coin would fall. What reason had Joffrey to be an idiot? It must have been Robert's blood. If there was any evidence against the foul rumours that still had not been culled after Cersei's death, it was Joffrey's imbecility. No blood of Tywin's could be so utterly stupid. Even Tyrion, grotesque that he was, was no fool.
He sighed.
It was time to meet his idiot grandson, and counsel him. There was time yet for the Trial by Combat, and perhaps things could still be salvaged. If Severus Martell could be guaranteed his life and was persuaded to go to the wall, the North could yet be gained, and without a drop of blood spilled. He would have to put the proposal to Joffrey.
The King was in his solar, and Lord Varys was with him, when Tywin entered.
The King looked furious. "Prince Oberyn Martell has put his name forth as Champion against the Mountain," stated his grandson, as if Tywin was unaware of the matter. "Lord Varys tells me that he intends to cheat. He knows he cannot win fairly, so he has poisoned his spear. I want to watch the Mountain crush the Viper, like he did his weakling of a sister."
Tywin wanted to strangle the idiot. It was no secret that the Viper poisoned his weapons. The ugly business with Yronwood was known to everyone. Did Joffrey expect them to confront Prince Oberyn? It is as if he wanted to start a war with Dorne, mentioning Elia. Those wounds went deep. "Ser Gregor's role in the Princess's death are mere rumours, Your Grace," he said blandly. "We do not know for sure who killed the Princess Elia during the sack. When the blood's up at times of war, men do things beyond the instructions of their commanders. Who was responsible, we really don't know. War is chaotic, as I am sure Your Grace would remember from the Battle of the Blackwater."
At the mention of Stannis's attack, the boy scowled, as if he didn't like the reminder, and looked as if he was going to interrupt, perhaps even argue. Tywin did not give him the chance. He raised his voice a little, and continued, "As for Prince Oberyn, it is for the Gods to judge, Your Grace. If the Martells are guilty, Ser Gregor will certainly prevail."
Joffrey was pacing angrily. "But what of the poisoned spear? Oberyn Martell mocks the Gods. He undermines our rules. He mocks us!"
"Would you accuse a prince of Dorne of cheating in a Trial by Combat? Doran Martell will call his banners, and given the insult to Princess Margaery, his wife, the Tyrells will like join him. The Tyrells have no fear of reprisal. They have removed Lord Sirius from the castle, and over five thousand men in arms camp outside the city gates. Princess Margeary is in the Dornish camp outside the Red Keep, and the Tyrells have also moved to their own manse.
"Prince Oberyn is rash, but even he will not use a poison that will act immediately. He cannot afford to have the verdict of the trial set aside. Would you prohibit the prince from using his own arms? A direct confrontation is not a fight you will win."
The King was positively fuming now, his eyes were flashing. "A fight I cannot win, My Lord? I am the King. My bannermen must obey me or die. My father brought down the Targaryens for stealing his betrothed. Smashed Rhaegar's armour in. Finished their entire House. The insult House Martell does to us is worse. They killed the Queen Mother!"
What had Joffrey been taught these last few years, Tywin couldn't fathom, and while he agreed with his grandson about the insult, His Grace spoke like a low-born soldier, not a prince of the realm. "Lord Varys, leave us." He needed to educate the royal cretin.
"Your Grace, if anything Robert's Rebellion showed that bannermen can and do rise against their Kings. You need their support, their armies. Aerys lost the rebellion, even as he had the Reach and Dorne, along with the strength of the Crownlands."
"So you will let the Martells humiliate us? Let the Starks get away with their traitor blood? My father would have shattered them!" The king was wild-eyed with anger.
"Certainly not! We will strike when the time is right. We will strike when we are certain to win. NOT when we will break with the Reach and Dorne. The Mad King insulted our house and your father's, a long time ago. We got our vengeance. We got our vengeance when the time was right. Your uncle killed Aerys himself, your father crushed Rheagar and his armies, my bannermen put sword to Aerys's line. We did it because we could. If we strike the Martells now, we gain nothing, but may lose everything.
The Vale is neutral now. How would Lysa Arryn react with her niece dead? If we keep Sansa Stark alive, however, she can be made to marry a loyal bannerman of Your Grace, like your uncle Tyrion. Though Sansa Stark, we gain the North."
"When do we strike, then? Won't my bannermen will think me weak? And what do we do now?"
