The Dancing Griffin
"We cannot put a corpse on the throne" the hard and dark voice of the past declared as Jon's eyes followedthe raven plummeting from the maester's tower like a black stone, down the verdant green slope, then spreading its wing's above the glistening stream and barely avoiding their golden pavilions, ascending to the clouds. Such a careless bird would doom the Hayfords in a true siege, the raven would barely flinch at a nocked arrow.
Lady Hayford's wails echoed from the guest tower, her castellan had yielded the castle and sworn fealty in the name of the toothless babe. Jon had no choice but to take charge of the Hand's duties in the main hall, a cramped and dim space compared to his spacious chambers in the Hand's tower when he had served Aerys.
"With your leave, m'lord. We give her goat's milk, for she spurns the wet nurse, but that doesn't agree with her either", the maid lamented to Jon, who had no words to offer. Children had always been alien and baffling to him, even as a young lord he found it strange to think of having his own. Marriage was even more peculiar, and women more elusive and foreign. He was fortunate that his Lord father passed when he did, yet he yearned for the old man, as stern and ambitious as he was, he was always a father.
A raven with a letter flew over the banner with the Staunton chessboard, where it left its wings. The Dark wings, the dark words, save that this scroll told Lord Mooton, in Maidenpool, where they were, and what provisions he had to send. The true dark tidings, of the boy's hard ailment, Jon kept as close as his eyes. Now that the boy was slumbering and helpless, he was once more a scared seven-year-old, whom Illyrio had presented to Jon, so many years ago.
Lord Staunton was the first to rally to their cause, two days later followed by a joint host from House Stokeworth and Byrch, Ser Balman Byrch led the forces of his wife Felyse Stokeworth and brother Sylman. Kin and kith, bound by ambition, Byrch was keen to see his wife rise from an heiress to a lady, already anticipating the news of how Cersei had hurled his mother-in-law Lady Tanda from the walls of the Red Keep, onto the spiked moat.
Soon after, Aegon's camp was bedecked with more banners, Buckwell golden antlers, Chelstead mace and dagger, Rollingford roundels, Cressey helmets and coins and Mallery stars. The camp resembled more and more a westerosi camp, vibrant of colors and lively with constant shouts, whistles and humming.
Lord Renfred Rykker, a familiar face from Jon's old memories, was the last to arrive to the Hayford, flanked by two twin sons, of fourteen years, who were as identical as the two griffins embroidered on Jon's coat. Another who had profited from Robert's rebellion and seized the place of his cousin, banished to the Night's Watch.
He acted as if he did not know Jon, at least not personally, "I expected the king to be here, I wish to kneel before him, in my own person". The words were rigid, of the lordly posture, as they acquire from years of sitting in noble chairs. I have only had a few years of lordship.
"The king has been waiting for you for eight moons, and you were not there", Jon retorted with biting words, but not voice.
"Now I am here and I offer my pledge. When do you march on King's Landing?", Rykker brushed off Jon's rebuke in a lordly fashion. They always act as if they did nothing wrong.
"Soon. In Rosby they spurned our ravens, I sent horsemen to confirm their allegiance and fetch grain for King's Landing". The tidings of their triumph over the Lannisters flew faster than the lash of a storm on the crags of Cape of Wrath. By Jon's command, from Maidenpool they sent missives, by ravens and riders, to all Crownlands houses, north of Blackwater rush.
"A prudent move, my spies from the capital report that there is a dire hunger in the city, the Tyrells have shut the Rose road. Yet, there is something more urgent to tell you, a wine seller from Pentos brought curious news to Duskendale. Stannis Baratheon was sighted in Pentos", Rykker said with knowing eyes. The news was more important than all the blades he brought.
Jon stared him in the face, "does your seller know what Stannis is doing in Pentos?"
"Pentos is a vast city, with people of even vaster interests. But I know Stannis, he is a shrewd and rigid man, he does nothing without clear purpose. If he went so far, he went for a vow that he trusts will be kept". With a vague answer Rykker certainly did not mirror Stannis, but he had a point, Stannis was not a man of haggling; he believes he will get something. An army perhaps, if Jon had to guess. The balance of their forces was currently alike, if not an edge for Stannis in a few thousand, but if Stannis gained more men, that would greatly tip the scales in his favor.
"Thank you, my lord", Jon said, hoping the conversation would end.
"If it suits my lord Hand, I have a plea to make, my son Rymen", he gestured to the right twin, "is skilled with the sword, 'the new ser Arthur Dayne' says my castellan, I would recommend him for the Kingsguard". A surprising proposal, as Aegon had no kingsguard yet, Jon had postponed that for the last. With each of our steps to King's Landing, the time of old traditions becomes closer.
