Chapter Fifty-Six
…..
The Passageway North
Moat Cailin, the jewel stronghold of the North. Many tales are told about it. It is said that the Great Fortress have thrown about countless Andal invasions during its time, protecting the culture of the North from the assimilation down South. Now it stands, a monument of achievement, a stalwart constant that gives voice to anyone who dare pass of a culture that is different from what they are used to.
"So this is Moat Cailin, I admit Delia that the I am expecting something…..more," comments Myrcella staring with a frown at the delipitated ruin that is the Moat.
"It has been many years when it first started Cella, and it is probably one of the oldest castles in Westeros right now. Are you expecting something else?" Delianah asks in no small amount of amusement.
"Well when you put it that way, no. Still however it is the gateway of the North. Shouldn't the Northmen you know, probably put some effort on maintaining it? It is supposed to be their primary and first line of defense from the South. I've been to Casterly Rock many times Delia and I've seen Grandfather put up a lot of effort on the borders that mark the Westerlands. He tends to say that it is the first impression that dictates their opinion on you,"
"Your grandfather is wise Princess Myrcella. I'm glad to see and hear that you put his lessons to heart,"
Myrcella simply shrugs at her reply. "I do. And I like to listen anyway," she smirks mischievously at Delianah then. "I have an inspiration who mentions once that she can't bear to be around dull people,"
"You have a great inspiration, you should let me meet here then Cella," quips Delianah to the teasing.
"Oh you will Delia," this time Myrcella leans in where she can whisper at the ear of the taller young woman. "Yasmina is great but she doesn't have your stamina. I do expect your presence at my tent tonight," this time she ends the words with a purr.
"Your wish is my command your highness, I will be there," replies Delianah feeling blood rush at her cheeks as she can feel perfectly the bosom of her lover pressed at the side of her arms due to her leaning in.
"Very well," this time her voice has a victorious tinge on it. "I will go and help Commander Draco out organizing the tents. Have fun waiting," and with that she walks off with an extra sway of her hips that Delianah can't help but stare at unashamedly.
"Bloody tease," she simply snorts before focusing her attention on the ruin that is Moat Cailin.
For all her reasons, Delianah knows that Myrcella has a good point. The fortress of Moat Cailin is the stronghold of the North, their buffer against the South per say. While indeed it is old, she knows that it is built to last. Delianah can literally feel the latent magic lingering on the stones. Age and time have atrophied it down a lot but it is still there. The First Men who built this fortress have imbued it with strengthening spells. She would bet all the gold in her pocket space that this one of the Greenseers might have seen the coming of the Andals and their intent on spreading their faith all over the continent. It seems pretty convenient for The First Men to build a a giant stronghold smack dab on the narrow entrance heading North when the entire continent belongs to them before.
How great a cheat magic really is when being compared to the mundane.
Either way the fact remains that the honorable Lord Starks for some reason that Delianah can't wrap her head around, seems to have failed on giving the slightest bit of attention to the North's mighty stronghold. Delianah truly understands the North's attitude towards conversing money and supplies due to the harsh weather conditions it faces. However to not even give the slightest bit of maintenance on your primary defense for a potential invasion seems to be an idiotic thing to do.
It is not her problem however. If the North chooses to neglect their own border security, then Delianah would let them do so as long as her investment here at Sea Dragon Point remains safe.
"Speaking of which,"
Delianah happily takes the roll of paper at her hand and unrolls it. It is a deed granting her control of the The Twins after House Frey has been mysteriously murdered by a "black demon" with a fiery sword. The superstitious sheep of Westeros of course believes that it is Azor Ahai reborn coming from the dead and putting to the sword the inbreeding Weasels for their transgression. Another rumor is that the Stranger has come, while another tells that it is Targaryens coming back. All of them however can attest to one agreement.
No one is sad to see that House gone.
Now as to why it is handed to her, it is easy. When Delianah happily slaughters the Argus Filch look alikes, she also haphazardly throws explosion spells everywhere, half destroying the two castles in the process. She also burns down the giant wooden bridge of House Frey, barely making it passable for the Royal Procession to pass when they arrived at the ruined Twins. Long story short, The Twins is a ruin now. To repair it would take years upon years, not to mention funds. No one simply wants to invest on it (due to many believing it to be cursed). Thus after zero volunteers, Delianah happily nominates herself.
