Chapter Twenty-One
….
A Couple of Miiles South of Fort Granger, River border of Rivendell, former Harrenhal
"I'm telling you we should be more careful on crossing the river. What the fuck's wrong with you Rick?" Tells Crab Stealer hisses at the twenty man group he is leading. It is supposed to be thirty but ten do not make it on the crossing, there corpses now feed to the fishes below.
"I'm sorry. It's not as if the river is not icy cold and all these weapons are not making it easy to swim," hisses Rick, his second-in-command.
Tells rolls his eyes at the whine of the tone of his second-in-command. If not for the fact that the man is efficient at keeping the other rabble in line, he might have gutted him with his knife. Plus he can't afford to lose more men now thanks to the ten rotting below the river.
Like every bandit group in the area, Tells' gang evolves from raiding unwary travelers straying from the King's Road to raiding small plantations and farms due to the winter making travelers scarce. Word however comes from the grapevine of thieves that the lands of the new lady of Harrenhal, blessed by the Old Gods do not suffer from the aftereffects of the False Winter and are filled with fat and plenty. He is skeptical of taking it for word of course but when Mick the Prick's fifty man gang braved the rivers, avoiding the forts that guard the bridges, return with a large amount of bounty and loot, Tells wastes no time dragging the asses of his group to riches.
Unfortunately it is easier said than done. The rivers that make up the borders of Rivendell are wide, unsurprising given that the infamous longboats are used to sailing through it. Thankfully they are unguarded and Tells only lost the idiots in his group who is lousy at swimming. It doesn't mean that it's easy though, they have to ditch their heavier weapons, opting to use dirks, sickles and scythes during the crossing. Any heavier and they are at risk of drowning to their deaths even more.
Now here they are, wet, cold and tired, twenty all quite glad that they are finally once more back at land. Better he can see a road made of stones of all things, not dirt like the King's Road at a distance. If he and his men follow that road, it would not long before they stumble upon an unwary farm which they can then loot.
Rick, his second in command stands up groggily, his soggy clothes making him unbalanced.
"Come, let us go before the sun starts to rise fu-," he never finishes his words as his right eye pops, replaced with an arrow head jutting on his skull.
Tells' brain freezes at the sudden death of his comrade before it connects the points that they are under attack, just in time for Rick's remaining eye to roll inside his skull before falling on the ground like a marionette.
"Defend yourselves!" he barely has the time to shout, drawing his dirk before two more of his men fell, this time pierced with spears by men clad in black leather armor appearing on the dusk gloom.
The last thing that Tells sees as he frantically parries a spear thrust that nearly skewers him is the sight of a lither form leading the ones in black and grey. The curved blade at its hand swings and Tells scream as his guts are opened without abandon.
…..
Fort Granger, South of Harrenhal
Delianah sighs as the cold water splashes over her head, cascading all over her and washing the grime, mud and blood staining her form. Compared to other Southern Lords, the cold water does not bother her. She has bathed in worse at Durzkaban. Immediately though, the hands of Yasmina and Amelia are all over her naked form, scrubbing her with towels dipped in rosemary and other oils which she can't identify. Despite her best efforts, the people on this world refused to let her bathe herself and thus this two served as her maids-in-waiting despite the fact that Amelia is a warrior through and through and Yasmina is six years old minus the aging potion. She agrees on letting them serve her only with a very STERN reminder that they wear something when they clean her. The last thing that Delianah needs is raging hormones sniffing at her caretakers.
Towels finally drying her, she wordlessly let them drape over her, her royal violet outfit, a shirt studded with golden buttons and form hugging black pants that hugs her long legs, new fashion trend she asks out of the tailors. A shoulder cape is tied on a brooch near her left neck and Yasmina wordlessly does her hair into many braids.
Despite being caught totally off guard by the sudden gift of a concubine from the Emperor of Yi Ti, Delianah cannot deny that Yasmina does good work. Due to her age, her looks are still pudgy and childish, though it is pathetically obvious that she would not look bad in the future. Her attire is like that of the ancient chinese ladies in waiting with red, violets and gold dresses. The girl however is terribly competent that even Delianah herself grudgingly admits that she is not all looks and finery.
Suffice it to say that when it comes into taking care of a household, she is not that good, no. She is excellent. She can make a dozen kind of teas that can soothe Delianah's mood easy, she is a great seamstress that the tailors' guild feels a bit inadequate, her cooking skills are superb and that's saying something due to Rivendell leading the cullinary arts by an extremely wide marging here at Westeros. She can make different kinds of baths for Delianah that makes her smell good in twelve different ways. Her skill on doing Delianah's hair is unique and for the first time in her life here Delianah rather loves the new styles added to her look when staring at the mirror. Westeri fashion after all when it comes to hair care is literally just pulled long hair and straightened out.
