Chapter 17
Notes:
Cannon typical violence, ritualistic body modification, and references to practices of slave punishments. So, a typical day in the Known World.
This chapter takes place two weeks after the previous chapter.
Also, I am done responding to comments of the following natures
(1) Complaints about Caitlyn bashing.
- I have gone over this with numerous guest reviewers and a couple registers users. I do not like the cannon version of Caitlyn (Show or Book), her decisions did more damage than good. While those decisions may have come from a good place, her wish to protect her children, all they did was put them in further danger. She does not have the benefit of the visions in this story to know or correct her actions, all she can do is react to the best of her abilities.
(2) Lannister redemption/excusing/pandering/etc.
- Once again, I have had a couple 'discussions' with reviewers on topics centered around this. Think I covered it pretty well with Ned's restraint at not chopping of Tywin's head when they met in WInterfell earlier in the story. Tywin hadn't committed the crimes against House Stark yet. As for past atrocities, please remember this is a fictional world based on medieval standards. Ned might dislike the way Tywin handled the Reins and Tarbecks, but they are of equal rank and that happened over twenty years before GOT even starts. Those houses were also rebelling, Tywin might have gone too far by our modern world standards, and even the Chivalry Code, but it was not unheard of in history of the real world for noble families to be wiped out to the last man woman and child.
(3) Personal attacks on myself, my writing, or my understanding of the source material.
- I am writing this for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of a many people who have bookmarked, left kudos, and left comments. I am not against critiques, and am open to polite discourse, and am very appreciative of notice about spelling and grammar errors. I try and keep chapters short because my computer lags when documents get too long and I don't always catch the errors caused by words and letters being jumbled or dropped because my computer can't keep up with my typing speed. As for my understanding of the source material, I would refer people to my end of chapter notes where I often leave notes about characters and discuss how their versions in this story relate to their book and or show variants.
For the 95% of readers, I'm sorry about this rant, but felt I needed to set some guidelines. I was starting to feel like every other chapter someone was complaining about either the depictions of Caitlyn or the treatment of the Lannisters. Even had a few mad about Robert not going nuclear and butchering everyone.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
(King's Landing)
It was two weeks after the attack at the crossroads before the royal party reached the capital, and for the entire two weeks Arya had been surrounded by guards. She'd only strayed off once, she and Nymeria had barely made it a quarter of an hour before Ghost, Lady, Whirlwind, and Summer found them swiftly followed by Jon, Aegon, Edric and a dozen Stark and Baratheon guards.
Nymeria Sand had taken it upon herself to ensure the little she-wolf did not wander off again. The daughter of Oberyn Martell had explained the worry she'd caused her family and anyone who cared for her. The Frey nephews of Tywin Lannister could not say for sure all the men sent by their late grandfather were accounted for, and if there were any survivors there was the strong possibility, they would make another attempt out of their own volition or simply spite.
Arya grimaced at the smell of the city as the wheelhouse made its way from the city gates and up the path to the Red Keep, "The smell never goes away, but it is slightly more bearable atop Aegon's Hill." She turned to see the former Queen glancing out the window. Cersei was wearing a simple dress, her children had been riding with them, but that morning they'd been moved to the Lannister's wheelhouse which had split off with an escort of guards to enter from another gate and head directly to the family manse in the city.
Sansa spoke up from where she sat with Lady Ashara, "That can't be healthy for the people."
"It isn't," Lady Ashara said, "but there is little that can be done. A city of nearly a million souls crammed together. There was a reason the Targaryen built Summerhall in the generations after the loss of the dragons."
Arya turned back to the view of the city, just in time to dodge something unidentifiable that had been thrown at the wheelhouse. The glob of muck missed her and struck the wall behind her, "What was that?"
"From the smell, a sampling of a bowl of brown," Cersei's nose rankled. The Sand Snake Nymeria used a rag handed to her by a servant to cover the gob, "It is a rather nauseating delicacy from Flea Bottom. Be thankful it didn't hit anyone, it stains horribly."
Ashara smirked, "You speak from experience?"
The wheelhouse door was opened, and Edric appeared, "Is anyone hurt, what was thrown?"
"Calm yourself dear brother," Sansa stood and approached her half-brother, "Just a peasant showing their displeasure, no need to send the wolves after him."
Edric nodded, "I see, then it is fortunate father had all but his own placed in the baggage cart. Not that it would do much to hold them."
Arya jumped from her seat, "Edric, can I ride with you or Jon the rest of the way?"
"Sorry, but father wants you to remain in the wheelhouse until we reach the keep," Edric sighed, "this city is a pit of vipers," he looked to the Sand Snake who was smirking at him, "No offense Lady Nym."
"None taken Lord Dayne," Nymeria moved to sit next to Arya, "Lady Arya, though it has been many years since my last visit to the Red Keep, I remember a few tales I could tell you to pass the time."
As Arya was distracted by the stories Sansa moved to stand next to Edric, "What is wrong brother? What drove you to storm in here after a bit of muck?"
Edric became serious as his mother approached to hear them, "It is Lady Lannister, her crimes were made public knowledge by the Master of Laws and Master of Ships."
"Robert's brothers," Ashara sighed, "how'd they know she'd be with us?"
"Someone told them she'd be in the custody of the Lord Hand," Edric mused, "Oberyn thinks a kid he spied at the gate was a lookout, he ran ahead and told some thugs which wheelhouse had the Cuckhold Queen."
Ashara mused, "Did he catch them?"
"Yeah, they're being brought to the keep for a chat with father," Edric mused.
(Ten Towers)
Caitlyn would be remiss at not thanking Lord Harlaw for the use of his keep. The Tully's had spent the past two weeks following the events at Pyke in the company of The Reader and his household. Coming to the chambers that had long been used by Lady Asha Greyjoy during her visits to her uncle's seat, the former Lady Stark was not surprised to find Theon in attendance.
"Lady Tully," Theon stood at her approach, "come to check on my sister? The Maester said she is improving; the fever has gone down and the redness has not spread."
Caitlyn smiled tightly as she indicated the bowl and fresh cloths in her hands, "I've come to relive your mother. She must be tired. Is it common for women to become ill like this after this blessing ceremony?"
Theon nodded, "Yeah, seawater and open wounds do not react well. Damphair said it was a necessary risk, the people needed to see the Drown God supports their union. There isn't a much clearer sign than being struck ill by the sea and then recovering. I guess this sounds barbaric to your brother and you."
"Truly Theon, I avoided the godswood of Winterfell for the simple fact I could feel something there I had never felt at any sept I have ever been to." Caitlyn grimaced, "I could feel something I could never name, and it frightened me that I could not feel that in the presence of my own gods." She looked to the door, "When your mother and I went to the beach, I was aghast when I saw your uncle's acolytes cutting into Asha's back, that he was carving a kraken and trout was lost on me. I have seen the Skagosi tattoo one another, and it was far less traumatic than that."
Theon grimaced, "You saying you felt something on that beach?"
"Yes Theon," Caitlyn huffed, "I felt a presence there, but I would not hazard to say if it were a god or demon, or its intentions. Was it your god standing proud as his priests marred the skin of his own follower, or was he revolted in the man's actions in his name. I could not say."
(Two Weeks Earlier)
Caitlyn followed Lady Alannys Harlaw to the cove where the blessing ceremony had taken place. The practice revolted Caitlyn as both a woman and mother, to have one's daughter taken by her husband as the waves of the Sunset Sea rolled over them.
Though it was the second part of the ceremony that disgusted her the most. After the deed was done, Edmure would join Balon and the other lords in attendance in a feast up the beach, while Aeron and his acolytes would be branding Asha with the mark of House Tully. Damphair had tried to keep the majority of the ceremony private, as it was his niece, but Balon had overruled him and had most the lords and captains on the island present.
Alannys stopped their approach and turned to her, "You need not come further Lady Tully, it is an uncomfortable sight even for those of us who have experienced it firsthand."
"You went through this ceremony," Caitlyn frowned, "do all Ironborn women?"