Of course she has to bamboozle Robert with a befuddlement charm to make sure that it goes her way in the unlikely event that Cersei propose herself (Delianah is never one to leave things to chance after all). Thus after a five minute deliberation, a very drunk Robert happily gives her the new deed.
Delianah is feeling proud of herself of course. The new crop of slaves brought from Essos will now have something to go to. This collapse of House Frey also finally puts an end to the last resistance to the rule of her father and brother at their half of the Riverlands. The smaller houses would fall in line with the fall of their greatest benefactor.
Delianah on the other hand has plans for her own version of the bridge. Already her patronus of a stag is running its way down South to inform Amelia to start sendig their workers and builders to the ruined Twins ASAP. Once the Royal Party heads back down South again, the prowess of Delianah's Builders Guild would surprise them.
A screech makes Delianah turn to her bad-tempered Gryphon whose beak she strokes much to his pleasure. Godric tents to nibble her hair if he feels he's being "undervalued"
"Yes, yes I know my friend. I can feel them too," says Delianah as she looks forward ahead at the knoll she's standing in.
At her back the Royal Procession has put up their tents again. Moat Cailin after all is the last vestige of the South and the only place where the rest of the Southeners can gather before they start trekking the winter abode of the North.
A long drawn trumpet call is the signal that firsts give off the tell-tale signs that the first of the two that they are waiting have finally arrived. As for Delianah, she wastes no time riding on Godric who wordlessly takes to the air with powerful flaps of his wings. Up high, indeed Delianah can finally see the column of light blue standing and shining metal on the distance.
The Knights of Dol Amroth have come accompanying their Prince, Jon Stark with his lady wife, Ygritte of the North.
"Riders approaching! Riders approaching!" the shouts of the king's outriders can be heard as they return back from their posts. "Riders bearing the crests of the City of Dol Amroth have come,"
Another trumpet sound resonates gain. This time however they come from the direction South. Delianah for the second time smiles as she sees the fast column of red and gold approaching fast, indication of a cavalry. It doesn't take a genius to know who it is that is coming.
She urges her Gryphon back down again. She needs to change from her drab outfit to something more presentable for tonight.
The players are being set for the game between Fate's fingers and nets. Many are arranging themselves for a place on it with intent of winning. Delianah is not, no. She plans to upturn the table and make something new afterwards.
Magic after all is a rule-breaker. It never ever likes to be constrained by rules.
….
Outside Moat Cailin
Jon Stark would be the first to admit that he has changed much ever since he becomes the Prince of Dol Amroth. His new position in life and the responsibility that comes with it demands no less. Plus there's also the incentive of being not shot in the balls by his new wife.
When before all he cares about is gaining a name to be able to get away from the status of being a bastard, now he is so far away from that that it is not even funny. Now he controls what supposes to be the richest city North of the Neck with people and soldiers to care for. Sometimes it is hard for Jon to reconcile that his dream future is to be a Watchman for the Wall.
Of course it is not easy to transition from being a lauded bastard to a powerful Lord. His father before lets him sit with Robb in his classes in order for him to learn. To say the least sixty percent of what he listens about, he lets slide off his ears. Those part of the lessons after all are for the heir and not the spare. He is more interested on the fighting set of skills he would need.
Long story short, he completely regrets it as he has to recall every scrap of detail he could scrounge in his brain both in etiquette and in knowledge as he keeps Dol Amroth running smoothly. The Lady Delianah after all is giving him the castle and its porty city at him for free. The only exchange she asks is that he performs his duties well, something that is completely daunting for Jon. Thank the gods for Ygritte and her no-nonsense attitude. Her stern will and focus is enough to terrorize Jon to pulling himself together lest he incurs her wrath.
Now Jon is a changed man. Gone are the drab and dreary grey and black clothes and tunics he wore replaced by fine linen and furs of dark blue with bits of gold linings. His curly wavy hair also has been gorgeously redone and pulled to the back with a braid. The barbers at his castle also frowns at his decision of not letting his beard grow. Now Jon supports a closed shave one with a slight pointy end. All in all Jon himself would admit that he looks regal and powerful now. He would bet that he even looks richer compared to many of the Southeners.