"Send him to ser Barristan Selmy, his word will prevail". For every castellan boasts of their pupils, that they are Dragonknight, Ser Duncan the Tall or Ser Arthur. Many have perished because of honeyed words. At last, the Lord of Duskendale bowed and departed.
With no more requests, Jon made his way to the maester's tower, where Haldon was dispatching and receiving letters, with the aid of a young maester, in the service of the Hayfords.
I ought to visit Aegon, he told himself. But the boy would not flee away, he sighed deeply. The Stark girl's claim that Aegon had spoken was vain, whatever it was, it ceased with Haldon's arrival in the tent. In the gloom of the spiral stairs of the maester's tower he saw himself kneeling before Aerys, with a golden chain of hands and vow that he would not fail his duty. Then, as now, his mind always drifted to Rhaegar, his helm and guide. Now he had an unseen shackle of golden hands around his neck and it was not bestowed on him by the king. The dark corridor turned into light and Jon was once more in the radiant Lannister pavilion where the fate of the realm was shattering.
"We cannot put a corpse on the throne", the newly minted captain ser Brendel Byrne scowled. A dead man cannot wear a crown. The demise of Torman Peake and Ser Tristan Rivers had cleared the way for him, as one's dusk is another's dawn. "The boy has not stirred for five nights, I can laud his valiant struggle against the fever to the edge of the world, but that does not alter the facts. We must either back a new king or sail to Essos."
The remark stirred discord among the assembled and the Red viper skewered Byrne with his keen eyes, with a slight smile. A poisonous smile, Brenden did not see that his doom was before his eyes. But the prince of Dorne remained silent.
The long-awaited parley of the captains of the Golden Company and the allies from Dorne swiftly turned into a tempest of views and sharp words. Hundreds of talks were held at once, words shattered like spears. Harry Strickland claimed a seat in the heart of the large Lannister Pavilion, his squire Watkyn approached the Red Viper and urged him to take a more central spot, next to the captain-general of the Golden Company.
"The center is where I stand", the Dornish prince retorted haughtily.
The spurning of the gesture irked Strickland, who gazed at the uproar with half-lidded eyes. Jon did not fail to notice that Homeless Harry did not extand him the same courtesy as to the snake. "Mayhaps it would be wiser to sail to Essos", Strickland drawled the words, as if he was speaking of supper, not the fate of the realm, "there is too much to do. In truth, we would have to forge a new rule ourselves, quell the houses in rebellion. I wonder, is it worth it, the balance of spent and gained is too meager. We lack such might."
"I say we head to the west, the Young Wolf has shattered the lions there. We seize Casterly Rock, plunder the vaults, and we will have gold for evermore", said Marq Mandrake and roused greedy eyes and sellsword hunger of other captains and serjeants. "Not to speak of Lannisport, we feign to besiege the city and they will yield us ships to sail to the Free Cities and squander gold."
"Have you ever seen Casterly Rock", asked Prince Oberyn, and received a negative reply from Marq Mandrake's pockmarked face, "It is not a castle but a rock, tall as the sky can reach, with a slender path, where your ten thousand blades become thirty, forty men. Lannister is a wicked man, not a fool. You will roast under pots of scalding water, die against crossbows so strong that they pierce armor, and when your golden rams smash the heavy gates, before you there will be even heavier gates and the same fight, then the third, the fourth, endlessly, you will delve so deep into the lion's lair that you will never glimpse the sun again. Even if you were tenfold as many you would not have the power to do it."
Naturally, Strickland did not match the daring of Marq Mandrake, "I concur with the prince's wisdom, but it is crucial that we recoup the costs. The whisper is that the vaults in King's Landing are in a sorry state, but mayhaps enough for the our past troubles. The city is poorly guarded and to sack it will not be a trial. Stannis Baratheon will thank us when we deliver him the city". The words of a craven brought flush to Jon Connington's face, it seemed that only Oberyn Martell sensed his wrath. Aegon was alive, however faint his breath was, he was alive.
"Have you forgotten your purpose, Harry, this company was born with one idea, which Bittersteel etched into each of our contracts. That ink is invisible, but every true knight of the Golden Company feels it. Homecoming", Laswell Peake said softly. At least sense had not wholly fled the tent. The fare on the big table was already half-devoured, as well as on several small round tables where the lesser officers sat.
Arvill Cole rose in Harry's support, "we require a king to remain. The sword is worth naught, if on the morrow the high lords will crush us, because we are not of their ilk."