"Women, and children," Alannys sighed, "Theon was taken before he'd received his first blessing. To be drowned and brought back to life by one of our priests. He'd have been marked with the kraken of his father's house then. Women are only marked when they are married, our father's mark to remind us of whence we came, and our husbands to remind us of who we serve."
Caitlyn watched as Alannys turned and pulled the top of her dress down so her shoulder blades were displayed. On the right side a mess of scars and ink made a crude image of a scythe, and on the left the scars and ink formed a kraken similar to the one on the banner of House Greyjoy. Caitlyn winced at the sight, unable to imagine going through such a thing, "The First Men do not practice such as that."
"We are First Men," Alannys smirked, "and this is our penance for cowardice. Eight thousand years ago we fled before the enemy of all. While we did not betray our brethren as the Barrow Kings did, we committed a worse sin. We abandoned them, we hid upon these islands, and the gods of old in turn abandoned us. The Drowned God is not our benefactor, he is the instrument of our punishment. He takes more than he gives, and the only kindness he bestows is shielding us from the mercilessness of the Storm God who would sentence our entire people to death for the sins of our ancestors."
"Yet your people reave up and down the coast of Westeros," Caitlyn huffed.
"Look around you," Alannys indicated the rough terrain around them, "do you think anything of value would grow on these rocky shores? We were not only abandoned by the gods of old, but by our brethren we'd abandoned. They would not welcome us back to shore, we had no choice but to take what we needed to survive. Even the Andals would not show us kindness when they came, calling us heathens and demanding we abandon the one god who showed us mercy."
Caitlyn watched as Alannys fixed her garments. She'd heard of some fringe septons and septas that practiced self-flagellation. While not a part of the mainstream practices, it was becoming more common place among the more radically devout members of the Faith. Caitlyn did not hesitate to follow as Alannys continued towards the cove.
When they arrived, Caitlyn immediately took notice of the group of robed men gathered around the prone figure. It was a testament to Asha's strength that it took four acolytes to restrain her arms and legs. Two of the men sat on her legs, and two more restrained her arms. A fifth man sat aside her waist to keep her from moving. Two more men sat on either side of her, they were in the process of using needles to inject squid ink to complete the kraken and trout images carved into Asha's shoulders.
At Asha's head Aeron sat, humming a soothing chant as he stroked his niece's head, gently removing the wet sand that had accumulated in her hair. As they neared the Drowned Man's humming ended and he spoke, "Almost finished sweetling, you have been strong, the Drowned God will show you, his favor. I know this to be true, you have faced this pain, you will not cower before any other."
As they neared a wave washed up over the group, Aeron's hand went over Asha's mouth and nose. After a moment he took a breath and held it before bending down to share it with his niece whose head was still below water. When the water receded, Caitlyn noticed the seaweed and algae clinging to the Drowned Men and Asha. It was the way one piece of seaweed had settled on Asha's back connecting the two markings that unnerved Caitlyn, like it was a sign from some otherworldly power.
(Present)
Caitlyn looked to Theon, "Your sister never lost consciousness other than resting throughout this illness and the fever has been mild. While Ned was putting down your father's rebellion, Jon was struck with the pox, and if a child can survive such a terrible fever, your sister is stronger than a child."
"I know," Theon grimaced, "have you met Tristifer and Qarl?"
"We had the pleasure on the journey from Pyke to Ten Towers," Caitlyn frowned, "What does your sister's former bed warmers have to do with anything?"
Theon licked his lips, "They're why she agreed to do this. Your brother needed to seem cold and ruthless, be like most of our people are towards their women." Theon sighed, "I've spoken with both of them, Tris is willing to surrender his place in his family's line of succession, and Qarl will swear an oath of fealty if he has to. They actually love my sister, and not just because she was my father's heir apparent with me being raised by Lord Stark as a hostage. Asha needed them to have reason not to try anything stupid like carrying on their past activities. Needed them to have reason to fear what would happen to her if they were caught."
"He'd set her aside of course," Caitlyn frowned, "send her back to your father."
There was an avoidance of looking at her before Theon seemed to remember he was raised by Lord Stark and squared his shoulders, "If that were to happen, it would be kinder for Lord Tully to slit my sister's throat and send her bones back. Shaming our House, father would not be merciful." Theon looked to the door, "It's one thing for them to remain close and support her, but they can never be what they once were." He stepped closer to her and lowered his voice, "If you ever even suspect either is trying to find their way into my sister's bed again. Send for me, and I will show them what a Kraken raised in the North is truly capable of."
Caitlyn smiled tightly, "I'll have them sent to the Wall long before they endanger your sister Theon. Do not think me unable to protect my family, you should remember that well enough from your time at WInterfell."
(Winterfell)
Margaery Stark nee Tyrell exited the seldomly used sept. The Septon had held a small service for those who followed the Seven, there were barely more than two dozen in the whole keep. She'd already spent her morning in the godswood with her husband and youngest good brother, she'd taken to giving up prayers to the old gods along with the Seven. If she was being blasphemous, the Septon here didn't seem to mind.
It had been around two months since the royal party departed, they would be arriving back in the capital by now if they hadn't already. They'd received word from Robb's mother that their stay on the Iron Islands had been prolonged due to Lady Asha Tully nee Greyjoy falling ill on the journey and needing to convalesce at Ten Towers before they could return to Riverrun. Robb was still contemplating attending the marriage ceremony of his uncle and Asha that would recognize their union under the auspices of the Faith.
A smile came to Margaery's face as she contemplated how to deliver the news that would most likely end the deliberation in favor of staying in Winterfell. Luwin had a hard time keeping a straight face when giving the news to her, the Maester of Winterfell thankfully did not see it a conflict of his vows to keep the news from his young lord.
"You'll have the entire staff gossiping with such a glow," Dorna Lannister nee Swyft said as she stepped beside Margaery, "My husband may actually win a bet against his brother."
Margaery stepped closer and weaved her arm with that of the older woman, as little Janei happily trotted before them, "Is it that obvious, Lady Lannister?"
"Indeed, and please I've told you to call me Dorna," the older woman sighed, "My good sister may have married a Frey, but she is territorial on who may be deemed a Lady Lannister. Half expect the old lioness to leap out of the shadows."
"I have heard Lady Genna spends much time in the Westerlands," Margaery mused.
Dorna grimaced, "Indeed, but she remains at The Rock, and I rather enjoy staying in Lannisport. I am not one for travel, and that is where I would be if Kevan didn't have his brother drag Janei and I here along with the boys," Margaery noticed the older woman's eyes focus on something ahead of them.
Margaery followed her line of sight to see Lancel Lannister in his House Stark guard armor, a tabard with the Lannister Lion in combat the only way to distinguish him from the rest of the household guards. He was standing next to Beth Cassel, who was similarly attired in leather armor, but her tabard boar the ten wolf heads of her family livery.
Lancel took notice of their approach and turned to them, "Lady Margaery, Mother, I am sorry I missed the Septon's sermon. I am sure it was an uplifting reading of scripture."
"He is far livelier than that old codger in Lannisport, but you can tell he is a bit out of practice lecturing a crowd larger than a half a dozen people." Dorna focused on Beth, "I dare say child, why are you attired as such?"
Beth blushed slightly, "Training. I would have changed, but I was on my way to the Maester, my cuz caught me good when he got too close for me to parry his strike with my spear."
Lancel nodded, "I was accompanying her. I would think Jory would go easy on his cousin, but he seems to expect more from her. Even though she has only been learning the spear for a couple of turns of the moon."
Margaery smirked, "Jory does not want her to be unprepared. Now, if you are accompanying her to the Maester, you should be on your way. Is Rickon with Osha?"
"With Lord Robb and Lord Kevan in the great hall," Beth reported, "some of the Free Folk arrived and requested an audience."
"In that case," Margaery turned towards the stairs that led to the quickest route to the great hall, "I should be in attendance as well."
(Winterfell – Great Hall)
Robb felt like an imposter as he sat in his father's seat. It was not the first time he'd been the acting Lord of Winterfell, but it was the first time that it was his words being heeded. Before it was either his Lady Mother or Ser Cassel speaking with the authority of Lord Stark while Robb sat quietly in his father's seat.