Yggire is also the same as him. Though the fiery the Northener does not choose to have her looks changed. She is still as haughty and proud as ever choosing pants and shirts where she can move nimbly. Though continuous access to products of finery truly does bring out her "Northern Flower" beauty.
Dol Amroth despite being so far away from Rivendell is still a city connected to it and thus have complete access for the upgraded facitilities and new ways of life that the Dame implemented on it.
As Delianah aptly always say to those under her (and painted at every wall as a reminder: "I give the best so I expect the best," Jon is a testament to those words, from bottom line bastard lifted to bbe the boss of his own fief.
Either way with his entourage accompanying the royal line, it would be good to see his father and his siblings again at Winterfell.
…
Lannister Main Camp
Tywin mentally scowls as he surveys the camp. Around him, his personal RedCloaks are busy setting up camp via supervising the aides and squires that rode with them. One look at the gathered camp and anyone can easily deduce the difference between which is which of those that follow Delianah's and that of King's retinue. Rivendell is renowned for its control after all and discipline. One look at the row upon row of perfectly uniformed set up tents, materials, weapons, horses and-,"
Tywin blinks, not believing his eyes. He wipes them with his hand, stares, then blinks again. Breathing unto his gloves, he smells them, yep, no smell of being drunk either which means that what he's seeing is real and not some sort of drunken premonition. Judging from the gawking faces of his men, it seems that indeed, what he's seeing is reality.
"Magnificent aren't they?" the musical voice of the Lady of Rivendell brings the attention of Tywin away from the giant winged creatures to the speaker whom Tywin notices is wearing that familiar ornate outfir that the Emperor of Yi Ti has given her during the Grand Tourney.
"Lady Delianah, it's a pleasure to see you here," Tywin replies in his rich baritone voice before looking at the giant avian animals again. "I believe these are the so-called Gryphons then that my daughter is ranting to me about in her letters,"
"Yes, Lord Tywin. I believe you already know what happened during the Trial that the Queen insisted for our Crown Prince,"
"I do. A most unpleasant business it is my lady. While I do understand the reasoning behind her actions, I would still not condone it; an idiotic thing to do if you ask me myself. She sends a boy who is more pompous words than actions against what is supposed to be flying, walking killing machines, she is lucky that her son only gets a scratch for such a stupid attempt. As it is, I lost ten good loyal men in the process and tarnished House Lannister's reputation to you my lady. For that, you have my apologies and that of my House," Tywin inclines his head at that for Tywin never bows at anyone.
"Apology accepted Lord Tywin. All is gone in the wind; though I must say that the rather descriptive punishment of the Queen about me being sent shipped to Essos via slave ship, Rivendell being handed over to Jaimie to be ruled as his fiefdom and Myrcella being sent back to the capital under her care is null right?" she replies cooly.
"As dust in the wind my lady. Don't you worry about it my lady. I will handle my daughter, in the meantime. I would like to discuss the future of Westeros with you at a later date once we have settled down,"
"Of course, I will be looking forward to it Lord Tywin," the Lady of Rivendell nods her head once more to him in respect before walking off. The Lord of Casterly Rock merely watches as the proud woman walks off back to her own section of the camp. She reminds him a bit of Joanna, proud and not bending down, and highly clever too. Though Joanna of course is not a genius like the Dame is. Despite himself Tywin can't help but wonder if she has been born in his time era. She might have attracted his attention.
"If only I was thirty years younger," Tywin smirks to himself before shaking his head. "No, make it forty,"
…
Lannister Main Camp
Cersei walks proudly despite the mud on her shoes. Around her are the familiar gold and red tents that she has been used to as a girl. Personal guards of her father are here and around her doing their duties proudly and seriously. Perfect rows of weapons and accessories with every single detail depicting Lannister gold and wealth. Here it displays flat out the true strength and wealth of House Lannister.
"Well father is certainly making himself at home at the middle of this swamp," comments Tyrion at her side whom is also invited nearly making Cersei hiss at him if not for the look that her other brother is giving her which makes her shut it.
If the little troll is also invited then there must be something important for their father to be summoning all of them, his children at once.
Reaching the largest tent in the area (and the grandest), they nod at the Redcloaks guarding it who calls out loudly from the outside. It does not take long for the familiar "Come in," that makes all three of them immediately stand ramrod straight in attention as they enter inside.
