Chapter Seventy
….
Personal Manor/ Safehouse of House Lannister
Tywin Lannister winces as a Maester gingerly wipes a swab of hot cloth on the rather large red welt at his shiny baldness. It is the courtesy of a hammer being thrown from out of nowhere that brained the infamous Old Lion of House Lannister. The damage might have been worse if not for one of his loyal Lion Guard putting a helmet atop his head as they vacated his arse out of the pandemonium at the Tourney Grounds yesterday. As it is, the hammer just dented the helmet and gave the Old Lion a severe concussion.
"Damn Robert and his lack of control of his own city!" Tywin mentally hisses as another pang of pain runs through his spine thanks to his rather large welt.
Information from his spies had already told him how the "lack of response" when the riot happened had been because of the Gold Cloaks who was supposed to be guarding the tourney grounds were apparently engaged in also watching the event. Unfortunately for them they were drunk on duty due to the lack of a sergeant making sure that their lazy asses attended their duties. Said sergeant was later found knocked out drunk inside a whorehouse. Apparently the extra guards from Lord Stark's household had made many of the primary guards of King's Landing lazy in their duties and the result is thus, this.
Tywin scoffed as he remembered the King roaring for his Kingsguard to put him down and let him join in the "fun". Robert for all his bravery, is a moron as far as Tywin is concerned. The very fact that the idiot instead of safeguarding himself wants to wade in the furnace of battle without thinking is proof enough of that. He apparently can't see that the moment one single dagger every makes it to his fat hide and the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros would implode faster than the volcanoes of the Doom of Valyria.
"If only the heir is proving himself competent," Tywin refuses to groan as he remembers quite vividly his grandson making a break for it back towards the Red Keep as if the very hounds of the Seven Hells are after him. Not exactly a Crown Prince kind of material.
If Robert ever suffers an accident (either via through his excessive bad habits or through one of his idiotic schemes), Joffrey is not in any way ready to take over the mantle as King of the Seven Kingdoms. The most likely scenario as far as Tywin can see would be the Baratheon brothers fighting over it. Stannis he knows has retreated already to Dragonstone rallying commanders of the Royal Fleet with him and as such martial lords that would listen. Renly has the Stormlands and the Reach support, a more harder issue than the former.
Once more Tywin groans as the added stress of the future exacerbates the painful welt in his forehead. He really needs to pull out all the stops and make sure to prepare Joffrey while at the same time encouraging Ned Stark to put Robert in place in order for the fat Stag to live longer.
Already at his table is a letter telling him that the King would once more attend the Tourney Grounds for its final day for some kind of proclamation once the clean up of the riot exploding all over King's Landing are done that is. Everyone apparently lost someone during the riot and are looking for a piece of vengeance over insults (perceived or otherwise) to their rivals or enemies. The result is a very tenuous city ready to explode.
Tywin is nearly thrown out of his bed rest as a clear ringing trumpet however sounds loud and clear on the air.
….
King's Landing East Gate
"MAKE WAY FOR PRINCESS- LOOK OUT!" Myrcella barely has time to hear the shout before she is covered by a plethora of shields making her see bronze before something hits the turtle of shields quickly cranking up the heat by five times.
"Pull the princess out!" the Black Guard sergeant leading the shield group calls out with a hiss. Immediately someone yanked Myrcella from behind, pulling her out from the shield wall part on fire. The sudden sweet smell of Wildberries and Lavender makes her immediately know who it is.
"I guess it's lucky that we choose to travel by foot instead of horse, aye?" the beautiful smile of Delianah says to her pulling her snugly to her taller frame.
"Yes, aye," Myrcella has to shake off the cloud of desire that tends to appear when she's this close to the Dame.
Pulling herself together, she blinks as she sees the men on the shield wall dropping their shields only to be replaced by another squad of Black Guard that accompanied her to King's Landing. Looking around, it is quite obvious that something very bad is going on.
King's Landing is at the middle of a full blown city riot. From her vantage point shse can see Gold Cloaks (and are those Winterfell garbed soldiers?)chasing after people putting them in line (at least for the highborn) or simply executing them in good order(for the smallfolk). In a way it is pandemonium as people stab, punch, steal, rape, kill, in any way it's like a bunch of headless chickens running around the coop.
"What is going on?" Myrcella can find herself blurting out.
"A riot is going on princess," Delianah dryly answers making Myrcella give her the stink eye.