He'd received word that a group of Free Folk led by Mance Rayder had arrived and wished to parlay with the Lord of Winterfell. They had been given guest rights and were being given a chance to freshen up before being presented to him. Robb knew he needed to show these people that he was not weak or someone to trifle with. Grey Wind and Shaggy Dog lay before him, with Rickon sitting at Robb's side. Osha stood behind his brother with her spear, while Jory stood at his side hand resting on his sword.
He was just preparing to admit the envoys from the Free Folk when Margaery appeared and took her place in the seat of the Lady of Winterfell at his side opposite Rickon, "Marg, I did not send for you."
"I know, and I will excuse the oversight," Margaery gave him a slight smile.
Not wanting to argue, though he'd rather her safely far away from the Wildlings about to enter the hall. Generations of distrust were too far ingrained into him. Robb turned to the guards at the door and signaled them to admit the envoys.
Mance led the group of men and women into the hall. He led the Free Folk to within the respectable distance before giving a courteous nod of his head, "Lord Stark, I heard we missed your father. He's gone south to put his heel on the necks of those southrons?"
"He was named Hand of the King of the Seven Kingdoms," Robb affirmed, "and yes he's gone down there to clean up the mess the realm has become."
A man wearing bones on his leather armor and a giant's skull helm came forward and grumbled, "He should be here with his eyes turned to the north pup."
Robb glared at the Lord of Bones, his father's visions had given him enough details that they were well informed on the twenty-four men and women who led the Free Folk. It also let him know how these people treated his brother Jon in that other life, "Mance, remind your man that you are guests in my hall."
Mance gave a look to the Lord of Bones and the man reluctantly stepped back. A deep chuckle came from a massive man lacking ears, Styr stepped forward, "The Magnar of Winter isn't running south, he's getting the kneelers ready to fight."
Before Mance could reign in the large man, Robb stood, "You are Styr, the Magnar of Thenn correct?"
"Here that, my reputation precedes me," Styr preened.
"Actually," Robb smirked, "in the visions my father was blessed with you were killed along with several other notables in this group when you foolishly tried storming Castle Black. Even for as weakened as the Watch was, you decided to attack one of the castles that was actually manned. There are a dozen others with gates large enough to have permitted passage allowing you all to sneak by. With your wargs you could have slipped past every Northern House and been through the Neck before anyone became wise. Yet your people charged headfirst into a battle against a structure that hasn't fallen in eight thousand years."
Styr deflated, "Our attack was doomed to failure?" He turned to a blonde-haired woman in their party, "Val, that is what you saw?"
The woman who stood behind Mance and next to a pregnant woman glared, "Silence Thenn."
Robb looked to the woman, she could not be more than a handful of years older than him at most, "My lady, you have received the Raven's Warnings?"
With a huff Val stepped next to Mance, "Yes, but I am not alone." Her eyes went to Osha, "as I can tell by the spear-wife at your side. I was with fever when my sister's husband came to scout south of the Wall, I awoke before he returned to our camp."
Robb focused on Styr, "Magnar of Thenn, my father has an offer for you. Your people have stood against the ancient enemy the longest. He will have your council if you agree to the terms the seat is yours."
Styr worked his jaw, "I will not kneel to words."
A grimace came to Robb's face, "When my father returns to the North you can discuss terms in the sparring yard."
Styr grinned, but Mance placed a hand on his shoulder, "Don't get too excited, these kneelers have a saying about Lord Stark. When he draws his sword, someone is going to feel pain."
"My brothers and friends can attest to the truth behind those words," Robb added, "So, what business has brought you here. The lands given to you to settle are acceptable?"
"Nothing to complain about," Mance grimaced, "a few of the Lords are a bit touchy if we step a toe across the imaginary line. Even coming here, we were confronted by a few ill-tempered men who questioned us on the road. It will be impossible to work together when the day comes if we are too busy fighting each other."
Robb nodded, "Agreed, I will have missives sent to remind the lords of the North of my father's command. If they continue to be belligerent, they will find themselves facing my displeasure." At the word displeasure Grey Wind stood as an emphasis and clarification.
Varamyr chuckled, "The kneeler pup is a warg."
"Yes Sixskins," Robb glowered down at the man, "try any of your tricks and you'll find how far my tolerance for you goes."
Tormund frowned, "You know us by sight, but Val said you never crossed paths with us."
"No, and I was not given the visions," Robb looked to Kevan then focused on Manse and the other Free Folk leaders, "My father's visions included the lives of each of his children that grew up here in Winterfell. In that life Jon went to the Wall, and during a ranging he met the lot of you. Be thankful it is me and not my father you are meeting today, because I am sure he did not relay all of your misdeeds."
"Deeds of which most have not been committed," Val replied sending a sharp glare to Varamyr, "The reason my good brother gathers us here is to make a request. We have heard that Moat Cailin is being restored. We seek permission to create a settlement nearby. In turn those who settled there would aid in the construction work. I am sure we can even gain the assistance of the Giants."
Robb looked to his little brother, "The Moat will be the seat of one of my brothers when they come of age. Lord Reed is currently in charge of the construction, and the land is governed by House Dustin to the north and House Reed to the south of the Moat."
Kevan Lannister rubbed his chin, "My lord, it would be prudent to have the Moat garrisoned. Though the Wall is receiving volunteers in number unheard of in living memory. It is still receiving prisoners from across the Seven Kingdoms. Having a force ready to retrieve any deserters would benefit us in the long run," His eyes focused on the Free Folk, "It would also make such potential deserters reconsider when they realize those hunting them are rather enthusiastic about killing members of the Night's Watch."
Robb agreed with the council and focused on Mance, "Send three of your most agreeable leaders to oversee your people near the Neck. I reserve the right to overrule your selections if I deem them unfit or too troublesome to be permitted such authority."
"Agreed," Mance sighed, "I do have one further request." He motioned to his wife, "I ask that my wife and good sister be granted permission to reside at Winterfell. Dalla is with child, and Val's vision revealed she may not survive the birth. I would be remiss if I did not seek out alternate possibilities."
Robb was about to speak, but Margaery spoke first, "That can be arranged, and Maester Luwin can see to her immediately." Robb's brows furrowed as he looked to his wife who was already standing up, but they raised as he noticed her hands rest on her own abdomen, "I'll show you to him, Osha come."
As the four women departed the hall, Tormund chuckled, "When did the young wolf steal her from beyond the Wall, she's too ferocious to be a Southron."
Robb looked to the large man, "She's from the Reach. If you think her ferocious, pray you never meet her grandmother."
(Ten Towers)
Caitlyn entered Asha's room; her good sister lay on her side facing the door. Alannys sat behind her daughter holding a cool rag to the marks. Caitlyn moved to the nightstand and exchanged the bowl of dirty water. She noticed the darkened water, "The ink is coming out?"
"Yes," Asha grimaced, "there isn't anything to do about the scarring, but Uncle had his acolytes do the inking so it would only last long enough to appease father." Asha gave a pained smirk, "Knew he'd want to shame me for messing up his plans. Aeron warned me before we reached Pyke that father was still plotting to rebel again. He never cared what happened to Theon, the only reason he hadn't struck again was because he needed to be careful about rebuilding the fleet."
Caitlyn took a rag and after soaking it in the cool water laid it over Asha's brow, "With any luck your brother will be a better Lord Greyjoy than his father."
"He'll be more like grandfather," Asha sighed, "as long as Uncle Euron don't show his ugly mug, the rest will fall in line."
Nodding Caitlyn settled on the bed in front of Asha, "Your brother is worried about you, he is concerned certain members of your crew might intend to interfere with your marital duties."
Asha groaned, "The idiots," sighing she reached up and pressed the rag on her brow to apply pressure, "they will mind their place, if they want to stay in my good graces. You mainlanders have a bit of a misconception about our people. Yeah, reavers will take women by force, but it's the concept of women being property. Those reavers have claimed those women as salt wives. In our culture there is no such thing as spousal abuse." Asha looked at her mother.