"Sansa Stark is needed alive if we want to consolidate the North. I have asked the High Septon to insist that there needs be two separate trials, but I suspect that the Tyrells as well as the Dornish will vehemently oppose it. The only way to sever the bond between Martell and Stark is to send him to the wall. It is a mercy you must offer, against a confession of guilt. Prince Severus was aware of the overwhelming evidence against him, which is why he chose to forego the trial. The man is a known coward. He has lived his entire life as a hostage at the Red Keep. If he gets to keep his head, I believe he will accept our terms."
It was hard decision for Remus to make: to stay and watch the trial, or to accompany Sirius to Highgarden. On the one hand, Remus wanted justice for his best-friend whom he had misjudged so badly, and who had languished in Azkaban for twelve long years. Staying on in King's Landing would allow him to investigate. On the other hand, staying back would mean leaving Sirius at his most vulnerable, alone in a strange land, without anyone from their world to turn to.
Then there was the problem of the wand. He knew magic existed in this world. They wouldn't have been able to fix Ron without it. If magic existed, it followed that magic users did as well. Could Remus rely on his reputation as a knight and a Clegane to safeguard himself and any person accompanying him? Remus granted that he was rather large and formidable, and in armour would look downright terrifying. Would that be enough to keep enemies and miscreants at bay? He would ideally need a wand. Ron was a Tarly in this world, Remus knew. A bannerman to House Tyrell. It would not be difficult for Ron to join the guard taking Sirius to Highgarden. That would be mean access to a wand. That would also mean leaving Hermione alone at King's Landing, and she didn't even know the Patronus charm. Yet, her House was affiliated to the Lannisters, and she had her own wand. She would be safe.
With a great deal of guilt, and self-recrimination, Remus decided to follow Sirius, persuading Ron to accompany him.
If Sirius had been sensible to the world around him, he would have passed some of the most beautiful fields, with a profusion of fruit and flowers, the air heady and fragrant. He was instead trapped in his mind, he knew not for how long. The memories that were passing through his head were as if he were watching something in a Muggle cinema – a story that wasn't his, yet immersive, even though Sirius knew, that the memories which seemed so distant were his own.
He saw himself, the younger Tyrell twin, in search of adventure and meaning, rebelling against the strictures of his overbearing grandmother. Of Willas the good lordling, doing as he was told all the time, crippled literally under the pressure and ambition of the family. He remembered the freedom he finally got, when Grandmother finally gave in, allowing him to squire in the Vale. He saw his meeting with Robert Baratheon, who welcomed him like a brother, and Eddard Stark, whose warmth and honestly had moved him. Their adventures in the Vale were unmatched.
Sirius saw the three of them dress as humble servants, and traversing the taverns, drinking, gambling, and picking up fights, having fun, and playing pranks. He remembered the betrothal of Robert Baratheon with Lyanna Stark, the raven coming in and Lord Arryn announcing it, and how overjoyed Ned and Robert were to become brothers for true. How Sirius had wished he had a sister for Ned to wed so that they could all be brothers together. They were good memories in truth. Until they weren't.
He remembered the tourney at Harrenhall, too, when he first came across Snivellus. He was the same greasy little creep everywhere. It hadn't taken long for Snivelly to get into a confrontation with his friends. They had fought over Ashara Dayne, with Snivellus taking umbrage at Brandon Stark dancing with the lady. He hadn't even deigned to fight his own battle, when Robert had joined them, summoning instead Ser Arthur Dayne, and other members of Rhaegar's Kingsguard. This had infuriated Robert even more, since Rhaegar had crowned Lyanna the Queen of Love and Beauty. The confrontation would have turned ugly if it hadn't been for Princess Elia's intervention.
They had felt things had dies down on their return to the Vale, when a raven came in, informing them that Rheagar had kidnapped Lyanna. It had given way to a terrible fury in Robert. When the Mad King had burnt Lord Rickard and killed Lord Brandon for confronting this travesty, Robert's fury had paled in comparison to Eddard's cold wrath. Sirius had truly believed then that Winter was coming.
Sirius had rushed to Highgarden to treat with his family, to support Robert's rebellion, but by then House Tyrell had declared for the Targaryens. Sirius had found it unconscionable. The ruling house had humiliated two of the great Kingdoms, had murdered a High Lord and his heir in cold blood, and without just cause. How could they stand for this injustice? He had fled, then, in cover of darkness, and returned to the Vale. He had fought side by side Robert and was there at the Trident when the war was won.
