Wife of the Wolf, Husband of the Sun
Chapter Eighty-Eight
There was a cold breeze that almost made him shake but he could not, he must not allow himself to show any sort of weakness. Certainly not now, not after everything that had happened.
One wrong word, that was all that it would take. One wrong word said at the wrong moment and he would be fed to the fires. To be certain, that was the truth of it before but now any semblance that the King ever had of tolerance for failure had since vanished like a mist in the full light of the sun, no there would be no forgiveness and he knew that.
Either the pyre or he would be shoved in the Black Cells under the Red Keep to rot. Jon was truly not sure which he would prefer more, if he was to be honest. He should have died in battle, that would have made everything a great deal simpler. It was better than whatever was surely waiting for him, there would be songs about him if he died with a sword in his hand.
He could almost hear them now, of the Hand of the King with his hair as red as flame who rode into battle atop his stallion of pure white in shining armor with a war cry on his lips. It would certainly be a nice way to be remembered, even if it wasn't true. Certainly it would be better that than to be remembered as the Hand of the King who was burned atop a pyre for failing his own King.
Or to be remembered as the man who had chosen to serve a madman for his own king, but that was no doubt how history would remember him as being even if it was mostly Rhaegar's own doing that Jon was where he was in the first place. His beautiful silver prince, Jon had dreamed about dying for him more than once but in his dreams it had always been because he had taken a crossbow bolt that had been meant for him or he had dueled an enemy in his stead.
It was never in his dreams because his mad old Father needed to punish someone for the fact that over half of his kingdoms had rebelled against and in the war to put them back in his place he was losing.
But then maybe that was the point, nothing in life would ever be what they expected it to be. They could make all of their pretty plans and cling to their perfect hopes and dream all of their dreams and in the end none of it would matter. The gods would take all their plans and dreams and hopes and dash them against the stones until nothing was left of them.
The gods really were cunts when he stopped to think about it. Well, at the very least he would more than likely be able to call them such to their face soon enough.
It was odd, Jon honestly thought that he would have more terrified now that the hour that his fate would be decided was getting closer and closer but he wasn't, not all that much at the very least. There had been dread, when the rider had come with the message that had summoned him back to King's Landing, like a thousand eels had been biting on the inside of his stomach but that had not lasted longer than a few hours.
Maybe the truth of it was, he was just ready for it to happen. He was tired, a long time ago he had been proud that he was so young when he had been first named the Hand of the King but now as he looked back on it he thought that perhaps it had been the cruelest thing that Rhaegar had ever done to him. He still loved him, he did. But Jon wasn't sure if he was ever going to truly be able to forgive him for it.
And yet, if Jon still managed to live beyond this day and Rhaegar sat the Iron Throne, which Jon was certain that he would no matter what else happened, he would still serve him in whatever way that Rhaegar would have him. As his hand or his sworn shield or his squire or whatever duty he would have of him, Jon would do.
Perhaps it was pathetic, it was pathetic, but there was naught that he could do to change it now. Jon sighed heavily and laid his head back on the pillows of his bed and closed his eyes and prayed that he would not have to open them again.
He very nearly did fall to asleep with how comfortable the bed was. Whatever the King decided to do with him in the future, Jon was still a highborn lord and he was still that Hand of the King and he was expected to be given certain treatment when he was imprisoned and the King surprised him when he had been shown to rather comfortable chambers rather than instead one of the Black Cells.
They were not his own chambers in the tower of the Hand but they were certainly comfortable enough, the covers were silk and the pillows were plump and servants had brought him bowls of grapes and platters of bread and cheese and pitchers of wine and not a one of them had been poisoned, though if they were it would not have been at the King's order.
He liked his enemies to suffer and scream as he dealt with them, not to pass quietly in their sleep.
He sensed Varys's hand in this. Why the Spider would try and help him he had no idea, Jon had never been an ally of his and he had hated the eunuch and he had done the barest minimum when it came to hiding it. Varys always seemed to be laughing about something, sometimes out loud in little breathless giggles that always irritated Jon enough to make his teeth grind but most times his laughter was silent, his eyes shinning.