As expected the temporary settlement of the Head of House Lannister has all the comforts of home: a retractable folding bed with comfortable furs and pillows on it, a couple of couches that can be easily torn and assembled, heads of game animals, and precious ornamental jars, weapons, cutlery and golden designs. Their eyes however are drawn at the man sitting at the head of the table drinking wine, his frame tall and strong despite his advanced age.
"Sit," it is one word but Cersei can feel herself stiffening at the very command. She is a mother and a queen now, but every time she faces her father makes her still feel like a small child. Judging by how fast Jaimie and Tyrion take to their chairs, they share also the same sentiment as she does.
A heavy silence soon falls on the table and Cersei can feel herself squirming. It is one of her father's classical technique to make whomever he is talking to uncomfortable.
"We are heading North soon," the sudden start of conversation from their father nearly makes the three of them jump. "As Lannisters representing House Lannister, I expect you all to act with propriety and etiquette as your stations demand of you so. That means being courteous to our hosts, the Starks of Winterfell. There would be no pompous declarations, snarky remarks and above all, insulting words. I am talking to you especially Tyrion," the sudden specification makes the smallest of the three stiffen a bit.
"While we are up North, you would visit no whorehouse, and would present yourself in an acceptable manner worthy as a son of House Lannister. That means no drinking, and no ugly sarcrastic remarks. Jaimie!"
"Yes father!" her beautiful brother almost salutes like the golden lion knight he is. "You will not give insulting words at our hosts no matter how much they might insult you by calling you Kingslayer in your face. It is no great secret that the Lord Stark despises you for murdering our previous king as mad as he is. While laughable his honor is, we will respect it under his roof. If any of his children ask for lessons you will give it to them,"
"But-,"
"Willingly! You will present yourself as the perfect knight worthy of that cloak which you are exchanging for your birthright," he finishes in disgust. "Now all of you, out! Except you Cersei!"
Without nary a word, her two siblings scurries out though Jaimie gives her a concerned look before also disappearing, leaving Cersei with their father who is now giving her his full attention.
"I assume that you would want to talk about the incident with Joffrey father,"
"Yes," is his curt response taking a draft from his winecup.
"Isn't your grandson great father? He has challenged the mighty beasts of Rivendell with nary a scratch on his arm. He is-,"
"And idiot and a fool and so are you!" the sudden rebuke strikes Cersei mute as she stares dumbfounded at the Old Lion.
"Father what are you-,"
"Your stupidity and that of your spawn have nearly costs us the future of our house. Then you send me an ill-gotten letter that even drives the wedge between us and the Lady of Rivendell when I am doing my utmost to strengthen our relationship with them short of a marriage contract,"
Cersei snorts at her father's words. "And what would have we need of the bastard? Sure she's rich but she's a bastard nevertheless and we all know that associating with such creatures always bring ill. We could lose a penny or two if relations break down, no big deal,"
"No big deal?" Cersei blinks as her father looks like he is about to blow a gasket. "Tell me Cersei, how much do you know about this current estimates of our gold mines this year alone?"
Cersei shrugs at that, sniffing with her nose high in the air. "I don't know father. Isn't it the mines' auditors work to count the current bags?"
"Just humor me Cersei,"
"Fine, I don't know ten thousand? Twenty thousand sacks of raw gold?"
An eyebrow raising is the answer she gets from her words. "A quite estimate if it is ten years ago. But right now, NOTHING!" the sudden shout nearly throws Cersei off her chair.
"What?"
"Exactly as I said, it Cersei, all the mines of Casterly Rock are dry and empty. It has taken all my cunning and skill to prevent word of that from getting out. As it is, the current source of income of our House is us piggybacking through the greatest trades and investments of Rivendell. It is the only way to maintain our way of life. That is why I am making sure that our relations with them remain strong,"
Cersei can't help but scoff at her father's words. "Surely it's not that bad father. Once we manage to royally put the decree of punishing the bastard woman from her attempted murder of my son, we can surely seize her assets and all that we would need to keep our House back on track to its proper glory,"
For some reason Cersei does not understand truly why her father is staring at her as if she has lost her mind.
…..
Somewhere in Rivendell, a certain beautiful princess sneezes. She's got a feeling that the future of House Lannister and Rivendell resides on her shoulders.
…..
Author's Note: Hope you like this chapter. Anyway next one is going to be canon or pre-canon to show. We will see.