Disclaimer this is an alternate version of Game of Thrones season 6 and onward, with some facts more in tune with the books. Also includes house Forrester. I do not own the characters (except any original characters) this is for entertainment purposes only.
Of Royal Declarations and Engagements
[Somewhere in the North]
He dreamed the same nightmare that had haunted him for weeks. Alone in the dark, frozen wastes beyond the Wall, the White Wolf haplessly searched for another living soul. Yet only the sheer northern gales answered his calls, relentlessly biting into his skin. He struggled through the calf-deep snow, unsure of where he was going. In fact, for all he knew he was marching further into the storm rather than away from it. The only thing he was certain of was that he had to keep moving.
'But towards where?' he asked desperately, losing faith that he would ever find what he was looking for. Suddenly the wind died down leaving the frozen world in utter silence.
For a moment Jon felt relieved to be free of the wind's icy daggers, but he realized something was terribly wrong. He turned his head towards the direction he'd come from and what the former black brother saw rattled him to his very core. An all-consuming darkness was rapidly approaching, almost like it was reaching out to take hold of him. He turned to run but with each passing step his legs grew heavier until he could barely move at all. Turning towards the darkness he shielded himself. Yet as it overcame him there was no pain, only oblivion. It was so dark he couldn't tell whether his eyes were open or not.
When the king tried to speak his voice failed him, no sound could be heard in the void. It was maddening, he could not tell where he was or even if he was still alive. He had been trapped within this void before, after the mutineers murdered him at Castle Black. Jon had never claimed to know what awaited mankind after death, whether there were seven heavens or seven hells., It wasn't for him to say, but his brief foray in death revealed… nothing. Like before he prayed to the Old Gods for a way to escape this darkness; to be able to hear, see, or feel anything again.
In that moment Jon suddenly found himself standing before the weirwood he swore by when he pledged his life to Night's Watch. As the young man gazed upon the carved face, he noticed the eyes and mouth were bleeding, not red sap, but actual blood. The blood flowed freely as the wind picked up, bringing forth Jon's greatest fears, On the wind he heard voices… voices he knew all too well.
"You pledged your life to the Night's Watch for all the nights to come. Have you forgotten that boy?" Lord Commander Mormont chastised bitterly. As Jon turned in every direction looking for his former mentor, but only to find shadows amidst the trees. "To wear no crowns and win no glory. To live and die at your post. I asked you once if you were a brother of the Night's Watch or a bastard boy playing at war. Was your answer a lie? Are you no less of a traitor than the mutineers who murdered me?!"
"No, I fought for the Watch, I'm fighting for every man, woman, and child." Jon retorted, defending the decisions he made during his tenure as Lord Commander. He defended the Wall against Mance Rayder's army, he saved thousands of Free Folk from the White Walkers, and he died for those who would never know his name.
The tired soldier remembered the words of ser Davos after he declined Stannis' offer. 'The shield that guards the realms of men, that's what you swore to be. Now, I'm not a learned man, but the best way to help the most people may not be sitting at a frozen castle at the edge of the world. It just might mean wadding through the muck, getting your boots dirty, and doing what needs to be done.'
The onion knight was right, in the end, he couldn't wait for the Night King to come to them while the rest of the world squabbled amongst themselves. How many of their pleas for aid had gone unanswered? Ravens could be ignored, but a leader with a strong will could not. As the King in the North, he could do more for the Night's Watch and those south of the Wall, than he ever could as Lord Commander. However, just as the White Wolf reassured himself of his decisions, a new voice cut him to the quick.
"Why didn't you join me when I rode south," the wind asked with Robb's voice. "I needed men I could rely on, men that I could trust. You could have saved me, together we could have saved father, and put Joffrey's head on a pike. But you weren't there!"
Jon desperately pleaded with his brother's shade, "I wanted too, but I swore an oath to the Night's Watch. I Learned that the old stories were true, that the White Walkers had returned and the dead march with them. I stayed to protect us all from the-"
"You didn't protect me!" Howled Rickon's voice as the wind bite into Jon's face again. "You're my brother, you were supposed to look after me. Why did you leave us? Why didn't you save me from that monster?"
As he cried, the cold wind froze the tears to his face. "I tried… I tried to save you. I'm so sorry." His vision blurred, but whether it was from the tears in his eyes or the swirling snow around him, he couldn't tell.
Then all the voices spoke at once with a more sinister tone. "Why aren't you with us? You know that you don't belong with the living anymore, you belong with the dead!" The voices turned into a shrill scream, assaulting Jon's ears as he thrashed about.