"I can see there's a riot going on Delia. I meant what are we going to do about it?"
"You're the princess, you tell me Cella,"
"Delia,"
"Fine! You're no fun," pouts the Dame before drawing her sword and leveling it at the rioting protesters who is now slowly noticing the rather well-armed and well-organized wall of spears leveled at them.
"Men, this city is in chaos! I say we bring a little back order to these poor bastards eh? Let's get em!"
"Dovaghaeris!" with a shout, the Black Guard line of spears points down at the crowd.
…
Five Hours Later
Delianah stands quite proudly, cool as a cucumber even as angry lords, ladies and even some of the more prominent Smallfolk lay down accusation upon accusation at her from the Court of the King at the Red Keep. Sure and true, the retinue of almost two regiments of Black Guard infantry push through like a rolling boulder of the main road of King's Landing heading to the Red Keep. The cavalry section of almost a hundred Knights of the Order of the Silver Wings had also cut a swathe over the more narrow pathwalks and smaller roads, their excellent riding skill making them fit even the narrowest of corridors of the city.
For the record Delianah's orders for her men was to be as non-lethal as possible in putting down the rioters. Who knew that mowing down angry and selfish men and women with steel would calm the rest down like children when a parent disciplines them. Seeing that this is the period where none of the miracles of the Twenty-First Century regarding medicine exist(minus Rivendell), a spear through the arm, shoulder or hamstring can be quite agonizing for the common resident of Planetos. Either way Delianah's crusade on putting down the city to order five hours before under "Myrcella's orders" had been capitalized by the Gold Cloaks and the Stark Household Guard who easily calmed down the angry mobs.
However many highborn (mainly hedge knights and small-time Lords of the Realm) have been the victim of a spear or a sword of the Black Guard or a Silver Knight making them quite uppity and vocal in bringing Delianah and her men to "Justice".
Thus after an hour of heaping of accusations, here Delianah sits comfortably yawning to the next pompous lord's words about how he is trampled by the feet of advancing Black Guard lines. Delianah giggles inside though as she can see literally the slowly turning purple faces of the crowd at her rather lack of worry. In front she can see Ned Stark massaging his temple, Tywin Lannister eyeing her and Myrcella like a lion would for its prey, and finally Robert Baratheon who is a second away from snoring, the King losing interest in court for the first five minutes. With a small nudge, Delianah casts a wordless heat spell that would make Robert even feel irritated in his double scruffed doublet.
"Alright enough!" the fat king shouts two minutes later effectively stopping the murmurs as he stands up wiping the sweat off his chubby chin.
"As the Lady Tully said before, the order was given by my daughter to put you lot in order since you are all so STUPID as to act like fools fighting one another. Now the Lady Tully obeyed the order. However her troops caused a lot of damage to all of your good selves therefore she will neither be rewarded nor punished. Court adjourned! Let's go to the final day of the tourney!" and with that final note, Robert stands up and walks off the throne ignoring the angry protests of the crowd around him. He is still king though and after a few minutes, they follow him grumbling but still do.
"It still amazes me how effective monarchy is ingrained to the hearts and minds of the people of this reality," Delianah thought to herself. She is broken out of her reverie though as a familiar cough sounds beside her.
"Lord Tywin," Delianah inclines her head in respect to the older man who does also in return.
"Lady Tully, good work on putting down the chaos around King's Landing. The lower lords can bark all they want about their grievances but those who are in a higher position do understand the good you did. I however, have a question. Is it true that my granddaughter is the one who ordered the pacification of the city?"
"Yes, grandfather I did," the pretty voice of Myrcella appears beside Delianah making the latter smile as the golden princess wraps herself around Delianah's right arm pressing herself quite snuggly there as she stares at her grandfather without fear. "If it is not for my request, Delianah here might have left corpses instead of wounded men and women along the roads,"
Delianah smirks as Tywin raises one eyebrow, his gaze slowly turning to the entangled arm of Delianah being held by Myrcella. "Indeed, I see that the plan of bonding you two have is not simply contractual I see?"
"No grandfather, it is not," answers Myrcella firmly. Delianah remains silent as the two stare at one another reminding her of an image of a lioness facing a much bigger male lion ready to pounce at the slightest bit of trouble.
"Good work the both of you. I will see you two at the tourney grounds then. My lady, granddaughter," he inclines his head before also walking off.
"Whew, that was intense," comments Delianah as even Myrcella lets off a breath.
