Chapter 90: Burnt Offerings
Jaime watched as the King extended his hand for the servant to massage. Given what the man had done during the battle a few days' ago, he was not surprised. The man had turned into a God. Nobody had been able to touch him, nobody had even come close. Whoever had been near him had been sent to meet the Stranger.
How the King had done it, nobody knew, not even the King. And yet the word had spread throughout the army, and then into Tumbleton. When they'd arrived back in Tumbleton, the men who had been left behind had gathered to witness the King's arrival, and they'd prostrated themselves before him. Jaime had been doubly surprised to see his father doing the same.
He would not be surprised if word had gotten back to King's Landing by now. The Faith would have had an interesting reaction to that. He was sure. They had scorned Stannis, they had only just about agreed to the Targaryens, but this, this was proof that a mere man was something more. Something almost God like.
"What was it like?" The King asked, pulling Jaime from his thoughts.
"Sire?" He replied, raising an eyebrow.
"Being a Kingsguard under Aerys, what was it like?" The King asked.
Jaime considered the question. He'd been made a Kingsguard when he was fifteen, younger than the King was now. It had been the only thing he'd ever wanted to be, and he'd been delighted when Ser Arthur had come to him and told him. Father had been furious as had Cersei, both for different reasons. But instead of getting the chance to show off his skill at Harrenhal, he'd been dispatched back to the capital.
"It was something." Jaime replied. "The men who were part of the Kingsguard were legendary. Your Grace knows that, so, it does not need repeating. Prince Rhaegar was another good man. But the King and Queen were…" he hesitated. How did he describe what the King and Queen were, when he himself barely understood it. "They were complicated. Or rather, the King was complicated." The man that had made Jaime a knight of the Kingsguard had had long flowing hair, and longer nails. He had not seemed like a King, at least when compared to father.
"There were moments when the smartness of the man shone through. Moments when he was incredibly charming and witty. Moments where he awed everyone with what he knew and what he said." Jaime said, thinking back to the times when the King had made him chuckle and when he'd gotten even the White Bull to crack a smile.
"Then there were times, and this was the case for most of the time that I was in the Kingsguard, where he was mad. He could not remember his own name, let alone what he was. He would rant and rave, and he would demand that the Pyromancers burn people and things for his own amusement." Jaime shuddered at the memories and the smell of burnt skin. "I believe that Prince Rhaegar knew this and that that was why he had called for a Tourney at Harrenhal. He intended to depose his father. But events got ahead of themselves."
Prince Rhaegar had kidnapped, or absconded with Lady Lyanna, and her father and brother had come south and been burned. Jaime could still remember their bodies twisting and twitching as it had happened. He remembered vomiting in his room afterward.
"At the end, the King was mad. Completely mad. He wanted to burn down the city. So, I killed him." Jaime said, his voice barely above a whisper. The King screaming for Rossart to kill them all, to burn them all, echoed in his mind then. With an effort he forced the thought from his mind.
"I never told anyone why I did it. I just…I just did it and sat on the throne. When your father came, he told me to get off it. And I…" Jaime couldn't remember what he'd said then.
"Do you think it was right that the Targaryens were deposed?" The King asked him then.
Jaime blinked, surprised. He had not expected that question from the King. "I think when Prince Rhaegar died, the dynasty was doomed. Robert was never going to allow a regency for Prince Aegon, and Prince Viserys was on Dragonstone. So, it was inevitable."
The King nodded, seemingly satisfied with that answer. "And this Targaryen girl, what do you think she is?"
It took Jaime a moment to understand what the king was asking exactly, when he understood, he replied. "She is a threat, Sire, to everything. And thus needs to be removed."
"And if the opportunity came, would you remove her?" The King asked.
Jaime looked at the King and said simply. "Sire, if you asked me to, I would remove the entire world if need be."
Myrcella took her seat and with a wave of her hand dismissed the other ladies. Ser Arys remained though, a distant shadow in the corner, always watching and waiting. The woman sat opposite her was a Dornish one, someone who Myrcella trusted about as far as she could potentially throw her.
Lady Allyrion, who had, in the absence of Ellaria Sand become the defacto leader of the Dornish contingent in King's Landing, looked visibly aged. There were lines under her eyes, her hair was starting to grey, and her hands looked sore. Clearly she'd been picking at them.
Still, she was of use to Myrcella. The woman had been meeting with Varys, on her orders. Playing the role she had played for the Martells. That of the outraged but frail friend and confidant. That she had been working with the Martells and against them for as long as anyone could remember, was an added bonus.
It still meant that Myrcella didn't exactly trust her.
"Well?" She asked, deciding to cut to the chase.
"News of Tumbleton and the Dothraki has ensured that the eunuch is worried, Your Grace." Allyrion replied, referring to the massacre of Dothraki that had occurred near the village in the Reach. Rumour had it that it had been Robb who had killed those Dothraki. Robb hadn't confirmed or denied those rumours in his letter to her, but Myrcella was taking them with a pinch of salt.