Even when the Tyrells were brought back into the fold of the Seven Kingdoms, pardoned for their support of the Targaryens, Sirius was not welcomed home. He was a traitor to the Tyrells, and cut off from their wealth and support, and so he went home to the Vale, serving as castellan of the Eyrie as Jon Arryn became Hand.
Those were good days. Days of peace. Ser Brynden Tully served as Knight of the Gate, and Sirius knew no better man. It was also in the Vale, that Sirius met Ser Remus Clegane, and though a lot of the High Lords disdained Ser Remus's company, both the Blackfish and Sirius found themselves warming up to the middle Clegane. Sirius loved the Vale, and the mountains. Rugged and inhospitable and cold though they were, the girls of the Vale were certainly warm. Low-born and ladies alike. Few were able to resist the charms of the handsome scion of House Tyrell.
Sirius's time there was invigorating. Whenever the mountain clans created nuisance, Ser Brynden and Sirius rode together, along with Ser Remus to put them down. The perilous passes, the shadowcats, the adventure…
Yes, things were good, until Lady Arryn returned to the Vale, along with her obnoxious little son. He put up with her for as long as he could, and then his sister's upcoming wedding brought him back to King's Landing.
It was difficult to process these new memories, integrating them into Sirius Black's experiences at the Black townhouse, at Hogwarts, and Azkaban. Even as his mind whirred, and processed this other life at extraordinary speed, to the rest of the world, Sirius slept on, the wheel house taking him slowly but surely to Highgarden.
"I thought it only fair to tell you that terms have been offered," said Prince Oberyn lazily, lounging on an open chair. Prince Severus and Princess Sansa had been brought into one of the upper cells, given a bath, and made presentable for the trial that was scheduled to begin in the evening.
"What terms?" asked his half-brother.
"A reprieve of a sort. You confess, you keep your head, and take the Black."
"NO!" Sansa was horrified. Those were the terms they had given her lord father. It had been her who had persuaded her father to confess, and he had lied, given up his honour for her, only for Joffrey to kill him anyway. They could not be believed.
Prince Oberyn looked at her with sympathetic eyes. "Princess," he said gently "I truly believe they will not renege this time. I have a very low opinion of the Lannisters but I know this: Lord Tywin is not Cersei Lannister, and he knows how to control his grandson."
"No one can control Joffrey. NO ONE." Sansa was vehement, almost hysterical. She could make out the pity in Prince Oberyn's eyes. He didn't understand. She looked at her husband. Surely he knew what she meant. He had been in the Red Keep longer than her, but he looked curiously expressionless.
She turned to look at Prince Oberyn once again. He smiled. It was a sad smile, full of compassion, yet he presented the choice still, "Be that as it may. These terms have been offered. I do believe the King and the Lannisters will keep them. It is in their interest to do so. You know that I would rather fight. It is your life that is being gambled with, Severus, and while nothing will please me more than killing the Mountain after getting a confession out of him. I leave the decision to you."
There was a knock on the door, and the Spicer witch entered. Sansa just wanted her to go away, so that she could persuade the Martell princes that any such idea was futile, but her husband seemed glad to see her. She had in her hand a rather ordinary-looking sword in plain looking scabbard. It was too plain to be a Martell weapon. Undoubtedly it was a Spicer blade. She handed it over to Prince Severus, who held the hilt in his hand and drew the sword. He seemed to test it, pointing in this way and that. She had never seen her husband wield a blade and his manner seemed strange. Even Prince Oberyn was looking at him curiously. Prince Severus was saying something to Lady Hermione, but all she could hear was a buzzing sound. Prince Oberyn looked puzzled, too.
It was obviously the witch's doing, Sansa decided, and just like that the sound was gone.
"Are you going to fight, my prince," Sansa asked, terrified. She had seen her brothers in the yard often enough, and the men at arms at practice, too, and if anything was obvious, it was that Severus Martell handling of the sword was quite unorthodox. From Prince Oberyn's expression of alarm, it seemed as if he concurred.
"Severus," he said quite seriously "I know I may have been unfair in blaming you all these years, but this is not the time to prove yourself. You have never been a warrior. Any training that you may have had is from before the Usurper's war. If you wish to proceed with a trial by combat, I will be your champion."
Prince Severus was still feeling the sword, a strange expression of wonder apparent on his face. It unnerved Sansa. "Lady Hermione will stay with us till the trial begins. It is but a few hours away now. I would like to keep her sword, and return it after the trial. You will be the champion, Oberyn, never fear, but I will feel safer with a sword by my side, however little use it may be for me. It has been much too long…"