It was like he knew the funniest jest in the world, and he wasn't in any rush to tell anyone what it was. Why Aerys had not tied the eunuch to one of his pyres and burned him to ashes he did not begin to understand. Of course, he might take it as a good sign that he could not understand the madman, but it did not make any sense from what he knew of the King.
To be as safe as you ever could be around Aerys it was generally considered the wisest course to flatter him, if he suggested an idea or an approach to a problem then you had to gasp and act like it was the most brilliant idea that you had ever heard. Anything else and more likely than not the Pyromancers would be summoned and the person who was next in the King's circle would know not to make that mistake again.
But Varys was not like that. He may have had his balls cut off but he certainly did not act like it with the King, to be certain he gave the King a great deal of flattery when he needed to but he also never shied away from giving the King council when he wasn't asked for it and nor did he try and soften his words when it came to that.
In truth, the only other person it reminded Jon of was Lord Tywin Lannister. No man who liked his head attached to his neck would ever to dare to suggest that the Lion of Casterly Rock, Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, the Shield of Lannisport and the Warden of the West was alike to a foreign born eunuch but it was the closest comparison that Jon could think of in that moment.
A knock on the door roused him from his half slumber and dismissed his thoughts as he pushed himself up from the bed just a moment before the door opened and Ser Jaime Lannister walked into the room. With his mane of golden curls, pale skin and burning green eyes he was as perfect a Lannister as any Lannister could be.
Jon wondered if this is what he thought his life would be when he had bent his knee in front of Aerys's stand at Harrenhal and begged to be allowed into the kingsguard? Well, whatever his reason it did not truly matter now. Ser Jaime had made his choice and now he would just have to live with it, just like all of them in the end.
"Ser Jaime." Jon nodded to him and rose from the bed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Am I right to assume that his grace sent you to come and fetch me? Am I be brought forth in fetters as the pyromancers prepare for my death?"
"It is not for me to question what the King would have of you, Lord Jon. I was commanded to bring you to the Throne Room and that is what I intended to do and naught more." Ser Jaime turned and opened the door and two guards walked in, both lowborn and with a mean look about them. One held a rough wooden club and the other a pair of chains. "I hope the fetters will not be needed?"
For a moment, Jon considered the possibility of attempting an escape. He was taller than Ser Jaime, broader as well and he was not injured. He could probably spit in the man's eye, wrestle his sword away from him and use it to kill the guards and run out of the room.
And then what?
He would still be trapped in the middle of the Red Keep, even if he could get out of Maegor's which was somewhat unlikely considering there would be a guard on the drawbridge he would still need to get out of the castle itself and then everyone would be looking for him and even if he somehow did manage to get out of the city, where would he go?
He would be a traitor to the crown, a fugitive. Any lord loyal to Aerys would turn him in without question, less out of loyalty at this point and no doubt more due to not wanting to feel the wildfire lick at their walls of their halls. He wouldn't go back home, he would not risk Aerys wrath coming down on them and punishment for his own escape, they were already in danger enough as one of the few houses in open support of the King in the Stormlands.
The rebellion was an option, he supposed. Of course, the chances were just as good they would hang him as soon as they got his hands on him, that or they would shove him in a dark cell which would rather defeat the purpose of trying to escape in the first place. He could also try and find Rhaegar, his friend would protect him from his Father's wrath as best he could, Jon was certain of that, but he had no idea where he would even start to look for him.
Rhaegar had been hard to pin down ever since he returned from wherever he had taken the Stark girl to, and the few times Jon had been able to speak to him he had not let anything slip about where she might be. Sometimes Rhaegar was riding with the men off to certain battles, other times he vanished with seemingly no one knowing where he had gone too.
At least he still had some sense to never take direct command of whatever forces he rode with, as the prince and heir to the throne he could no doubt do so but according to Jon's own reports Rhaegar always gave command to whoever was just below him in terms of rank so whenever he did ride off into the middle of the night, going somewhere only the gods knew, the command was never overtly disrupted.
He disappeared for weeks at time, coming back for only a few days to seemingly let them all know that he was alive before seemingly disappearing again. When Aerys had learned about this, he'd gone feral. Assuming that his son was plotting against him, he muttered about secret meetings with the rebels and the fact that three of his own kingsguard had abandoned him and a thousand other things.