Falling to his knees, the warrior desperately tried to drown out the noise, but to no avail. He then noticed the shadows taking shape as they approached. They resembled men without faces and in their hands were shadowy daggers. Then like direwolves that had cornered injured prey, the shadows were on him.
Jon gasped as he felt the cold blades pierce his flesh. They felt exactly like the blades used by ser Alliser and the other mutineers. They bit into his chest in the same pattern as before. Yet, he did not fade away like before, his agony grew beyond comprehension as the shadows continued their assault. He pleaded to all the Old Gods to be released from this painful existence
Then the shadows stopped, leaving Jon gasping for breath and wondering what this meant. Had his prayers been answered or was it a sign something worse was coming? As he lifted his gaze the shadows cleared a path for another to approach. This shadow was smaller than the others and it approached slowly. The warrior tried to stand up, but his injuries would not allow him to, the specter now stood before him. For the second time he staired up at his would-be murderer, hoping for some explanation.
His heart nearly stopped right there when it spoke with a voice, a woman's voice, that he knew all too well.
"You betrayed me, Jon Snow," she said, her voice ringing with sorrow and anger. "You were mine and I was yours!" As the specter said the words, she drove the dagger into his heart.
000
Jon cried out, drenched in sweat as he rose from his covers, his heart beating fiercely as the wind outside his tent blew about. He lingered on his reoccurring nightmare, was there some truth to the shades' words? This question had haunted him for weeks now, ever since the feast of Winterfell. The young warrior imagined that the dreams may have come sooner if he hadn't been so focused on securing his families survival, but now that there was momentary peace amidst the Northern Realm, a grim question plagued his thoughts.
"Why him?" the king asked earnestly. "Why not his father, his brother Robb, or Mance Rayder? Why not greater men, men who knew how to inspire courage in the hearts of others? There was little doubt in his mind that everything would be better if his father was here, leading the call against the Night King. Men and woman from all seven kingdoms respected him and knew him to be a man of his word. While the North and the Vale supported him, the former bastard had no sway in the other kingdoms. To them he would be an opportunistic upstart or a bloody madman.
Jon told no one about these dreams, not even Sansa. He did not wish to worry her over mere dreams, they had far greater concerns to deal with. Such as preparing the North by gathering troops, rationing the grain stores for this winter, and outfitting the Night's Watch with trebuchets. The construction of these trebuchets had been tasked to lady Alys Karstark, who was grateful for their efforts to free her from her grand-uncle Arnolf. After the siege of Karhold, Arnolf and his surviving sons had been sent to the Wall. The Karstark lands held many forests, perfect for supplying the necessary timber.
Sensing his master's worries, Ghost stirred from his sleep and nuzzled against him in hopes of abating his troubled mind. For half a moment it worked. As Jon scratched the back of the direwolf's ear, he marveled at how gentle his four-legged companion could be. With his own eyes, he had witnessed Ghost tear out the throats of men and beasts. The direwolf was a remarkable creature, more intelligent and loyal than any hound, able to discern true friend from foe. That's why the young king refused to leave him at Winterfell for this journey, to see which of his bannerman he could trust.
Ghost had sensed the danger at Castle Black, snapping at some of the mutineers and like a fool Jon ignored the signs. Instead, he chose to lock away his faithful direwolf in the kennels, he would not make the same mistake twice. Already Ghost had proven invaluable in discerning who was friend or foe. During their journey to White Harbor, ser Lyn Corbray had ridden to close to him, causing Ghost to lash out and snap at his horse. Naturally, the mare panicked and nearly threw the knight to the ground.
Ser Lyn managed to reign in his horse, before it carried him off to the Stony Shores. So far, the second son of house Corbray was the only Knight of the Vale to receive such a reaction from the direwolf. Jon suspected that this meant the knight was in the employ of Baelish, his suspicions only grew with ser Lyn's frequent remarks about his inordinate hatred for Littlefinger.
When they made camp three nights ago, Roose Ryswell, lord Rodrik's youngest son, had passed by the royal tent. As he did so Ghost growled at him forebodingly. However, Jon noticed that Ghost hadn't stirred from where he lay, nor did he bare his fangs at the man. In his mind, it appeared his four-legged compatriot was merely telling the young Ryswell to mind himself in their presence. The young king suspected that lord Roose had lingering feelings about his sister's death yet honored his father's wishes to support house Stark.