She is terribly silent to, speaking only when asked at Delianah's presence and seems to have a knack of knowing when to speak and when to remain silent. If not for the fact that Delianah might converse with her sometimes formally, she might have thought that Yasmima is just a walking robot following her around. On the rare times that Yasmina is off duty of serving her (which is twenty four-seven as Yi Ti concubines are expected to except that Delinah reduces it to eight which she protests about before agreeing that she can have three hours everday for herself.), she can see her chatting with Myrcella and Rhaenys. It's not surprising really for Delianah to see Myrcella getting close to her concubine (she still gets shivers thinking about that fact every time). Myrcella has a heart of gold and can befriend anyone. Delianah is willing to bet that she can turn a Dementor into a fairy if the "not-so-little" princess puts her heart into it.
Wordlessly thanking her two aides for dressing her up, Delinah walks outside with Amelia effortlessly falling in behind her as her personal guard. Grey clouds loom overhead giving the indication of more drizzles of snow later. With at the outermost edge of the weather protecting wards, the Forts do not suffer the hundred percent blessings that the inner territory of Rivendell enjoys. Also Lord Viktor insists on it since weather patterns can help mold soldiers. The Forts after all serve as on the job training from the boot camp recruits of the Unsullied.
When she first saw the camp before, it was manned by a skeleton force of officers aided by recruits. Now however the camp is anything but used for boot camp training. Rows upon rows of tents are set up and men are non-stop drilling. The wooden palisades are reinforced with an outside cover of cement and tar. The once empty walls are now fully manned by rotating sentries. Patrol groups come in and out non-stop. A huge house that serves as armory has been created with wagonloads of spears, shields and short swords are being delivered and taken. The blacksmiths are in full time work as they checked, double-checked the scale armor that is slowly being produced to be used as the standard armor for the Unsullied.
While leather is all and good after all on the deserts and plains of Essos, here where enemy mounted knights rule supreme, leather armor counts for shit. With the new improvement she ordered, it would allow the Unsullied their quick movement for formations and at the same time offer them an improvement of protection against the classic foes that they might face here in Westeros.
One might ask what prompted Delianah to call on the full manning of her forces. The answer is quite simple. Bandits and highwaymen have been plaguing the territories of Rivendell and its vassal lands ever since the thawing of the False Winter.
Delianah might have secured the major entrances to Rivendell via the four forts guarding the large bridges that provide access to her lands. The rivers that serve as a natural barrier however to her territory have little to no such protection. Sure it would be impossible for an army to gain access to them (Imagine all those luggy knights trying to transport their armor and horses via swimming). Other than the hard crossing, it would also be easy for a defending force to be mustered and repel any would be swimmers trying to cross in large numbers.
While the rivers fortunately serve as deterrent for any large invading force, it does not prevent however any determined bandit and thief group whose main sort of armor is the weather beaten clothes at their back with the unusual sword, axes or knives that they carry with them. Lately since last month, they have been plaguing the borders of Rivendell and causing a large nuisance though each and every last one of them has been repulsed. Homesteads though not as defended as a fort still contains the angry farmer and one of his trained sons whom mind you have a full armor kit and a higher motivation compared to the regular bandit raider.
Dragon Shit also seems to have taken it as a personal insult the fact that he cannot secure the lands of his liege. Thus the reasoning why as to the Unsullied are now out in force at the Forts. They serve as bases after all for the patrols and there are many more than usual now patrolling the border rivers of Rivendell.
As for Delianah, the reasoning why she is here is for experience and to see the damage caused by these thieves and brigands. She is after all trained by the sword now thanks to that Essossi sword teacher she hired and dedicated almost two months of her time into. No better way to put her skills to the test better than in a die or do situation. Plus she also wants to see the damage caused by her unwanted guests. To say that she's not pleased would be the understatement of the century.
It also however points her out to a glaring weakness of her current security measure. Rivendell has strong points thanks to the presence of the Forts and in smaller cases, the homesteads and towns.
However there are large tracts of land between them, something she is currently resolving with an on-going solution via recruitment of bastards. Still, what she really needs is a surveillance system that does not require a magical means in her part. There is too much space and too much information that a magical solution cannot fully solve the problem. No, what she needs are people to be her eyes and ears without anyone else the wiser knowing that they are in the area.
…..
Rivendell Training Hall
The sound of clashing steel can be heard as Myrcella watches her six year old friend parry one of the Death Dealers before jumping back to avoid the swipe of another aimed at her hip. The smile on her face is audible though and Myrcella until now can't believe what she is seeing.