Wherever Rhaegar was, Jon doubted that he was about ride full speed through King's Landing on the back of his horse to come and save him and so it seemed that Jon was on his own. And even if he did try to escape when it came to blades he was never that skilled with them, serviceable as a Lord had to be, but never much more than that. Any escape attempt was more than likely going to end with a sword being run through his bowls.
So, Jon decided against it. He shook his head in the direction of the guards before he turned his attention to Ser Jaime. Gods, he was so young. He had never noticed that before now. "I will not try and run Ser Jaime, you have my word on that. On my honor, the fetters will not be needed but I shall wear them if you deem it needed."
Jaime Lannister stared at him for a few long moments and his sword arm clenched for a few moments before it went still. "I don't they will be either." He jerked his head roughly in the direction of the guards and both left the room. "Please, follow me."
He almost made it sound like he had a choice, Jon almost found it funny. He followed Jaime out of the room and followed him down the silent corridor. While the fetters were not put on him, the guards had not let and both followed behind as Ser Jaime lead from the front. Their footsteps echoed in the silence like they were war drums, loud as thunder and beating out doom, for him or for them he was not sure.
Court under Aerys for as long as Jon had been there had never been a happy place, there was always a tension in the air like a thunder storm was about to strike and you were simply waiting for it to happen. There was an understanding between every lord and lady at court that they were living under a madman and the wrong word said by any of them at the wrong moment could see them any anyone deemed close to them burning. They had all seen it happened.
But this was different, he felt it as they crossed the courtyard to the throne room from Maegor's Holdfast and it only became more apparent as they entered the throne room itself.
Two great black iron braziers were burning away in the middle of the room and the warmth was almost overwhelming, that was not so surprising considering that they were still trapped in the middle of winter and it only seemed to have gotten colder and colder since that brief reprieve that made all of them thought that summer had come early, but they seemed to be the only light sources in the throne room which cast everyone in long shadows.
The King was sitting the Iron Throne, high above them all. He hadn't looked well when Jon had last seen him when he had marched off to war, but now he seemed only that much worse. His hair was long enough to brush against the sleeves of his robes, his nails had grown so much that they curled so much that they now meet themselves half way down the length of them. His skin was pale and seemed to have large splotches of yellow on his face and he had lost a great deal of weight.
It gave the impression of a corpse dressed in robes, rather than a king. Instead of his usual purple robes that the King had enjoyed wearing, he now wore black and red. If he hoped that it made him look more regal, then it was not working. The skin under his eyes was as black as night and his crown looked like it was moments away from rolling off of his head.
The Queen was sitting on the dais, next to the Iron Throne in a padded chair as lovely and sad as ever. Her belly was slightly swollen which pointed to the news that they had received while fighting was true, the Queen was with child once again. But that didn't surprise him, no not at all. The Queen was not that old, in truth. Indeed, many were surprised when they learned how old Queen Rhaella actually was.
But being married to Aerys had aged her terribly, but to have endure him for as long as she had done and still managed to keep hold on even some shred of sanity spoke to a great reserve of strength that Jon doubted most warriors would be able to find on the battlefield. But just because she was strong, did not mean that she should have to be.
But it was not as if her husband ever gave her much of a choice when it came to that. The burning of his enemies...excited him, for lack of a better word. And when the King became excited he would go to his wife. Of course, these days he had enemies in every corner which meant that there was a burning almost every other day.
Which meant that the Queen was rarely if ever given a moment's peace, she had the same dark marks under her own eyes as her husband which spoke to how much little sleep she had been able to get. It all explained how she had fallen to be with child again, but Jon did not think anyone could blame her if she wished not to be.
In truth, the kindest thing for the child that she carried now might be for it to be washed away with a cup of moontea. With a Father like Aerys and with the reign of of the Targaryens looking more and more like it was about to to come to an end, what life would it have if it was born? Knowing the gods, they would play one of the sick jokes and have it be a girl.
Aerys was a mad man who was half a corpse who ruled with naught but fear and he looked like he was moments away from dying, but at least in the end he would finally get the daughter that he always wanted. Not even the gods could be that cruel, could they? Why was he even thinking about it, of course they would be. They always were.
The small council, what was left of it, sat at a long table behind the black iron braziers. Symond Staunton and Lucerys Velaryon were both still hostages of Lord Greyjoy and Jon had to wonder how many of the lords and ladies currently gathered would jump to take their places, the Ironborn might be raiders but at least they weren't mad.