Alannys grimaced, "Our people hold unions to be sacred, even touching another man's salt wife is grounds for a fight. Some years ago, Euron took one of Victarion's salt wives, he force himself upon her and then murdered her. Victarion was enraged, but Balon would not have his brothers kill each other. Instead, he banished Euron from the Iron Islands until Balon's last breath."
Caitlyn mused, "So Tristifer and Qarl are willing to follow Asha to Riverrun, as what, her shields?"
"They and the rest of my crew swore to follow me into the sands of Dorne, to die far from the sea that gives us life if they must." Asha mused, "Doesn't matter if they can never touch me again, they will protect me with their last breaths."
(King's Landing)
Eddard Stark despised this city, not only for it being the place that claimed the lives of his father and brother, but that even with people like Peter Baelish gone it was still a viper's nest. With Rodrick at his side, he made his way to the small council chamber. He was surprised to find Aegon already there, the young man was arranging the various beverages, "Taking your cupbearer duties seriously I see."
Aegon turned on his heel with bowed in greeting, "Lord Hand, greetings."
"Greetings," Ned made his way to the hands seat. As he sat Aegon brought him a cup of Northern Ale, "While we wait for the rest of the council, how about a quick quiz." Ned ran a hand across the table, "How many years has this table been used by the small council?"
"Since the previous table was destroyed during the Dance," Aegon answered, "Northern Ironwood, gifted to the crown following the regency of Aegon the Third of his Name. It was commissioned by House Stark, the wood was supplied by House Hornwood, it was crafted by craftsmen in service to House Tallhart, and delivered by House Manderly."
Ned nodded, "Good, what are the key differences between this table and its predecessor?"
"The primary difference is this table lacks the holders for the station stones previously used by the small council," Aegon mused, "They were these large marbles that had the symbol of the seats on the small council. The council members would place them in these holders affixed to the old table to confirm they were in attendance. Most the stones were lost during the Dance, and the regency council decreed to change to the pins worn by members of the small council ever since."
"Anything else?" Ned probed.
Aegon frowned, "The size, in the Archmaester's accounting the table was described as large enough the members of the small council could spread their arms to their size without their finger's tips touching. This table is much smaller."
"A reminder we are men who serve the realm," They both turned to see Stannis enter, his faithful onion knight at his heel, "Lord Hand," the man greeted him with a nod before focusing on Aegon, "If we are testing the soon to be crown prince, why not something a bit more pressing than knowledge of a table." Stannis moved to his seat, "What would you have done if you learned your wife was sleeping with her brother?"
Aegon's brows raised, "I would have them both arrested and charged for the treason they have committed against the crown."
Stannis turned to Ned, "Lord Hand, you have only brought one of the culprits to stand trial. Why was Jamie Lannister permitted to go to the Wall."
"He admitted his guilt and requested the Wall be his punishment," Ned coolly stated, "will you be constantly questioning my methods of executing His Grace's will. Jamie Lannister will die as all men do."
Aegon spoke up, "Technically Jamie Lannister is dead," both men looked at him and he continued, "His life is bound to the Wall. Not even the King of the Seven Kingdoms can release a member of the Night's Watch from their vows once freely given. Ser Jamie took the Wall as his punishment of his own choice even before facing His Grace, and unless he becomes a wandering crow, he will never set foot on land further south than the Gift least he wishes to lose his head."
Ned saw the grim smile that came to Stannis's face, but it was Ser Davos who spoke, "Well said lad."
"Thank you, Ser Seaworth," Aegon moved back to the counter of refreshments and poured a goblet of water which he delivered to Stannis, "Cousin, do you not have a Red Priestess in your retinue?"
With a suffering sigh the Lord of Dragonstone accepted the goblet of water, "Indeed, but she'd heard one of her brethren arrived with the royal party and decided to meet with him. She is a meddlesome creature; my wife has become enthralled with the teachings of the Red God." Stannis looked to Ned, "The Old Gods seem to have decided to meddle in the affairs of men even more directly than the god of fire and shadow. I do wonder, does he belong to your pantheon Lord Stark as the Dothraki claim their Stallion God, and the Ironborn have started to insist their Drowned God's placement."
"The Old Gods have no names," Ned took a drink of his ale, "so I am hesitant to acknowledge any god that claims an actual name such as R'hllor. Also, there is the fact that the Old Gods existed in Westeros before the coming of my people, the Drown God was present in Westeros before the coming of my ancestors, the Children of the Forest from along the Stony Shore revered him, and they taught their beliefs to the First Men who settled there, those men who would eventually become the Ironborn."
Aegon spoke up, "The Dothraki do not claim their god as one of the Old Gods, but a mutual ancestry with the First Men. Both groups came from the same region of Essos thousands of years ago and have a shared root language. The Dothraki may very well been a tribe of First Men who didn't make it across the Arm of Dorne before its sundering."
"It's quite telling Lord Stark that the two offshoot cultures of the First Men practice forms of slavery," Stannis mused, "Perhaps the greatest slavers of history, the Valerians were also an off shoot of the First Men."
"Doubtful," Prince Oberyn entered and bypassed his nephew and poured a goblet of Dornish Red before taking his seat next to Lord Stark, "The Valerians and Rhoynar both came from other regions of Essos, my ancestors never knew what drove the First Men to migrate across the Arm of Dorne, but it might have been large and scaly with a penchant for breathing fire."
"Prince Oberyn," Stannis nodded in greeting, "we were just testing your nephew, our soon to be officially acknowledged crown prince."
Oberyn smirked, "Were we?" Leaning back in his chair the newly acknowledged Master of Whispers examined his nephew, "Dearest nephew, what would do if I brought you rumors of your brother and aunt conspiring against you?"
Ned glared at Oberyn but looked to Aegon for a response, "I would request verifiable proof. I'd confront them with the evidence. I would have to weigh the severity of their crime. If it were like the treason that led to the Dance, I would meet punishments that would remove them from being threats. If they were doing as my father did with the tourney at Harrenhall, something for the good of the realm. That would mean I was a threat to the ream and should be deposed."
"A diplomatic answer," Oberyn chuckled, "and worry not. I was just with Jon in the practice yard, the boy doesn't have the ablity to scheme beyond arranging the forging of swords behind our dear Lord Hand's back for his beloved sisters and aunt."
A chuckle came from Ned, "I merely didn't impede him, I was aware he would commission the sword for Arya from the visions. Though, it surprised me he'd added those for Sansa and Princess Daenerys."
Oberyn snorted, "I stand corrected," he looked to Stannis, "could you imagine a world where all the nobility was raised by Northmen. The Game would be so much easier to play."
"I doubt very much the game would exist in such a world," Stannis mused.
The door opened once more and Renly walked in with Jonos Slynt at his heel. At Ned's glare the captain of the Gold Cloaks withered, "Lord Hand, if this is about the incident this morning upon your arrival. I assure you if my men had known we'd have interceded."
Renly chuckled, "Actually Slynt, he hates your guts because in another world you betrayed him and slaughtered his household in the capital. So, yeah, I'd shut up and be a good little underling and remember who you serve." Renly turned to Ned, "Lord Hand, as you've apparently taken an oath to not murder people for potential crimes, I'll let you know that Slynt is no longer taking bribes under penalty of a slow and excruciating death."
"Yet you let him keep his position?" Oberyn asked, "Though since Baelish isn't exactly a problem anymore. What with him being scattered across the Street of Silk and all."
Ned looked between Oberyn and Renly, "Any news on that?"
Renly mused, "Well, the brutality of the crime indicated someone with a personal grudge. That makes everyone in this room and in the realm a potential suspect. The fact that it happened on a busy street, yet there were no witnesses, means someone either paid a lot of people off, or there were a lot of people involved."
"I for one say write it off as divine punishment," they all turned to see Tyrion Lannister sitting in the corner of the room reading a book. The new Master of Coin stood and moved to the table, "Even as a member of this illustrious council I can so easily go unnoticed." As Tyrion pulled himself into his seat, he looked across the table to Oberyn, "Perhaps we are in the wrong seats your grace."
Oberyn chuckled, "Lord Tyrion, how long were you actually sitting there?"