It had happened a week ago. Like her, Delianah enlisted Rhaenys to be trained on self-defense seeing that she is six already and her body can take the starting rigors of training like she did with Myrcella. Said princess of course is just happy that Rhaenys would finally be able to join them. The Dornish girl has been rather unhappy due to her being left out on hers and Delianah's spars. Sure Rhaenys prefer the books and Delianah's pensieve rather than the outdoors but she obviously wants to be in on their daily spars.
Color her surprised that the Dornish girl trounced her and Delianah in their first bout easily. Of course they at first alluded it to dumb luck seeing that they were not taking the six year old seriously. When Rhaenys knocked each of them once, twice, three times and even twice together while dual wielding the two sparring swords; it became obvious that the girl was skilled.
Myrcella of course happily alluded it to magic and without ado glomped the nervous Rhaenys who had no idea how she got so skilled of the blade. Myrcella after all believed fully on magic after seeing the Old Gods bless Rivendell (it would be pretty hard not to). Besides, if Delianah says it's the right way then it's the right way.
Delianah however seemed not to focus then at a nervous wreck Rhaenys but rather at the empty air beside her, her eyes narrowed. For a second Myrcella thought that the Dame was angry about her loss at the practice yard. She just shrugged however and patted the small Rhaenys on the head and giving her one of her confident smiles, telling her to continue her sparring practice and to eat a lot before walking off. Myrcella however had been with Delianah long enough to know that the Dame knew something about Rhaenys that she kept to herself.
"Oh well, if Delianah chooses to hide it then it must be within good reason. She never failed before and she won't stop now,"Myrcella happily hums to herself as she continues watching Rhaenys throw her three opponents flat on their backs.
Her Rhae-Rhae would look so awesome once she's taken the aging potion of Delianah like her.
…..
King's Landing-Red Keep
"Get out! Get out!" the servant hurriedly scurries away like a rat in the face of a raging cat, or more like a raging lioness as the paper he had delivered beforehand zooms like a cannon to where his face was a mere second ago.
"She refuses?! WHY DOES SHE REFUSE?!" Cersei Lannister, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms screams to no one in particular as she glares angrily at the annoying piece of paper now crumpled at her floor.
"Can't she see that they are using her?! That ugly trout! They would rip her to pieces, change her from the lioness that she is to one of those river fish and sell her to the highest bidder like some piece of meat!" Cersei hisses almost foaming in the mouth, her brain working on overtime.
Her daughter, her one and only beloved daughter carted away from her by her fat pig of a husband and her father. In the dark they ripped her away from her arms, away from the protection of her golden lion and sold to a trout to the Riverlands, to brainwash her where they can then use her like her very own father used her when he sold her to the fat pig of a husband. They will cut off her claws, rip her mane to pieces , take off her fangs and in the end they would tame the lioness that her daughter would be.
Already she can see the damage caused by her father and husband's decision. Her golden-haired daughter refusing to return, preferring her attention to that fish bastard from the Riverlands. Sure Cersei is thankful for her saving of her daughter but right now, she is keeping her away from her mother and her family, that bastard. Cersei swears she will rip her head off the very moment she had an opportunity.
"You'll never wed the prince, you'll wed the king. You'll be queen, for a time. Then comes another, younger, more beautiful, more powerful to cast you down and take all you hold dear. The king will have 20 children and you will have three. Three golden crowns, two golden shrouds. A princess for the mistress, a princess for the queen. When your tears have drowned you, the talons of the brave and daring shall wrap its claws about your pale white throat and throw you down from the castle you so hold dear,"
"I will not have it! I will not have it!" Cersei hisses to herself as the voice of the witch once more echoes inside her head. Automatically her hands grasp the glass of Firewhisky at her table, chugging the entire contents with one gulp, the familiar fiery feeling giving more fuel to the rage inside of her.
She is however broken out of her usual stupor as one of her ladies-in-waiting knocked.
"What is it?!" she hisses, not feeling the mood to be polite today.
"The Master of Coin, Petyr Baelish is at the door your Grace,"
…
Great Sept of Baelor
"What do you mean the taxes of the Riverlands are down?!" the High Septon yells (or more like shrieks) as the Head Septon of the Riverlands recoils.
"I-It is due to the False Winter your Holiness," the old Septon replies. "Add the increasing problem of the Riverlands having an overall abundance of grain due to the North no longer buying from them, the lords and the smallfolk cannot pay the usual tithe,"
The High Septon grits his teeth at the news. Tithes all over Westeros are at an all time-low due to Winter. It is understandable and expected. However even with Winter thawing and the crop rotation of the desperate farmers that planted despite the weather of the Riverlands and the Reach now growing, tithes should be slowly going back up.
However for some reason, the usual large amount of tithe from the Riverlands and the Reach are not coming along as usual.