Pycelle looked as ineffectual as ever, his large eyes slowly blinking as the old man looked at him. Chelsted, the Master of Coin, would no doubt keep his own thoughts as tightly locked as he apparently did the vaults and would simply agree with whatever judgement the King decided and then stroke his ego by telling him how brilliant he was.
There were three men sitting at the table that he did not recognize, not by their features at least but he recognized their garb. They were all members of the guild of Pyromancers and they were sitting with the King's council, they were a part of the King's council. None of them wore the chain that suggested they were Hand of the King but that was little comfort, they might as well wear it considering that apart from Varys they were the only ones the King ever seemed to listen too.
And speaking of Varys of course he was sitting at the table as well, in violet silk robes with cloth of gold sleeves. His face was powdered white and the stench of dead flowers drifted off of him. His dark eyes were shinning with something, some hidden knowledge. The funniest jest in the world that only he knew and he was not about to tell any of them what it was, so only he could laugh about it.
Ser Jaime held out a hand to to signal to him to stop and stay where he was, about ten steps in front of the long table which meant that he was in perfect sight of the King. Ser Jaime stepped away from his side and walked around the table to stand in front of the dais, Ser Barristan was standing on the other side of him and there was no sign of Ser Lewyn or Ser Jonothor.
"Lord Jon Connington, my most noble Hand of the King. When I named you as my Hand, I gave you the authority to speak with my voice when I could not do so. I also gave you leave to go and fight on the field in the King's stead, to bring an end to these oath breaking rebels." The King's voice was very quiet but the rage that was present in it burned brighter than any fire that he had ever set.
"You have been summoned back to King's Landing, so that you might explain your failure in this." His voice took a tone of amusement then as his eyes turned a shade darker than. "And when you are finished explaining my Lord, I will then explain to you why failing in your duty to me is not something that I will ever tolerate. And let me assure you, I mean to explain in through detail."
"Now, speak!" It was a bark of a command and it was followed by a hacking series of coughs, each one powerful enough to make his body shake and bloody phlegm splattered against his hand and Jon prayed silently that he would choke and they could finally make an end to this murmur's farce.
Alas, it seemed as though they would not be so lucky as the fit soon passed and the King caught his breath once again and sat back up, waiting for Jon to speak.
Jon sighed and began to speak, keeping his head up high. "Your Grace, when you in your infinite wisdom named me as your Hand, nothing could ever hope to surpassed the honor and the pride that I felt in that moment and in that moment I swore that I would no naught else but try and serve you to the best of my ability and I have done nothing else but that. But none of us expected there to be a rebellion."
Well, that was not entirely true. Jon had very much expected there to be a rebellion, but this had proven to be the wrong one. The one that was meant to happen would happen with Rhaegar at the head of it and he would have Lord Tywin to support him. They would depose Aerys and have him looked away with the support of all of the kingdoms and they in a few months Aerys would have passed in his sleep or he would have taken a tumble down the steps and none of this would have happened.
But Rhaegar had simply kept delaying, the time was never right. And it had never happened at all and now Jon was trapped in this hell, perhaps to some extent he deserved it. He had only became the Hand of the King because Rhaegar had asked him too, it was part of his plan. He was never meant to be the Hand to Aerys for this long.
Perhaps the Gods were just in the end, maybe this was his punishment? Maybe he really did deserve all of this in the end.
"I rode out against your Graces enemies as all loyal men would, but the rebels...many of them have fought in wars before, many have more experience in fighting than I do and they have made it very clear that no method is too base for them if it will allow them to win." They had certainly proven that, several times over. Not that those who had been loyal to the King had proven much better.
Indeed, all of Westeros had proven to be something of a charnel ground for both sides. When word had reached Lord Tywin's ears that his younger brother Kevan had been killed while he was a prisoner at the Golden Tooth by one of Oberyn Martell's bastard daughters his wrath had been terrible to behold.
Ser Gregor Clegane, better known as the Mountain that Rides, had been sent out with a large force of men to hunt down the Dornish raiders in the Westerlands as retribution and Lord Tywin's beast had been through in ensuring that not only he found them, but to make them regret that they had ever stopped foot beyond the Red Mountains.