"Since before our new crown prince arrived and began checking and arranging the refreshment table." Tyrion accepted a goblet of Arbor Gold, "The poor lad nearly panicked when he found the Northern Ale was tepid. He instructed the servants that Ale must be chilled and not served at room temperature. The bottle of Dornish Red also had to be replaced, it had gone sour."
Ned took another drink of his ale, "Technically back home what you call chilled is room temperature."
Once more the door was opened, and they all stood as Robert entered with Selmy at his heel. Jon was behind them and took a position at the door as Robert and Selmy took their places at the table. Robert motioned them all to sit, "Ah, we're all here?"
"All save the Grand Maester and High Septon," Tyrion indicated the empty seat between him and Robert, "I'm told Pycell was called to the Citadel some weeks ago and has yet to return. The High Septon though rarely appears here."
Stannis mused, "Renly and I are investigating the Citadel." He turned to his brother, "I tasked our former Master of Whispers to see to this investigation in return for sparing his life."
Robert looked to Ned and Oberyn, "He better find something important, not sure these two will be as merciful as you little brother." Robert looked to the empty seat, "Who's the acting maester?"
Stannis leaned forward, "I have called for my wife and daughter to return to the capital, I have also called Maester Cressen and his assistant Pylos to attend the Red Keep. When they arrive, I will be having a very in-depth discussion with Pylos on his loyalties."
"Good," Robert turned to Tyrion, "state of the realms finances?"
"As that they are," Tyrion looked to Ned, "we received word from the Iron Bank. They seem to have hit a small financial problem of their own as numerous accounts that had accumulated nearly three centuries of interest had been withdrawn. It seems they had to levy the crown's debt to cover those expenses. As it stands, I am still assessing who exactly the crown is in debt to. In most kingdoms of the Seven the individual houses would hold a portion of the debt against the crown. The North though is different as historically House Stark buys out the debt from lower houses to ensure none of their subjects suffer. You can't exactly use someone else's debt to buy food to feed your people."
Renly chuckled, "It would be an interesting economic trend." He turned to Ned, "So, I'm guessing you aren't willing to just forgive the debt."
Ned snorted, "Several million gold dragons," he shook his head, "I'll discuss with the Master of Coin a respectable payment plan."
"A ninety-six percent drop in the North's taxes," Tyrion mused, "the debt would be recouped in twenty, maybe thirty years. Depending on we don't all become wights in the next five years."
(Tower of the Hand)
Syrio Forel watched as his students completed the movements, he'd taught them. If a year ago he'd been told he would be teaching a bunch of Westrosi girls, the Water Dance form of swordsmanship. He'd have thought it was time that person made a visit to the House of Black and White to receive the kindly one's gift from the Many-Faced God.
Yet here he was, in service to the Lord of Winterfell, teaching the man's daughters the sword with the daughter of the household steward as well as a princess. It wasn't the fact he was teaching girls he found surprising, in Bravos he'd instructed a number of young ladies to use the sword. It was finding his way to Westeros that surprised him, a year ago he'd not failed his prince and subsequently lost his position as the First Blade of Bravos.
"Ser Syrio," Jeyne Poole spoke, the girl was the timidest of the small group when it came to putting the form into practice. In fact, had Lord Stark not personally insisted the girl learn to defend herself he doubted she'd ever pick up a weapon, "should we practice with each other now?"
Syrio nodded, "Yes, you with the princess, and the sisters together." He smirked as Sansa and Arya moved to stand back-to-back as Daenerys and Jeyne began to circle the pair. True mastery of the Water Dance did not come from its use in one-on-one fights. It came from the flow of combat, being able to smoothly move among friends and foes alike.
As the girls danced, their practice blades striking and parrying, the door to the chamber he'd claimed for training opened. Young Bran Stark entered with his elder half-brother Edric at his heel, "My young lords, you come to see your sisters practice."
Bran nodded as Edric smirked, "Yes, and to remind them Mother wanted to have a small lesson before the evenings feast."
Syrio chuckled, "I will ensure they do not ignore their other lessons." Truth was he wasn't planning for them to train today anyway, but Lady Sansa felt Arya needed the exercise to quell her wolf's blood. Syrio agreed as he watched the smallest girl weave around her sister to surprise Daenerys with a low strike as Sansa moved to block Jeyne who'd taken advantage of both sisters turning to the princess.
Looking back at the boys, he noticed the same ferocity laying beneath the surface that their sisters were currently displaying. With every strike and counter the boys seemed to restrain themselves from lunging forward. A pack of wolves was definitely the best descriptor for the children of Lord Stark. He'd of course trained boys in Bravos, in fact they numbered more than his female students, and included his own successor as First Blade.
These boys though would not do well as Water Dancers. Edric was already heavier built than most Dornish he'd encountered, evidence of his Northern heritage, though he'd learned it was a common physical feature of most Stony Dornish. He was skilled at both the long and short sword and taken to wielding both in the training yard. On the trip south he'd also taken to practicing the great sword.
Bran, unlike his half-brother would physically be compatible with the style currently, but as he grew it would be more hindrance than beneficial. The boy would no doubt take after his father and brothers in build and like them put on the muscle mass needed to wield swords that could cleave a horse in two. A useful trait when dismembering reanimated corpses became a requirement for survival.
(The Hand's Solar)
Entering what had become his solar following his first small council meeting, Ned sighed as he sat behind the desk. Besides dealing with the situation caused by the late Walder Frey, handling the debt crisis the realm was facing, and preparing for the looming crisis presented by the Others. The universe had decided to add problems he'd never received warnings of.
He knew Pycell was a problem they'd have to deal with, the man was a creature of Tywin's, but acted without his master's implicit instruction more often than not. That the entire Citadel was a potential threat was news to him. The Citadel being a threat was actually the worst case scenario, every noble house in the realm relied on them. They were intrinsically tied to the very fabric of their society. He was tempted to write to Lady Dustin to validate her mistrust of maesters as being justified.
There was also the fact Lord Stannis had already been preparing a means for Aegon, Daenerys, and Jon to hatch the three dragon eggs Jorah had recovered. When faced with the evidence that the Citadel was somehow behind the demise of the dragons last time, Robert had decreed putting such plans on hold until they were sure the hatchlings would not wind up dead within a moon turn. The eggs were already securely hidden away with the descendants of the former dragon keepers.
Looking around the room Ned pitied anyone who came to visit him here. The room was a fraction of the size of his solar at Winterfell. Lyanna had already staked her claim to the hearth where a low fire burned. Not for heat, but for a means of destroying documents. Upon arriving the first thing he'd done was check the fireplace. Servants had been barred from entering the chamber after Jon Arryn's death. He found the remnants of three correspondents someone had tried to dispose of.
The first had been a letter from Stannis to Jon agreeing to the warding of Robert Arryn on Dragonstone. Beyond that, the letter was unreadable as the fire had claimed the rest. The second had been a letter Jon had begun writing to Ned, it was a summons to King's Landing with a request to bring his heir Robb and Jon's namesake. There was more of this letter that survived, including mention of something important they needed to discuss in person. The last was from Lord Royce, and while only that remained Ned assumed it was Bronze Yhon's futile attempt to warn his liege lord of Lysa's plot.
"What those," Ned restrained the involuntary reaction to jump at the sudden voice of Lief. He looked to the Child of the Forest clinging to the side of his chair and looking over his shoulder, "Why are they burnt?"
"They were correspondents of my predecessor at this posting," Ned held the first two, "These two I knew about from the visions. Had I not recovered them when we arrived the chambermaid would have swept them out while freshening the room." He held up the third that only had Lord Royce's signature and a few unintelligible markings, "This one was sent by another who had the visions to try and save Lord Arryn."
Lief tilted her head before reaching a long finger and guiding it along the burn edge, "Why burnt?"
Ned chuckled, "Because someone didn't want the contents of these letters read. Not that it matters much now, the reasons behind these letters have either passed or been dealt with." He then focused on the being, "Why are you here?"