"And where are the damned kingdoms taking their food supply then if not from the Riverlands and the Reach?!" the High Septon demands angrily slapping the armrest of his "throne" sending several rings flying from his overly chubby fingers.
The Reach, the Crownlands and the Riverlands are the Faith's after all largest places of income when it comes to the collected tithe. Very little comes from the tree worshipping barbarians from the North, and same from the South thanks to many of the Dornish still having Rhoynar beliefs. The Stormlands gets a fair amount there but the harshness of the land makes the Lords there extremely pragmatic. The Westerlands used to pay large amounts of before but with the advent of Tywin Lannister taking the seat as Lord Paramount, only the dumbest or the bravest of septons would dare extort extra there.
Thus the majority of the tithe comes from the Reach and the Riverlands who usually are thankful for the abundant harvest and the coin rolling from the North and the South. It is practically easy after all to convince the smallfolk and the more pious lords that the gods are the reason for their abundant harvests.
The High Septon can care less about their harvests. The treasury of the Faith is in trouble due to their troubles and he can't have that. Not if he plans to continue the status quo as it is right now and continue his secret life of decadence and pleasure.
"At the former lands of Harrenhal your holiness," replies the nervous Septon. "At Lady Delianah's domain, she has the monopoly of the entire North your Holiness and even the West and the South are buying from her. She….is not paying the tithe Your Holiness,"
"THAT HERETIC! HOW DARE SHE?!" he roars spittle almost flying out of his mouth.
Of course he knows who Delianah is. No one down the neck after all openly declares for the tree gods that the barbarians of the North worship. Personally he doesn't give a shit whom she bows to. However due to her damaging the Faith and more importantly, his personal finances, the bastard needs to go and he has the perfect excuse for it.
"GET ME ALL THE RAVENS IN THE SEPT!" he demands angrily to the Riverland Septon.
"Your holiness?"
"I SAID GET ME THE RAVENS DAMNIT!"
…
Training Camp, God's Eye, Unknown Location
Leomord pants tiredly as he rests with the rest of his squad, a ten man group inside the mess hall. These days, his entire life is full of soreness, tiredness and hunger as the training progresses. Lord Viktor promised them during his welcoming speech that all of them would be knights, them, bastards with nothing on their name would be knights with honor, glory and gold and all that.
He can still recall as clearly as day the speech of the old Lord:
"I will break each and every one of you and reform you as knights worthy of the name. You will be knights but not one that holds lands. You will seek no glory but glory you will be given. You will be armed with the best armor and weapons that gold can buy. The horses you will ride will be the strongest and the most willful in the entire land. You will be clad with wings as you ride into battle. You will have tactics and strategies that none will understand. You will be the bulwark against injustice, the kings of the battlefield that will fly over their heads. You will be the best of the best and you will carry with you a dream and a promise that our Lady Delianah wills,"
None of the gathered bastards refused. Inspired and forged by the hardness and unfairness of life, they seized the opportunity with both hands; men and women both. None protests about the gender seeing that the Lady Delianah is an anointed Dame herself.
Lord Viktor has been true to his word. The armor that they are given to train is a series of interconnected plates with the most ornate design he has ever seen. The weapons are also custom made, dedicated to each and every one of them. Same goes with their helmets, all are brand news and cost almost's a year wages each. Their horses are big and strong, nothing that Leomord has ever seen or ridden on. Given to him is a grey roan that looks like it can chew him up and spit him for breakfast.
Thus their training begins. Horseback riding, cleaning of their weapons, jogging, running, sparring, jousting, crossbow training, archery, classes on etiquette, and tactics, so much tactics that it makes Leomord's head spin. Values and morality and a repetition of the value of human life.
All in all it is a tiring work that makes Leomord feels as if his entire day is one big punishment. But he knows he's changed. He's no longer that laid back farmer toiling his master's field, no. He is something else now, a knight forged by training with bonds to his team and to his new family. His will is iron and his purpose clear. No more lanky and thin but tall and full of muscle thanks to the continuous pumping of food and drink the cafeteria provides for them.
Yes, Lord Viktor promised them a title that would make them proud on their very first battle and charge.
"You would remember it to your dying day," the old Lord declares and Leomord can't wait.
He plans to earn his wings and place soon once he rides on the battlefield. Leomord will not be found wanting when the time comes.
…..
Author's Note: Here's the next chappie Hope ya enjoy. So any guesses who would be the main antagonists on this arc?
PS: I've read some of the reviews and I've realized about how many are confused about the concubine part. Deals on ancient times are sealed that way. Once an agreement is finished. A bethrothal or a reward is usually given to cement the deal either as a good deal of faith, an alliance or sometimes used as an assassination attempt.