"We ought to send for Prince Viserys, is he not the heir?", Byrne chimed in again, rubbing a long scar across his face. Viserys Targaryen was self-satisfied and a wild man, cruel and hard. Everything that Jon dreaded that Aegon could turn into, Viserys was, as a child, when Jon dwelled in King's Landing in the company of Rhaegar; and later as an exiled prince. "The beggar king does not have all the bells tolling in his head as they ought", said Myles Toyne, after Viserys had made a feast for him, hoping that the Golden Company would back his claim.
"That's not well, Last time we see him, he dey shout at we, vexed 'cause we no stand behind him. Him keep saying, 'I be king, blah, blah,' and 'When I get back throne, blah, blah.' If I no hold back Toyne, Blackheart would cleaved him like a mango", Black Balaq chortled, reclining on soft cushions. Two whores flanked him, their arms draped over his chest. All the Lannister camp followers had switched the side, after the fray. Around him sat four of his summer islander bowmen, with bows of goldenheart. Jon wondered how Tywin Lannister would react to this menagerie 'under his roof'.
"King Aegon has a daughter", Gulian Corgyle spoke, grave and courteous, a men carved more of duty than zeal, he was the very opposite of the other Dornishmen. A fair man to look at, with short coal-black locks of hair, a lighter complexion than usual for a Dornishman, and almost a feline piercing eyes. The young knight had won Jon's esteem in a brief span, his somber deed had brought the Dornishmen here. It would not be if the viper had his way.
"Daughter", Strickland stressed the word, "A women cannot be a queen, still a child and of wildling blood".
Jon swiftly glanced at Captain Otreyes and saw anger in his eyes. "Mind your tongue Harry or your head might swim in gold sooner", Mertyn snarled.
"None can menace the captain-general of the Golden Company", Arvill Cole sprang to Strickland's aid.
"Is that so", Mertyn Otreyes laid his hand on the scabbard of wolf skin, "will you stand for him then". Cole was unsettled and withdrew, Harry Strickland was not afraid at all. The charade amused the Dornishmen, Dagos Manwoody lifted a cup to Otreyes, Ryon Allyrion smirked at Prince Oberyn, while Gerold Dayne sneered.
"I say, let us seat the young Elia as the heir and name Lord Connington as the regent, the King's hand and the Protector of the Realm", Laswell Peake rose and bent the knee before Jon.
"It is wise, we gain what we seek. Lord Connington is a stern hand", said Lymond Pease and stood, followed by all the Lothsons, Dick Cole and all his false kin, save Arvill; one by one almost all the serjeants stood.
"So many titles, so many burdens. Your back will hurt terribly", Prince Oberyn smiled, "that's why Lord Griffin will have Dornish spears to keep his spine upright".
"The company has spoken then", the last one to stand was Homeless Harry, "the power is now in your hands, Lord Connington". Harry even bowed deeply. I do not forgive so lightly Harry.
The army was already in a swift march the next morning, split into two parts. The main part, led by Jon and a smaller host under Harry, of five thousand blades, who went north to claim his fiefdom in Harrenhal.
...
The maester's quarters were humble, cramped and dim, as all in the keep.
"My lord, a raven from Harrenhal has arrived. The captain-general has seized the castle and routed the garrison of two hundred Stark men. His scouts have sighted a larger host moving along the road to Stoney Sept", said Haldon
"Roose Bolton", Jon said with certainty, "he is going to reckon with the Forley Prester Lannisters". The tidings were good, no matter who emerged as the victor Harry would have a lighter task. At the Redwood sept, Jon had swiftly fancied the notion of Harry departing, better up there than with me here. The old man wished to take half of their strenght, but he agreed for a fourth. To bolster his five thousand, Homeless Harry gathered six hundred volunteers among the taken Lannisters; sellswords, hedge knights and petty lords, eager for a bigger bite in this world accepted his invitation.
Haldon's visage betrayed that he had more to tell, he glanced at the young maester, who was scraping the dung heaped under the cages, "Oryn, can you grant us some seclusion, please". The young maester nodded and departed, with the chime of the maester's chain much fainter than most of his peers. A commoner's son, no doubt, he had wrought enough links to be able to serve, enough to earn rank.
From the cupboard Haldon drew out several scrolls, unrolled one and handed it to Jon. The wind howled, through the half-shut wooden window, it snuffed out several tapers. The half-maester quickly busied himself by igniting the quenched wax lights.