"The Raven told me to follow the Quiet Wolf," Lief moved from clinging to the chair to perching on the armrest before stepping onto his desk, "You need eyes that can see, ears that can hear, and a voice that can speak. Any of my kind can commune with you in the Old Tongue, but only I can speak the words all men know."
Ned realized that Lief couldn't be everywhere, "How many of you are here now?"
Lief frowned, "The Raven said we should number a hundred and one. I know not why, but he said you would know the reference."
A smirk came to Ned's face, "When the man you call the Raven sat in this seat, he had a group of men that answered to him. There were fifty of them, so it was often claimed that Lord Bloodraven's eyes numbered a hundred and one."
Lief smirked, "With us you have far more than that." She looked to the window, "We can go anywhere, and most will not notice us. I have found others that were hiding in plain sight in this horrid place. I thought my people were dwindling, that we would be gone like so many others."
"Most men will not believe something exists, some even when it is staring them right in the face." Ned rubbed at his beard, "Lord Tyrell told me something. Faith in the Old Gods is not as dead in the south as we thought. The Blackwoods may have been alone among the nobility, they were not truly alone." Lief blinked at him, and he continued, "The small folk, the farmers and huntsmen, the villagers. They would pay lip service to the Seven who are One, but many held to the old ways. They would meet in secret in groves and other wild places."
Lief smirked, "They are your people."
Ned blinked, "They are the sleepers."
(Red Keep – Throne Room)
The feast welcoming the king back to his throne, and welcoming the new Hand was a much more formal affair than the seemingly endless feasting that had gone on at Winterfell during the king's visit. Jon sat next to his aunt Dacey at the table set aside for the Northerns in attendance. Alysane looked up from where she'd been feeding her two-year-old son, "You two are going to cause a scene if anyone notices your similar features."
Jon looked to where his sister Sansa was dancing with his brother Aegon, "The fact I call both the crown prince and his betrothed sibling, yet they are not siblings themselves I think is the bigger scene of the night. Besides, anyone makes a fuss," Jon nodded to where Eddard Stark sat next to the king, "I doubt these southern flowers would want to upset father. They are afraid of him for some reason."
"With good reason," the three of them looked to the bench behind Jon. Seated there was a man with the griffins in combat of House Connington, "Ronnet, some might claim my cousin was the man you were named for. Yet it is no secret in our family Cousin Jon had no love for your lady mother, gods preserve and keep her."
Jon turned fully towards the man, "Jon of House Targaryen and Stark."
"That must get tiresome to say when greeting many people," Ronnet grimaced.
Frowning Jon noticed the man was well into his cups, "You knew about me?"
"Not in so many details, my father was in correspondence with his cousin before and during the war. Not that much of their letters made any sense at the time. We apprehended Jon when he returned to Griffin Roost some weeks ago, he was rather talkative in his cell. Enough so that he swayed my sweet sister Alynne into freeing him." Ronnet looked to his side where a red-haired girl around Jon's age sat with two younger boys with similar hair, "We came to show our support for the crown, not much more His Grace can do to us other than evict us from our home."
Jon blinked, "What do you mean?"
"We were a lordly house in the Stormlands when the Targaryen ruled," Ronnet grimaced, "When Jon supported the Mad King, my father had no choice but to side with him. I was about the age of Lord Stark's son over there, but I remember being dragged in front of Robert with my father and mother. He stripped us of our titles and majority of our lands, reduced us to landed knights."
Dacey huffed, "You are hoping Prince Aegon restores your former titles and lands?"
Ronnet chuckled, "I would be lying if I said the thought didn't cross my mind." The knight sobered quickly, "Yet, I doubt we are of a high enough priority to warrant the prince's notice. I heard my cousin made it as far as Winterfell before being recaptured."
"Technically, Lannisport," They all turned to find Renly had approached, "I do hope you are not boring my dear cousin with your woes Ser Ronnet. Jon's days are filled with enough doldrum of squiring for the Commander of the Kingsguard." Renly looked to Dacey, "My lady it appears the rumors of the Dothraki hoarding your attention at such affairs are merely thus."
Jon snorted, "You'll find the truth of that rumor if you ask, trust me." Dacey glared at the boy who held up his hands in a placating manner, "What it's true, and you know why he doesn't cut in when it's Father, or one of my brothers."
"He doesn't think a Stark will sweep Lady Mormont off her feet?" Renly mused.
Alysane cleared her throat to cover up her sniggering at the idea of her older sister being swept off her feet by any man, "Know not much about Mormont women Your Grace?"
"Afraid not, unlike my dear brother I have not had the pleasure of visiting the North," Renly grinned benignly, "Is it true your family practices shapeshifting and seeking partners with bears?"
"It's a nice story," Alysane motioned to the Northman sitting on the other side of her daughter, "but in the dark most Northmen can pass as bears."
Renly blinked, "I was unaware you were wed Lady Alysane."
"Not in the classical sense," Jon took a drink of ale, "but in the traditional ways of the First Men. She's of higher social standing so her kids keep the Mormont name and are part of that line of inheritance. Her bear is just lucky she enjoys his company enough that she lets him stick around."
Surprised Renly took a seat next to Jon, "Aren't unions more long lasting?"
"Not really a union, more of a partnership," Jon explained, "The First Men believed everyone has a person the Old Gods put on the path to be yours. In most cases you never find that person because men stray from the paths the gods put them on. First Men were also less prudish on the idea of sex outside of wedlock but acknowledging and taking care of the results of any coupling fell to both partners," Jon indicated the father of Alysane's children, "If he didn't accept responsibility for his kids, well it's a tossup if Lady Maege or my father would geld him first."
"Why would Lord Stark involve himself in such a matter of House Mormont?" Renly looked curiously at Jon and the two Mormont women.
Alysane snorted, "You're telling me you haven't guessed even with those two sitting side-by-side and across the table for this little one," she indicated her sister, Jon, and her son on her lap, "Robert at least had an inkling since that blasted tourney at Harrenhall, only took him seeing Dacey taking care of my lad to realize."
Jon watched as Renly scrutinized the three indicated people. After a few minutes the Lord of Storm's End blinked before startling, "Wait, how?"
A chuckle came from Ronnet, "My lord, you realize Prince Jon gave you two rather obvious clues during your conversation."
"I realize that now," Renly frowned, "Dacey is too old to be Lord Stark's, but Lord Brandon his older brother?"
"Too easy, even though I barely knew our eldest brother," Alysane grimaced, "Ned is our brother if that isn't clear. Which makes Jon here our nephew regardless of his parentage. Good to know your brother doesn't gossip like an old washerwoman."
Renly chuckled, "Well that explains why he is hiding out here instead of sitting at the high table with the rest of the family." Renly looked to the high table, "Lord Stark is obviously very protective of what is his. Robert told me he put Aegon through quite the ordeal before giving his blessing to let him court Lady Sansa."
Alysane sneered as she pointed to her man, "That was no ordeal, should have seen the shite he put this one through when I showed up at Winterfell heavy with my daughter nine years ago." The man gave an obvious shiver at the memory, "I failed to warn him my elder brother was Lord Stark. Ned was a bit miffed a lowly guard touched me without first seeking his consent. The ways of our people are rather strict with protocol, and Cousin Jorah was quick to turn him over to Ned's merciful nature."
Renly shared a look with his bannerman before looking to Jon, "Why does when she says Lord Stark's merciful nature, I feel there is a warning there."
"Father is noted for his honorable nature," Jon took another drink of ale, "have you ever heard someone claim he was merciful?"
At the high table Ned's eyes roamed the throne room. The tables were arranged so a modest sized area for dancing was right below their table at the bottom of the dais. Pushing his chair back would have him bump into the left side of the stairs that led to the monstrosity that was the Iron Throne. He'd noticed Renly speaking with Jon, Dacey, and Alysane. He'd told them to feed the information of their true heritage to a few nobles. The legitimacy of Maege's daughters was not noteworthy enough for the people of the south to care for, Bear Island was far too removed. Not that it mattered to him either, they were his sisters and Dacey would inherit Bear Island as the next Lady Mormont.