"Grandfather is never easy to talk to,"
"Hmm,"
"Lady Tully, Princess Myrcella," another familiar tone catches the two young women's attention, this time to a drab looking Ned Stark still in his Northern leathers.
"Lord Stark," Delianah sniffs haughtily. She has nothing against the man but she has to act the part of the angry high lord who has been attacked in his own lands (even though it would take a miracle for them to hurt her there). "Congratulations on being Hand of the King,"
"Like wise Lord Stark," chirps Myrcella though less warm also acting frostily (hers is genuine at the man putting her fiancé in danger).
Ned must have sensed the less than warm welcome for he gulps nervously before turning to Delianah. "Thank you. I believe I would see more of you here Lady Delianah at the capital?"
"Maybe, maybe not, why?"
"I would need to speak to you later about the repercussions of the loss of trade between Rivendell and the North after the Tourney. I truly am sorry about how things resulted to. I beg your apologies my lady in behalf of my wife-,"
"NED! GET OVER HERE" the booming voice of Robert can be heard reverberating from outside making Ned sigh again.
"My king calls for me. I'll see you later Lady Delianah, Princess," he bows before walking off leaving two women looking back at her blinking.
"Is he an idiot talking about all those things in public so frankly and within hearing range of everyone here?" asks Myrcella.
Delianah sums up her thoughts simply in one word. "Northeners," she sighs shaking her head.
…
Winterfell Prison
The sound of flesh hitting flesh followed by a pained groan is heard.
"Wooh! That's a broken nose. Are you ready to talk now half-man?" asks Brune, the current interrogator of Winterfell who smiles at the bloodied pulped face of Tyrion Lannister strapped to a chair.
"Imf, nuff sure, nosh painshful," the unrecognizable response from the youngest son of Tywin Lannister comes.
"What was that? You want to continue? Very well, I'll continue!"
"Nuff itf-UGH!" Tyrion groans as a powerful punch lands on his gut making Tyrion grunt from the pain as he spits out another waddle of blood.
Tyrion has no idea how things ended up this way. He has been planning on a rather last sightseeing of Winterfell when the Starks grabbed him, killed his men probably and left him on the rather tender touch of Brune the Bastard, the torturer slash interrogator of Winterfell. He is pretty sure that this is probably the worst thing that has happened to him so far in his relatively short life. His already broken nose is even more crooked than ever, and he has been seeing red these days through a squint thanks to the rather swelling of both his eyes
"Has he started talking yet?" the familiar voice of Robb Stark sounded eerily close through the ray of sunshine of the open door. Tyrion might have made a quip but he is just too deeply in pain to reply.
"No my lord, he is rather resilient despite being punched repeatedly," the piggish sound of Brune replies.
"Maybe a different touch is required Lord Stark. If I may, I would like to volunteer my brother for this task. He is…..skilled in making men talk," a rather unfamiliar tone Tyrion can hear saying from the shadows on the light.
"You have a brother Lord Bolton? I am unaware of that," the surprised voice of Robb responds.
"I myself am not aware of it till I got an anonymous letter Lord Stark. He is a bastard that's why he's not listed on the list of lords. He is however rather quite skilled when it comes to the art of interrogation. I believe if we give him the chance, he can make our rather uncooperative visitor talk,"
"Very well but he only has one shot and I'm only doing this because they hurt my brother. If he fails at this, there won't be another,"
"There would be no need for another Lord Stark. He would make him talk, I promise," the sure voice of Lord Bolton replies in full confidence making Tyrion's battered soul for some reason tremble in fear of what is to come.
….
Entrance to the Private Camp, Slash Field of the Black Guard, King's Landing Clearing
Rhaenys rides in as the line of Black Guard to the occupied field puts up their lowered spears upon her recognition. Already she can see the entire former sparring field commandeered by the Black Guard now being set up as temporary shelters for those belonging to the retinue of Rivendell with many a tent set up.
Without ado, Rhaenys rides to the largest tent at the middle where she knows her friends are waiting. Normally ever since they have become Gryphon Riders, Rhaenys have not ridden a horse. The joy of soaring through open skies riding over the backs of one of the mightiest beasts ever tamed is a mood killer compared to the experience of riding the four legged equestrians. Delianah however made it perfectly clear that they do not bring their Gryphons at the capital at the moment. Rhaenys like Myrcella has been with the brilliant Lady long enough to know that if she says something, it's usually for a good reason.