"The wolf changes its fur, but not its temper", it read at the start of the missive, "we stand ready for whatever you plan to do". A brief message, without any sense, on already stale parchment and without a seal, which especially caught Jon's eye.
"Whence did it come?", he queried.
"It was not meant for us. I chanced upon it while I was poring over the papers from the Lannister camp. Tywin Lannister is a clever man, by the scant number of letters in his tent, one can deduce that he was burning incoming messages. He did not manage this one". What does not exist cannot be read, knowing the foe is half the war.
"I reckon that's not all".
"No, the lack of a seal piqued me, so I sought Talophil, the maester, who was in his employ at Harrenhal. Handling ravens is not a skill that young lords acquire. Yet, the maester was not loquacious". Feeding birds and clearing muck is not a lordly task. Haldon was in a half-crouched stance, with one hand on the table as a prop, the other clutching his newly shorn beard.
"Kellerman...", an hour with the tormentor would surely divulge the secrets.
"...he did his work or at least strove. The old man as soon as he beheld the device on the table immediately spoke. The Lannisters had dealings with the Freys of the Crossing from the onset of the war, though the pact with Starks curbed cooperation. The recent wedding of Robb Stark, and the breaking of the marital bond with them angered the Freys and it seems that they turned to the Lannisters". The Freys are not men of honor, and Lord Walder Frey is a sour leech, whose lack of honor is almost as vast as the number of winters he lived through. Yet, this is a chance, if or when the war shifts against the Stark, an alliance with the Freys would be most welcome.
"Do the Hayfords have a raven for the Twins?"
Haldon shook his head.
"Then send a raven to Maidenpool, let them relay the message", Haldon gazed at him with a blend of wonder, he knew what this was aiming at. "Let the Freys know that we know and offer them a hand that we want to stand where the Lannisters halted. Be subtle and choose your words wisely, Walder Frey is a hard man". Jon did not wish to wade in murky waters, but he must, his knightly ways had brought him to ruin at Stoney Sept.
"There is where you're wrong. Lord Tywin would not have bothered with a search. He would have burnedthat town and every living creature in it. Men and boys, babes at the breast, nobleknights and holyseptones, pigs andwhores, rats and rebels, he would have burned them all", Myles Toyne spoke from the grave. What would Toyne think now if he knew that Jon had defeated Tywin Lannister and had him in captivity with half of his army. Varys and Aegon had outwitted the lion, you were silent. He would lie if he said that it did not hurt that Aegon hid the plan of burning the Lannister supplies from him. Like Rhaegar and his covert plans and plots. He knew about the tourney as a ruse against Aerys, but not about the wolf maid. Later, when Rhaegar took her somewhere, it pained, because if Elia was a duty, the honor that Rhaegar gave to Lyanna Stark could be love.
Overwhelmed by unwanted thoughts, he went to the courtyard where Ser Barristan was testing young Rykker. The boy arrogantly spun around three guards, but he was good, they were powerless against him. If he survives the arrogance of a young knight, he might fulfill his father's boasts.
"Very well, very well", said Ser Barristan and took a blunt sword in his hands, "now against me", Selmy was composed.
The old game did not repeat and now the boy was on the defensive, Barristan the Bold had lost some strength with the years and nothing of his skill. The dull blows of his sword on Rykker's shield with crossed black warhammers, echoed in the small courtyard. Yet, the boy had a warrior's spirit and swiftly rallied and for a while it seemed that they were matched. The lack of knowledge and experience the boy compensated with speed and raw power of youth. And youth tires, so Barristan knocked the sword out of his hands.
"Keep training, until you get blisters on your hands", he said to the boy, as he eyed Jon on the wooden stage. The old knight climbed the stairs and joined him.
"He is fit for the Kingsguard, and it is ever good to have a member or two who are so young, it is simpler to teach them honor, pride and custom of service until they know no better", the knight answered Jon's unsaid question, as they walked on the squeaky wooden floor. Jaime Lannister was young and unblemished, that did not stop him from stabbing Aerys in the back.
"How is the Stark girl?", Jon asked Selmy.
"She wept a little more when I left the watch", the sadness that his gray beard hid, his eyes revealed. "What sort of man slays the children of his foster, who fed and sheltered him, under his own roof".
"The Ironborn are savage people Ser, you know yourself, you fought against them", Jon was thinking of the recent tidings of the death of the Stark boys. The Grayjoy invasion of the North was one of those things that worked in their favor, but he did not feel at ease at all.
He ordered the maid to prepare him a bath, after this day, Jon Connington felt foul, in and out.
...