"How worried?" She asked.
"He met with the Cheese monger again." Lady Allyrion said. The cheesemonger was Varys' friend, the man that Arya and Bran had seen that day beneath the Keep. Margaery had worked it out by comparing paintings and other gossip.
"And?" Myrcella asked.
"They have decided to abandon the ploy of getting the Golden Company involved. Indeed, the cheese monger intends on meeting Daenerys Targaryen and urging her to use her dragons." Lady Allyrion said.
Myrcella leaned forward, that was interesting. The word from Robb said that everyone was confused as to why the dragons hadn't been used yet.
Lady Allyrion continued. "This meeting is meant to take place at Summerhall, where the Targaryen army is camped." Myrcella nodded, making a note to let Robb know. "How the man is going to get there, I do not know. I could not learn that."
"But you know that it is accurate?" Myrcella asked. She was fully aware that this information could be false.
"Yes, and if Lady Margaery wishes to confirm it, she will find the same that I did." Lady Allyrion said. Myrcella didn't blink, she had known that eventually someone would learn that Margaery was serving as her very own White Worm. "Worry not though, Your Grace, the eunuch does not know. He has become distracted by this war."
"Why?" Myrcella asked.
Had Varys always been for the Targaryens or was there something else responsible for his change? Or was it simply that he wanted them all to think that he was distracted?
"He is ageing, his other plans have failed. And now this is the last roll of the dice." Lady Allyrion said. "In that regard, he has set a time for when he intends to kill you."
Myrcella kept her expression blank but hearing it out loud that the eunuch fully intended to kill her was something. "And when is that?"
"In two days', time. When the advance of the Targaryen army begins." Lady Allyrion replied.
Myrcella nodded, though inside she was terrified. "I see, thank you."
"Show him in." Robb commanded. The doors opened, and the herald announced the guest.
"Oberyn Martell." The lack of princely title was deliberate. As far as Robb was concerned, Oberyn Martell and his family were dead and done for. When this war was over, they would be consigned to the bin of history.
Oberyn Martell, dressed in orange, his skin dark did not bow. Instead, he remained stock still.
Robb looked at him and felt nothing. Not contempt, not anger, not concern, nothing. The man before him was like a speck of dust.
"Why have you come?" Robb asked.
"To present a set of terms from Her Grace Queen Daenerys." Oberyn replied.
"And what terms are these?" Robb asked. His scouts had told him that the Targaryen army had moved from Summerhall. They were perhaps a week's good riding away from Tumbleton. Robb fully intended to make them try and take the village. He would not ride out into battle.
"In return for renouncing your pretensions to the throne and bending the knee to Her Grace, you will be confirmed in your title as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. Her Grace will also forgive your father for his crimes in overthrowing King Aerys, and for assisting in the Sack of King's Landing." Oberyn said.
Robb repressed a snort. The girl certainly was bold, he'd give her that. But she was also ill-informed. "And what else?" He knew that that demand would not be the only one.
"In return for this, you must hand over both your son and daughter to the care of the Queen, so, that they might learn to be true loyal subjects of the Targaryen dynasty." Oberyn said.
Robb stared at the man, anger growing inside him. So, the Queen wanted to ensure she had a nice slave to sit as Lord of Winterfell, did she?
"Finally, your eldest sister, Lady Sansa, will be married to Ser Jorah Mormont." Oberyn concluded.
Robb laughed then. He couldn't help himself; he knew everything there was to know about Jorah Mormont. Varys, Tywin, Jaime and Mother had all told him about Jorah Mormont.
"She wants to dishonour my sister by having her marry a slaver?" Robb asked. "Perhaps she is not aware of this having lived in Essos where slaves are common, but slavery is illegal in Westeros and has been for many centuries. Jorah Mormont should have surrendered himself to my charge or my brother's charge the moment he landed in Westeros, so that he might be executed. He fled my father's justice a decade ago. He is a coward, a slaver and a criminal. He is not fit for life let alone marrying my sister." Robb snarled.
Oberyn held up his hands. "These are the terms that Her Grace has proposed."
Robb snorted. "Then tell her I refuse. I will not bend the knee to a woman who would willingly cavort with a slaver. I will not bend the knee to a woman who brought Dothraki hordes and Unsullied onto Westeros. Even her ancestor did not commit such a horrific crime. No, I shall not bend the knee."
"Even if that means facing certain dragon fire?" Oberyn asked.
Robb looked right at the man then, feeling the cold flow through him. "Dragons cannot match the cold."
"You may take that answer back to your Queen." Robb said, waving a hand dismissively. Oberyn nodded, turned and walked out of the room.
The moment he was gone, Robb turned to Jon and said. "I want you to find out how far away their army is. We shall decide on a plan accordingly."