While Jon had not seen it with his own eyes, he heard the accounts of those raiders unfortunate enough to be caught by the Mountain. Everyone knew that Gregor Clegane was strong and that he had little mercy, but the amount to which the bodies had been dismembered was disturbing to say the least. Arms and legs were missing, others had their heads crushed by a great force.
They had taken some prisoners as well, torturing them to learn what they knew. Jon didn't like to think of what methods they used, apparently one of the Mountain's Men was known as the Tickler and even reading about him and what he did to get information had left Jon feeling ill and praying that he would never need to ride with them.
Lord Tywin himself had made it clear that he intended to get rid of every Dornishman and Iroborn in the West before he did anything else, a Dornish bastard had killed his brother and Ironborn had set fire to his fleet and had sacked his city and he was not going to let that go and a bloody swath he had cut through his own kingdoms, burning as he went to try and find them.
Between the both of them, there had been a great deal of Dornish and Ironborn blood soaking the grounds of the Westerlands. The rebels still held the Golden Tooth and they had attempted at least twice to put an end to Lord Tywin but he had fought them off both times and the rebels had lost a not insignificant amount of their strength and it was more important to them that they try and hold the pass at the Golden Tooth than anything else.
"Eddard Stark is a boy, younger than you. I hope you do not intended to pretend that you loss at his hands is the result of him having superior experience over you, my Lord Hand, because I assure you that I am not about to accept that." The king snared at him, he might have curled his hand into a fist if it weren't for his nails being too long for him to do so.
Jon frowned at that, losing to Ned Stark as he had done was to be a humiliation that he had not expected and he did not think that it would ever happen, in truth when he had thought up his plan he expected that it would be something of an easy victory and if he could take Stark as a prisoner then no doubt it would cause a blow to the rebels, seeing as he was in the command of the Northern forces.
He had been in the Reach at the time, helping Lord Randyll Tarly to hunt down the Dornish raiders in the kingdom when word had reached him. Scouts had seen a large deployment of forces, mostly Northmen it seemed like, leaving the Golden Tooth and rushing to the broader between the Reach and the Westerlands with Ned Stark at it's head.
Jon had studied his maps and considered for a moment and realized where Ned Stark was more than likely going, he asked the scouts and when they told him that Stark's last known place was at Silverhill he had all the conformation that he needed.
He was going to try and lay a siege to Highgarden, he was a fool to attempt it as even with most of Mace Tyrell's forces in the Stormlands to lay siege to Storm's End even a small garrison would be able to hold out against a siege long enough for him to be trapped again and caught against the walls of the castle to be ground between them until naught was left of them.
Goldengrove was the only castle of note that lay between where Stark was and where he was going to be and some might have tried to fight him off there but Jon decided against it, instead he was going to allow Ned to think that he could march on the castle without any issue and then crush him before he could even dig his first spike pit, it had all been perfect in his mind.
But Ned Stark never came. They waited near Highgarden for near three days and there was no sign of a single enemy banner on the horizon, when the raven reached him it had taken all he had not to burst out laughing with how funny it all was, and how much of a fool he was.
It had been a feint. Stark had waited until he was beyond the walls of Goldengrove, which by his orders had not offered any sort of meaningful resistance as the armies of Stark had passed by, and they they turned and rode to the crossing at Longtable and from there rode onward to Ashford and now the city was under siege.
Lord Randyll had his forces scattered all over the Reach, which meant that Jon was the only one with a large enough force that could hope to get there in time and so they hurried as quickly as they were able.
It was a long and bloody march, Dornish raiders harried them and arrows fell on them like a harsh rain, some of the arrows had been poison and the maesters and other healers that they had with them could not cope with such a flood and soon it simply became common to let the wounded lay where they fall, there simply wasn't time to stop.
Ashford had fallen, of course. It had fallen perhaps a day before they arrived and Jon did not have near enough strength to try and take the town back. But his pride had not let him see that, not at the time and so he had ordered the men to march forward. He would bring the town back, he had too.
It had been a failure, Ned Stark had rode out to meet him and it hadn't even been a hard victory. His north men had fought fiercely, a man who seemed to be half a giant had cleaved two of his spearmen in twain with his great axe and a man who had a similar cast to Stark but with skin kissed by the sun had fought savagely, laughing with joy as he got his sword bloody.