"This is quite the show," Ned looked to Stannis who was seated next to him, "Robert acknowledging and placing Aegon as his heir, and announcing his betrothal to your daughter. He has quickly rid himself of the Lannister taint at court and kept the kingdom stable in the process."
"You are unnaturally unperturbed about losing your place in line for the throne," Ned spoke calmly.
Stannis smirked, "I'm sure the me from your visions seemed a grasping ambitious younger brother looking to supplant his late brother." Stannis took a sip of wine, "The truth is I believe Davos has the right of it. I took up my crown to put an end to the madness of Cersei and her spawn. It was when Melisandre got her hooks into me that things started going wrong. Have you had the honor of meeting my red witch? My wife is an ardent follower, while not much of a believer myself I have kept her from burning our Sept on Dragonstone. It is magnanimous of your son to allow us to remain even though Dragonstone has historically been the seat of the crown prince."
Ned sipped his own wine before responding, "I've yet to have the pleasure of meeting this Priestess of R'hllor. I am sure she is as troublesome as any religious fanatic." He took note of Stannis's look and grumbled, "I do not twist my faith into a means for forcing those easily swayed to do as I command and claim it is the will of the gods. I let my gods speak for themselves."
"Lately they are not merely speaking," Stannis downed his wine, "they are shouting for all those with ears might hear. Direwolves once more stand at the side of the blood of House Stark. There are whispers that people call you the Magnar of Winter, a title not heard since Torrhen Stark knelt before Aegon the Conqueror."
"Andals tend to confuse what the term Magnar actually means," Ned took another sip of his wine, "Comparatively, yes, a Magnar would be synonymous with a King. Magnars ruled their clans and tribes in the fashion of such. Yet the word itself translates more closely to the term guardian." Ned finished his wine, "Magnar, may have ruled their people, but they did so to protect them. They protected them from rival clans, from beasts that feared not man, and from the horrors that come in the coldest winter storms."
(Winterfell)
Manse followed young Robb Stark and his guardsman Jory into the Maester's tower. A young blonde man missing his right hand greeted them, "Lord Stark, Maester Luwin is with Lady Margaery and the, um, the Free Folk women."
Robb nodded, "Thank you Joffrey, I take it Sarella is in with him as well."
"Aye," Joffrey turned back to the table where he was practicing writing with his left hand, "they have been in there since the Lady and Osha came up."
Manse moved towards the door to the examination room, but was halted by Jory, "We don't go in there when the Maester is with a woman. She might not be decent."
A moment later the door opened, and Margaery and Val exited the room, Margaery closing the door behind her, before taking notice of her husband's presence, "Robb?"
"How long?" Robb asked suspiciously.
Margaery smiled lightly, "I have only known a couple of days, I was planning how to tell you."
"I appreciate your accepting my wife to stay here," Manse stepped forward, "even if it was merely a sympathetic spur of the moment decision."
Looking at the former member of the Night's Watch, Margaery sighed, "Even without my own condition I would have insisted Robb allow her to remain under the care of Luwin. I would say the man is worth twenty maesters, and had he not been banished to the North for being too outspoken, he'd been an Archmaester by now."
"Too outspoken," Manse queried.
"Luwin doesn't speak of it much, but he studied the higher mysteries. Such studies have fallen out of favor among the Citadel's higher-ranking members. When he voiced support for his teacher's proposal to do more research into understanding some of the mystical and mythical aspects of our world, he was censured. To save him from being further punished or even having his chain stripped from him, he was sent to serve at Winterfell." Robb explained.
The door opened again and Sarella exited, "My lord, there must be something in the water," she looked to Jory, "because the Maester will be busy delivering children within the year."
Val smirked at the surprised guardsman, "You looked shocked, have you not been doing you husbandly duties?"
"Of course, but Osha hasn't let on," Jory glared, "that's why Beth has been spending more time with Lord Rickon lately."
"Osha had a child once," Margaery said, Jory nodding that he knew of this, "mayhap she was nervous telling you until she was certain."
Manse shared a look with Val before speaking, "More likely she just didn't think to say anything." At the looks from those raised south of the Wall he continued, "Among the Free Folk women, especially Spear Wives don't let on that they're pregnant, even long after it becomes harder to hide. They just start wearing looser furs and more layers."
Val picked up, "It is not uncommon for a Spear Wife to disappear from camp for a day or two with a sister or trusted friend and return with a babe in arms. Often the sister or trusted friend returns with the babe with the smell of woodsmoke and burnt flesh clinging to them."
Margaery looked shocked, "Why do they hide they are with child?"
Sarella's eyes narrowed, and she guessed, "The Free Folk are known to fight amongst themselves. If it is known those charged with protecting their camp were incapacitated, they leave them vulnerable to attacks from rival clans." Sarella looked to Manse, "While frowned upon in most civilized society, the easiest way to destroy an enemy is to destroy their future."
Manse swallowed and looked at Robb, "There has been times the Night's Watch did things some would find unforgivable. Lord Commander Mormont was never such a man, but his predecessor signed off on a number of raids where the targets were not hostile adults, but innocent children whose only crime was being born on the wrong side of the Wall."
Robb looked physically ill at the thought, "If my father had known."
"If he'd known he'd done nothing," Manse growled out, "There was nothing he could do. The Night's Watch has always been independent of oversight by Kings and Lords. What do you think his subjects would think if he stepped in to protect some worthless Wildlings?" Manse spat, "Your father is a man of honor, but he rules men ruled by their passions, ambitions, and egos."
Manse saw Val's glare and silenced himself. She then looked to Robb, "My young lord, you speak the tongue of the First Men, correct?"
"I know it," Robb frowned, "so?"
"What does the title of Magnar mean?" Val questioned.
Robb sighed, "In common there is not a true exact translation for the word. When the Andals came they assumed it meant king because Magnar led our peoples. Yet there are no kings of the First Men, not in the way other people think. The Magnar was the strongest, wisest, and most skilled member of a clan. The title was not nominally inherited, but often sons or daughters took up the mantle because they were taught and trained by their parents."
Val nodded, "Yes, the Magnar was the guardian of their clan, but as you said it was not merely physical strength that was required." She tapped her temple, "They must also be wise enough to use that strength and know how to best protect their people. Great and terrible knowledge was granted to your father and many others."
Robb grimaced, "And not all of those are men and women of honorable natures."
(Braavos)
Qarro Volentin glared at the report in his hand, a merchant captain had found Syrio Forel, or more to the fact, the merchant had provided transport for the man to Westeros. Qarro's old mentor had taken to serving the Lord of House Stark, the man who'd succeeded Jon Arryn as the Hand to the King of the Seven Kingdoms.
"What has you so engrossed my friend," Qarro turned to Ferrego Antaryon, the Sealord, "If it were possible, I'd swear you were trying to burn that paper just by looking at it."
"Pardon," Qarro sighed, "It is a missive from an old acquaintance. He has heard rumors Syrio has taken a position in the Household of Lord Stark."
Ferrego nodded, "I know, it is good our old friend has landed on his feet."
"You know?" Qarro frowned. Ferrego had fallen ill not long ago, it had been feared a Faceless Man had attacked, but a servant of the Many-Faced God had reportedly similarly fell ill. After some time, he was brought to the Sealord's palace where upon his recovery he had quite the tale. The Many-Faced God was wroth, a force from Westeros and far to the North was stirring, and it defied even the god of death's rules.
The Sealord simply smirked, unlike the Faceless Man, Ferrego was more tight-lipped about his experience. While silent on what exactly he'd been shown by whatever god or gods had deemed him worthy of such a blessing, the man had not been idle. Ferrego was old, and of fragile health, but following his illness he seemed to have gained an renewed strength.
Qarro turned as the door to the office opened and the Faceless Man with the old and gentle face entered, "Sealord, you sent for me."
"Yes," Ferrego grimaced, "I have heard much of what we were shown has shifted thanks to the actions of the Westrosi." The Sealord leaned on his desk, "What do you make of this?"
The Faceless Man looked to the window that overlooked the bay, a massive armada was forming. The Dothraki were hiring every ship large enough to transport their horde across the sea. With a sigh the Faceless Man shook his head, "It will not be enough. The Frozen death will reach our shores if the Wolfblood falls to the doom we saw."