The Spare Dragon
He cursed the sun that dared to mock him, its rays stabbing through the curtains of his merchant chamber, adding to the infernal heat that tormented him. Sweat ran down his body in rivulets, only to be dried by the cold sea breeze that brought no relief.
He loathed everything, he dismissed the whores that cluttered his bed, felt shame and rage, drowning himself in wine, trying to erase the bitter taste from his mouth. Damn Illyrio and the Eunuch, they had deceived him all these years. Or had they? What if this was all a plot against him? They had found some bastard son of a whore in Lys or Tyrosh and now they claimed he was Rhaegar's son.
That snake Elia and her small mongrels had stayed in King's Landing, he could still see the fear in her eyes, when they shoved him and his mother into the boat. His father had been wise, he knew the sand rats could not be trusted.
Only at the last hour, a year after the usurper and his dogs had defied his family, did the Dornishmen arrive, with a meager host of ten thousand spears. Had not the glorious son of his house Daeron, the Young Dragon, written that the sons of the desert and the scorching sun could muster a force of fifty thousand warriors? They had betrayed his father at the Trident, as had many others, they had failed to protect his brother, and now in league with these worms from Pentos they sought to steal his crown.
The bedding under him was wet from sweat, a faint smell of lust lingered in the air.
"My prince, I hope the ladies were to your liking, they are fresh from the pleasure houses of Lys", said a fat merchant at the doorway, crumbs of his morning meal clinging to his beard. After the letter, Viserys had sailed from Volantis hoping to find Mopatis in Pentos, but the glutton had slithered away and was gone for many a moon.
Viserys gave him no answer, but looked at the fraudster with a frown. The greedy worm feigned innocence as if all was well.
"Mopatis, what is this foul betrayal? You swore to me my father's crown and now you hand it to another. Who is this whelp, for I saw my brother's son at a Dornish harlot's tit when I left King's Landing for Dragonstone. The babe is dead, the dogs of the usurper dashed his skull"
Mopatis did not answer at once, but settled on a cushioned seat away from the casements, the odors of the night's pleasures did not bother him. A platter of grapes soon came to his grasp, which he gobbled greedily. "House Targaryen has many foes, unsettled scores, and friends so few, a men can count them on a butcher's fingers. Varys saved the child, swapping him at the last moment, and Tywin Lannister's brute did us a favor and smashed his head against the wall. Flattened head that not even a mother could recognize".
Viserys had lived a life of sweet words, false promises, and many secrets in Essos, which drained his nerves. "If it is true, why was I not told?"
"Ser Willem Darry knew. There was always an understanding that he was the deciding head. His wish was to keep you apart. For safety reasons of course". Dead mouths do not speak, though Viserys was ready to sail to Braavos, open the unmarked grave of Willem Darry and seek confirmation.
He snarled his lip, the briny traces of sweat on his naked flesh vexed him. "So I am a pawn. My host was not mine, I endured moons among the reeking horse-eaters to muster a force for another. I yielded my own sister to the lord of all barbarians, for nought, it would have been more glory for House Targaryen if I had claimed her maidenhood and made her my bride".
With violet lips from the grapes, Mopatis meant to say something, but with a crammed mouth he resumed munching and it took him an age to clear his mouth and voice his thought. "Great prince, foremost of the grandest lineage that ever trod the world, IT IS NOT FOR NAUGHT. Aegon has no male offspring, which crowns you the Prince of Dragonstone. Besides, Rhaegar's son must seize the throne with fire and steel, perchance it is your fate, my prince, 'the throne', if he perishes. And you can yet take your sister for a wife, for... Khal Drogo is gone, slain by his own Bloodriders tales say or devoured by a witch".
The thought jolted Viserys, the dim-witted brute had never honored him and instead of honoring his part of the pact, he awaited chatter from the sky, to have his horse's god dung a turd on the spot where he should tread.
"Where is she now?", though pleased for the demise of the savage, Viserys had no patience for tales.
"Qarth, they say," the merchant mused, "but that is not all, to my ears has come an unbelievable news worth all the gold in the world." The magister chuckled, then fell silent.
"Will you tell me or do I have to swim across the Narrow Sea, and reclaim the treasuries of my noble father to loosen your tongue?"
The joke pleased the magister, who continued to giggle further, "a possibility that always rings nicely in my ears, but of course not.
Dragons, rumors say that princess Daenerys lives and that she carries with her three dragon hatchlings."
Viserys, drinking his tenth goblet of the wine since morning, did not know whether to laugh or rage. The gods were not so cruel to grant her that honor. I am the dragon.
"I want a ship for Qarth."