In the end, Jon had to retreat. He had less than a thousand men left when they retreated and not only had he lost the men, but the rebels now held a crossing and it was just now that much more difficult to get into the Stormlands to get supplies to Mace Tyrell if he needed them. It had been a disaster, and he had none but himself to blame for it.
"I...I thought that I know what he meant to do, your Grace. He was young and inexperienced as you say and I underestimated him, I thought that he would be reckless and go for the most obvious prize, the juiciest fruit on the platter. I thought that Highgarden would be to tempting a prize for him to be able to resist." He glanced at his feet. "I was wrong, I underestimated him."
"Indeed you did, and now Ashford remains in the control of these rebels. So does the Golden Tooth, the Riverlands remain unmolested as does the North and the Vale. Attacking Dorne is apparently out of the question and my loyal allies can not even get their armies out of their own homelands to fight for me and that fat fuck of a Tyrell can't even bring me the head of one boy!"
It wasn't as if Mace Tyrell was trying all that hard from what Jon had heard, he had settled his armies, a massive amount of men which no doubt would be of more use elsewhere, outside the walls of Storm's End and seemed more to be waiting then he was lying siege. Starving someone out was all well and good, but they were losing ground everywhere else and still Mace did nothing but wait outside the walls stuffing his face at the feast tent.
Jon had hoped that losing Ashford, if he had to look for a silver lining, would have prompted Tyrell to hurry but he was still as indolent as ever. He did have to wonder though, was Mace truly doing nothing or was he simply hedging his bet? After all, if he simply waited outside the walls then he was laying siege if the King won but if it turned out that the rebels won then Mace could point that he never fielded his full strength against them when he could.
It was possible and Tyrell was certainly ambitious enough, but it didn't seem like the sort of plan that he would think up. If that was what was happening, Jon detected the hand of his Lady Mother in it, The Queen of Thorns was subtle enough to figure something like that out after all.
"Maidenpool has fallen as well, meaning the one defense we had from assaults from the Riverlands is gone. Mooton is dead, hanged from the walls of his castle while his family has been imprisoned in his chambers. That Dornish whore Toland is burning my fields. My useless son managed to repel the last few assaults from Hoster Tully and Jon Arryn but now he's vanished again and the gods only know when he will decide to deign us with his presence again, the capital itself now stands under threat!"
"And all of this is because of you!" The King rose, not without a great deal of difficulty Jon managed to notice, and jabbed his longest finger in his direction. "If you had simply managed to predict what Stark was doing, if you had enough sense to realize that he was playing you along then you could have stopped him at Ashford, taken him captive and helped Tywin take back the Golden Tooth!"
And if men were born with wings we would be able to fly, if we had gills we could breath like fish and if a madman wasn't sitting on the Iron Throne we wouldn't be in this mess in the first fucking place. Jon just about managed to stop himself from saying any of that out loud, but it was something of a struggle. If he was going to die, then why not spit in Aerys's eye before he did so.
"I have had enough of you. My Wisdoms, construct a pyre for Lord Jon if you please." The three Pyromancers rose from behind the table, and the hunger that he had seen in the King's eyes was reflected in their own and Jon wished he was going to be there for the day that their wildfire finally rejected them and consumed the lot of them.
"Your Grace! I beg of you, stay your hand!" Varys rose from the table and approached the dais, moving with quiet a bit of speed for such a rotund man. Aerys held up his hand and the Pyromancers did not take another step.
"What is it Varys? I warn you that I am short of patience."
"And I would not waste your Grace's time or interfere with your judgement unless I truly thought that it was important, I do not believe that Lord Jon believes to be given a traitor's death." Jon tilted his head and suddenly all eyes seemed to be on the eunuch, but if he felt them then he did not pay them even the slightest heed. "He failed you, no one can deny that and failure must be punished. However, failure by itself is not treason. Lord Jon has been naught but loyal to you."
"Indeed, his family has been naught but loyal to you as well. As the Stormlands fester with treason, House Connington has stayed true to the crown and now aids Mace Tyrell in laying siege to Storm's End to bring you the head of the treasonous lords and the false king who cower behind it's walls." It was quite an impressive speech that Varys gave, none could deny that.