The Sealord nodded, "You sent your man to the girl?"
"As the visions showed he was already in Westeros, my message will reach him, and he will place himself at her side." The Faceless Man grimaced, "We lose a servant of such talent, but it is for the future of all. All men must die, but it is not for us to say when, only the Many-Faced God can say when that time is."
Most of this confused Qarro, but as the First Sword, it was not his place to understand. It was his place to listen and obey. When the Faceless Man departed, Qarro watched as Ferrego got a contemplative look, "We will die if the Westrosi fall."
"Sealord?" Qarrro frowned.
"Winter comes, a winter not seen since ages long forgotten," Ferrego looked solemnly at him, "A winter with such coldness that even the seas will turn to ice. Tyrosh falls first, Lys and Myr not long after. Word of Pentos being overrun comes just as Norvos is lost. Lorath and Volantis become graveyards on the same day. Braavos is the last of the Free Cities to fall mere hours after Qohor. After the Free Cities, the rest of Essos does not last long."
Qarro's blood feels as thought it is turning cold at the Sealord's words, "What horror could do such a thing?"
"Demons of ice and darkness the Northmen refer to as The Others," Ferrego grimaced, "In my visions Westeros devolved into wars over succession and petty disputes that weakened and divided them. They were not ready for The Others, and in the end, they did much of those monsters' work for them. Their battles left great pits of the dead, massive graves those monsters could use to raise armies of their vile servants. What we would face after the last of their kingdoms had fallen to the scourge of these demons. The Free Cities were swarmed by the dead of Westeros, and in turn our dead would be added to scour living from the rest of the known world and beyond."
"What can we do?" Qarro asked hesitantly, "How can we stop what is coming?"
The Sealord motioned to the window, "The Dothraki move to be ready, to add their strength to those who will stand against the demons at the pivotal moment. If the North is broken, there is no hope for anyone. If the Wolfblood falls, then our world ends in eternal ice."
Qarro shook his head, "If the Dothraki hoard is not going to be enough, there is nothing to be done. Even if you could unite the nine cities to common cause and rally all the sellsword companies. I have heard that both the Company of the Rose and the Golden Company have been preparing to head for Westeros. Is this why?"
"The Company of the Rose has always been in Essos for this reason, to prepare for a day when the North would rise up. They intended that to be the day their countrymen were ready to become independent of the Targaryen. Lord Eddard Stark was the second son, and was not informed at the time he had such an army to call upon during the Rebellion, though they would not have heeded the call at the time as Lord Stark did not intend to declare the North independent of the Seven Kingdoms."
"Why journey there now?" Qarro questioned.
"Because the ancient enemy is upon them," the Sealord chuckled, "Though much of the company is more Essosi and only a few of their leaders still claim actual decent from Northern houses, they have maintained their connections to the legends and beliefs of the First Men. It is such stories they tell new recruits, and children born of their camp followers." The Sealord sighed, "As for the Golden Company, the Blackfyre has been extinguished, yet they have been called to defend their ancestral lands from the coming threat. I would hazard to guess the Wolfpack and Stormbreakers will soon follow, both companies have similar roots from Westrosi exiles."
Qarro frowned as he thought of the four sellsword companies. The Stormbreakers and Wolfpack were smaller companies compared to the Golden Company and Company of the Rose. The Company of the Rose outnumbered the two smaller companies as that had the two joined forces, they'd still be facing five to one odds at least. In turn if the Company of the Rose was joined by the Wolfpack and Stormbreakers against the Golden Company, they'd face odds nearing three to one. That wasn't accounting for the Golden Companies' elephants.
Even with that the Golden Company's ten thousand men was barely a fraction of the estimated strength of the Dothraki hoard, all the kalasars united would put the number close to two hundred thousand calvary, each man of which could act as both horseback archer and chargers. Qarro realized what his Sealord was contemplating, "The Unsullied?"
The Sealord nodded, "In the vision the Unsullied of Astapor were liberated by Princess Daenerys, who by now sits comfortably within the walls of her ancestral home of the Red Keep. With the breaker of chains no longer destroying the status quo of Slavers Bay, who might there be to bring them to fight."
Qarro tilted his head, "Where were the Unsullied in your vision?"
"Among the corpses ravaging the world," The Sealord said sternly, "Their numbers were depleted fighting the Yunkai until Daenerys gave up on Slaver's Bay when she learned her nephew had already begun his conquest to restore Targaryen rule in Westeros. She then wasted what was left of them in fruitless battles with her elder nephew after they abandoned Prince Aegon's half-brother to his death at Winterfell. Their ambitions for a crown and throne ended with their deaths, and their arrogance made the rest of us suffer the same fate."
Qarro frowned, "The Good Masters will not be easily swayed in sending the Unsullied to defend against a threat they will not believe exists."
"We would also need the Unsullied that Qohor employs, along with the united military might of the Free Cities and all of Slaver's Bay." The Sealord snorted, "That would be barely a start, but anywhere further east would be futile to send. Any forced sent from beyond the Dothraki sea would be better spent planning for what is coming should we fail."
"How do you plan to unite the Free Cities, let along build an alliance with Slaver's Bay?" Qarro did not believe such a thing even remotely possible.
The Sealord gave him an emotionless look, "It has already begun."
(Astapor)
Grey Worm stood over the bodies of the Good Masters. The bodies lay in rows along with the freemen soldiers and other slave masters. He looked to the man with the plague marked face, while the man's face looked half dead already, the rest of him including his stance and baring told a much different story. This was a Faceless Man, and he'd butchered many in Astapor in a single night, far too many to have done such a deed on his own.
Plague face closed his eyes in prayer, "May the Many-Faced God see these wicked souls to their final rest." The other Unsullied were dousing the bodies in oil and adding pitch. Torches were being prepared to burn the dead as others were busy scouring the crypts of the Good Masters for bodies that had yet to decay to bone. The Faceless Man had directed them to do these acts to impede a possible catastrophe.
Marselen appeared with his brother Mossador and their young sister Missandei. Grey Worm turned to the three, "What is the state of the city?"
"We have collected the dead," Marselen spoke harshly, "All were the masters save a man named Cleon, a slave of the Good Master Grazdan mo Ullhor."
Plague face snickered, "He was marked by the Many-Faced God."
"The Great Masters of Meereen and the Wise Masters of Yunkai will not let this pass," Missandei looked to the Faceless Man, "They will come to punish us, then seek retribution."
A wicked smile came to Plague face, "They too are marked, my brethren are granting them the gift of the Many-Faced God as we speak."
Grey Worm gulped, "Are we marked as well?"
"Valar morghulis," Plague face stated calmly, "yet it is not your time. The Many-Faced God has other plans for the Unsullied," his eye moved to the young Missandei, "As well as you little one. To the west, across the Narrow Sea is Westeros and upon that distant land a foe to all who draw breath gathers strength. This foe's very existence is a defiance to the ethos of the Many-Faced God, and all gods worshiped by men."
Grey Worm realized if they were going to Westeros, they would need Missandei to interpret for them as none of them spoke the Common Tongue. Already his brethren were turning to him for leadership, but their training was ingrained deeply. His hand tightened on the ceremonial harpy's fingers he held. Calmly stepping to Missandei he held the whip to the girl. She flinched, they had all at one time or another felt the sting of the less ceremonial versions of this weapon.
He waited for her to calm and look him in the eye, "Where you lead, we will follow."
Tentatively the girl took the whip, "We are free." She looked to her brothers, "Were we go, we walk together." Her brothers nodded to her as she dropped the whip on the closest Good Master's body as the flames began to spread.
Notes:
- Iron Born; we don't know a lot about their practices and I am also depicting them as an offshoot of the First Men. The Skagosi use tattoos, as do other First Men groups including the Vale's Mountain Clans. In this variant world the Iron Born have taken to using a more severe form of tattooing and body modification in a ritualistic way.
- Kind of glossed over the whole Robert officially announcing Aegon as his new heir.
- Missandei is based on her book version so she is a young child, not a young woman.