"Take this!" Rhaenys throws the reins to a standing stable hand as she jumps off of her horse nimble as a cat before striding forward to the flaps of the tents. The Death Dealers guarding it immediately bows in recognition, not stopping her advance as she goes in.
The familiar expansion "blessing" that makes the tent seem bigger on the inside once more greets her sight and Rhaenys rolls her eyes as the familiar sounds of giggling comes from the bathing area. Throwing both of her swords from the back at the ground, she strips off her Dornish leathers before unceremoniously throwing the blinds off the bathing area that hides an entire bathroom with a large bathtub as a main.
The sound of a plunger being pulled off can be heard followed by: "Rhaenys what the hell?! Learn how to shout before crashing in!" by an irate Delianah who has been busy trying to suck the tonsils off of Myrcella on the bathtub. Both are as naked as the day they are born, their nudity covered only by the bubbles of the large tub that can easily fit five people.
"Move over you two, I am as filthy as one can after all that riding," Rhaenys unashamedly throws her now naked self also on the water letting off a grateful sigh as the warmth soothe her aching muscles.
"Ahh, that's better," she croons happily before raising an eyebrow at the unhappy glares of the two other young women.
"Oh don't mind me. You two continue your smooching. I am just here for the bath," she waves off making Myrcella growl at her.
"Rae-Rae,"
"I know, I know, you want to include me too; but sorry girls. As much as I love you two, I prefer my partners lacking tits if you know what I mean," Rhaenys comments laughing as Myrcella splashes her with water filled with bubbles that easily leads to a splash fight between the three.
Rhaenys once thought she is jealous of Myrcella and Delianah liking one another and entering into their relationship. In the end she realizes that she is not jealous of them that way, no. Rather she is jealous of their bond. They would always have each other. Rhaenys wants that also. She is living a life of secrecy with only the inner circles of Rivendell knowing who she really is. It would be rather difficult to fully open to anyone about her true identity. Now if only she can coax the two that she would not be against sleeping with them both and help them relax for later.
It is a good thing as far as Rhaenys is concerned, especially with the rather large wrecking ball heading towards all of them later in the night that would sure result to a mountain of stress.
…..
Tourney Grounds- Evening before Dinner
The sound of metal hitting flesh finally concludes the last bout of the Tourney as the lance of Jaimie Lannistres strikes sure and true against the flat center shield of Ser Barristan. The older knight loses his balance before finally admitting defeat by a hairsbreadth against the Pride of House Lannister.
"Ser Jaimie wins the Tourney, three lances to two of Ser Barristan the Bold!" declares the announcer much to the cheering of the crowd (Much reduced due to the mob beforehand) as the Knight of House Lannister makes a victory round before accepting the wreath of flowers from the king's seneschal for him to Crown his Queen of Love and Beauty. With a practiced wave, the golden knight raises it high before handing it to Cerenna, his niece who blushes at all the giggling the other young ladies at court are giving her.
"Now my lords and ladies, as we end this Tourney of the Hand-,"
"And the Hand wants nothing to do with it," a very familiar protest throughout the duration of the Tourney with Northern accent is heard which everyone promptly ignores.
"-our king Robert, Baratheon Lord of the Seven Kingdoms-,"
"Oh get on with it you fool!" the irritated voice of said king once more interjects making the Senechal pause awkwardly before bowing at the King's direction.
"Our King Robert Baratheon wishes to make an announcement!" the seneschal finishes at the stand before walking aside giving the space to the chubby king of Westeros who waddles a bit ungracefully due to the wooden steps still not fully scrubbed off of the blood of the previous ruckus.
The moment he stands stable enough though and erect (as erect as he can be without slipping at least), the people starts the usual clap and cheering at his presence. Robert for all his faults might be a bad king but he's good with people and it is evident now as he smiles and waves at the crowd confidently.
"Alright! Alright! Now quiet you lot! I know you are all hungry and famished so I'll get straight to the chase," he begins, his booming voice clear for all to hear. "I know that many of you might have been wondering when I would declare formally my son Joffrey as Heir of my Throne. Am I right?"
At the lot of silent nods and ayes from the onlookers, Robert trudges on.
"Then I am here today right here standing in front of you to declare you to all that my son Joffrey won't be my heir!" the silence that follows is almost death-like as everyone slowly starts to absorb what the king just said. Of course Robert goes on, taking advantage of the non-protest of everyone.