And the part that went unsaid was so clear that even Aerys, as decayed as he was in every sense, could grasp. What happens to House Connington's loyalty when you burn their lord?
It seem that not even the king was so insane as to ignore that risk and so he let out a snarl and jerked his head to the side. "Fine, fine, I will show mercy." The king spat the word out like it had left a foul taste in his mouth. "Jon Connington, I hereby do strip you of the title and office of the Hand of the King. You will remain here in King's Landing as my honored guest. Get him out of my sight. Now!"
And that was the end of that, the guards took hold of him under his arms and lead him out of the throne room. As they did so Jon caught sight of Cersei Lannister standing in the middle of the gallery, she had forgone black and red and instead dressed in green and gold and her belly was swollen. She had told him that she was with child when she was trying to find out if he knew where Rhaegar had gone before he had come back that first time.
No doubt that it would only be another month or so before it was time for the babe to come into the world, if his math was right.
Poor little bastard. It might not be the most charitable thought in the moment, but he was too tired to try and find any sympathy for Cersei Lannister. Her eyes burned in the light of the braziers, a horrible green. Wildfire was the exact same color.
He was taken back to the chambers he had been placed in and when the door was shut, he went over to the bed and closed his eyes and felt himself fall back to sleep. When he opened his eyes again, the room was dark his stomach growled at him to be filled. He stood and looked out the window to see that that the moon was high in the sky, if he had to guess it had to be close to the hour of the wolf.
Chances were that the fires in the kitchen had been smothered by now but if nothing else he might be able to get something cloud out of the food store, maybe some cold cheese and ham.
The guard at the door promised to ask and Jon went to go and lay back on the bed to wait, he was quiet close to falling back to sleep when he heard the door to the room open. He sat up and was about to criticize whoever walked in, telling them that walking in without knocking and waiting for his permission was simply unacceptable.
When he saw that it was an old matron with a kindly soft face Jon decided that he was going to soften his words, when he looked closer and realized who it was he wondered if perhaps he had been driven mad at some point. "Varys?"
Varys smiled at him and placed the platter of food down. "I apologies my Lord, I thought that this was the best way for to be able to speak without anyone bothering us. I trust that the room is to your liking, the King would not allow you to stay in the Tower of the Hand of course, but still it could be a lot worse, I'm sure you can agree."
Well, that was all the confirmation that he needed that it had been Varys who had been his unseen ally. Of course, the speech he had given in the Throne Room was more than likely enough proof of that but he could have done that for the King's own sake and not for Jon's. "It's not the Black Cells, what do you want Varys. It's been a long half a year and I am not in the mood for any sort of game."
"Indeed it has, and I am not here to play with you my Lord. I simply wished to ensure that you were as well as you could be, and to no that you are not alone. You are not without your friends here." Varys's tone was so sweet that Jon was certain that he could feel his teeth beginning to rot and for a moment he wanted to do nothing more than hit him.
"You aren't my friend, Varys. You are not anyone's friend. I don't know what you want but it's not like I can help you to get it. I am not the Hand of the King anymore and I'm a prisoner in the castle, whatever you want is beyond my reach."
Varys smiled then and once again, it was like he was laughing at him. "Oh, my dear brave lord. You would be surprised what is within your reach, but regardless of that I came here today to ensure that you are well and you are as well as you can, considering the circumstances. So, I will leave you to your meal. Good night to you."
And as easily as he came the eunuch was gone and Jon sat on the edge of the bed and he considered all that had happened..
He didn't try to eat anything off of the platter.
End of Chapter Eighty-Eight
Hey everyone, sorry for the wait but another chapter done and dusted and I hope you enjoyed it.
So yeah, there has been a time skip between this chapter and the last one, one of about half a year and the events of Rebellion have moved on somewhat and the fortunate of various characters have changed somewhat, to say the least.
I'm not going to lie, I really enjoy writing Varys. I generally don't like him as a character but writing him is actually really fun as he creeps around and plots and what he's up to is going to become clear soon enough.
Next chapter will be a Ned chapter and I hope you're going to look forward to it!
Please consider leaving a review, a follow and a favorite if you enjoyed. With a ton of love,
DiscordantSymphony