"I am his father and king, so as both, I can see that he is not fit in any way to manage the future of our lands. Instead I am giving it to one of my children who knows war, battles, management and most importantly leadership. I know some of you might not be pleased with my choice but I have conferred with my closest advisors on this matter. Therefore in full confidence I would declare that in the event of my death and passing, my daughter, the Princess Myrcella would be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms!"
The chaos that follows after his words is twice greater than the one before the onset of the mob before as everyone fights to be heard. None noticed a blonde prince walking away from the stands amidst the ruckus.
…
Somewhere in a Brothel
Baelish almost cackles in glee as he reads the letter sent by Joffrey in his hand. It seems the fat king has blundered even greater than anything that Baelish can imagine. He has been in the midst of rectifying his plan on setting the North against the Lannisters when the moron fatso that is sitting at the throne made this fatal mistake.
"Now how to handle this to my favor,"Baelish thought to himself as he reads once more the letter of the Crown Prince containing a mix of complaining and ordering for him to handle this.
"The Fool," he thinks to himself. He has been buttering up favors to the prince and it seems to be working. The idiotic boy is even easier to manipulate than Baelish has expected. Childish and wit-lacking, he would be the key knife that Baelish would plunge on the heart of the Seven Kingdoms.
First things first however, it is time to sow Chaos once more. Robert Baratheon has started a grass fire with his decision on making his daughter the heiress apparent. Well, Baelish would fan that grass fire to become a forest fire that would engulf all.
"Bring me the annals and ledgers of Crown Succession!" Baelish barks at one of his whores who rush off to Baelish's rather large library.
First off he would need to play the compliant servant to the incompetent boy. He can recall a law or two to deal with the rather uppity decision of the king. The result would be chaotic enough that it would rip not only the Royal Family apart but also the kingdoms. Then Baelish would swoop in for the carcasses and take it all for himself.
So engrossed in his planning Baelish is that he fails to notice one of his patrons eyeing him, and more specifically the book that the whore brought to him.
…
Astapor, Free City
The retinue of Daenerys observes in no small amount of worry at the sight going on around them. Astapor is supposed to be one of the richer slave cities in this part of Slaver's Bay, well-known for training the martial Unsullied. However it is no so for the sight around them. Instead it is like a dying city that is being slowly abandoned with many a house empty with windows full of cobwebs and shadows.
They have arrived here two nights before in order for Daenerys to buy an army from the Slavers. However judging by the city's state, it looks like that they would be lucky to find provisions, much less soldiers on the ruined dump.
"Your highness, Ser Jorah has returned," one of her Dothraki handmaidens suddenly calls out making Daenerys abandon the book she is reading to rush above the deck where the knight has been handed wine from the wineskin.
"Ser Jorah, what news do you bring? Will the Masters meet with me?" Daenerys asks as the knight bows to her.
"There are no Masters anymore my lady. I have gathered news as to what happened here. It is unclear. The best that I have been able to get is that the Masters of Astapor overnight has lost all their money to thin air. Nearly all but a quarter of their treasury disappear. It is not only limited to their private vaults but also to their outside holdings. Thus they gathered all such valuables they have and left the city, its slaves, commoners and all to its fate,"
"So we won't have an army Ser Jorah?" asks Daenerys.
"No, I'm sorry but we will not have one. What we have here is a city full of people that is ready to fall,"
For some reason that strengthens Daenerys' resolve. "Good, that is good enough. We have lost the chance to buy an army. What we have gained though is a city,"
…
King's Landing, (An Hour before Robert's Announcement)
Back at King's Landing, a certain Dame is laughing as she can feel the extended leprechaun gold she has been paying the Masters of Astapor finally reach their time limit. She is not a saint but she is from Earth of the future after all. If there is one thing that any sane common person back home would never tolerate, it is slavery.
Did you really think she would make the morons richer with her hard-earned gold?
…
Author's Note:
Hey guys sorry for the insanely long update. At first I thought that I could slowly update Songs of Red Hair and Magic but then I realized that I made a promise to finish this. So I will do my best to do so. I will bull rush the story though so expect the unexpected.
Ive been reading my work and realized the ungodly amount of typos and wrong spellings. Once Im done with this, Ill reedit them.
As usual thank you for supporting my work. Especially those who point out the mistakes I made in the previous chapters. Ill edit them once I have free time again.
New Story Idea: Female Harry Potter X Warhammer 40K soon. Im so excited. FOR THE REPUBLIC!