Fortunately, there was no short supply of trusted allies on this journey as well. The onion knight had earned Ghost's trust during the mutiny at Castle Black and had since grown accustomed to his presence. Lord Yohn Royce, while weary of the direwolf himself, was treated indifferently by his longtime companion. Hugo Wull had taken to feeding him scrapes of meat whenever he wondered near his campfire. He even allowed lady Lyanna to pet him once. With them and their men-at-arms, their company numbered over a hundred riders.
Although the road to White Harbor was now safe, the attending lords, knights and their soldiers were to ensure the White Wolf's safety. The few ladies at camp came to bear witness the spectacle that would take place in the city of house Manderly. The first royal Stark wedding to take place in the North in centuries… his wedding.
A sense of dread swept through Jon's veins. Part of him was almost thankful that the winter storm had hindered their progress, even though he decided that the ceremony should take place immediately. The White Wolf would not repeat the same mistake of his brother, a prolonged engagement left too much to chance. A great many things could happen between now and several months' time. Everything about this turn of events made him uneasy, and the young king wasn't the only one on edge.
His sister had voiced her concerns after they were alone in Winterfell, practically chastising him for making such a rash decision, especially one suggested by Baelish. But what choice did he have, Littlefinger made his proposal before the entire assembly of lords and ladies, the King in the Northcouldn't afford to look weak or indecisive before his bannermen, if men don't have faith in their leaders, they have no cause to stay loyal. Jon knew that Littlefinger, couldn't be trusted, but neither could he forget what happened at Hardhome. Men, women, and children cut down by wights, only for them to rise again and join in the slaughter of their kin.
Mance Rayder once hoped to fight them, uniting all the tribes, forging a hundred thousand knifes into one spear, only for the Walkers to send him running with his tail between his legs. Jon knew that the united force of the Northerners, Knights of the Vale, and Free Folk wasn't even half the size of Mance's camp. Marrying Mya Stone would sway many of the Southern lords, especially amongst the storm lords, who never had any love for Cersei.
"You betrayed me Jon Snow, you were mine and I was yours," Ygritte's words echoed in his mind, sending chills down his spine and into his heart. When he first heard the words in his dream, Jon thought she was speaking of how he abandoned her for the Watch, but now he wasn't so sure.
'Am I betraying her memory for a woman I've never even met?' the king pondered as he listened to the wind outside his tent.
After her death, Jon had coincided himself to never know the touch of a woman again, in part to reaffirm his commitment to the Watch and because he didn't want to know another. Yet here he was, riding to White Harbor to meet with his soon-to-be bride. A woman who had every right to hate him, for taking her from her home, her freedom to choose for herself whom to marry, and forcing her into a role that she didn't asked for.
His musings were interrupted when one of his guards, a Hornwood by the look of his surcoat, opened the flap to his tent. "Your grace," he said bowing his head. "The storm has finally died out. We can be ready to march whenever you desire."
There was no point in delaying any further, especially with how unpredictable winter storms were. "As soon as all the men have broken fast, I want them mounted and ready to ride," the King in the North rose to his feet and began preparing to resume the journey. "We can't be sure when the next storm will hit or how long it will last. I hope to reach White Harbor in the next three days."
"You needn't fear your grace, scout master Hullen says the southern winds have blown the storms further south. Mark my words, there isn't a man born who knows the land or skies better." The soldier bowed his head once more and left the king alone with his thoughts.
As Jon belted Longclaw and donned his cloak, he felt the eyes of Ghost starring at him. The blood red eyes of the direwolf seemed to express a kind of sympathy for his master. No doubt his four-legged friend could sense the lingering guilt he felt. Even if he didn't fully understand what troubled him, Jon found comfort in the bond that they share. Petting his companion's head once more, he gave a solemn smile.
"What do you think I should do, boy? Should I go through with this madness, or should I turn around and free myself and this Mya Stone from what's coming?"
In response Ghost merely snorted before padding out of the tent. Realizing that was the best his companion had to offer, Jon found himself wishing Sansa had come along for the journey, but she elected to stay in Winterfell. There must always be a Stark at Winterfell, as their father used to say. He understood her reservations about leaving their ancestral home all too well. After spending so many years away from it, they feared that if they closed their eyes for a moment the castle would disappear upon opening them again.
Yet, their home wasn't complete, not while Arya and Bran were lost. Wherever they were their anxious elder brother hoped they were safe. His greatest hope was that they would all be together again, as they were meant to be. The king realized something at that moment, here he was thinking of his family when the daughter of Robert Baratheon would have to leave hers behind. To live in a place that wasn't her home, with people she didn't know.
As he walked out of his tent the king thought deeply about how he would treat the woman who would be his bride. 'I don't know what future I'll have with this woman, this Mya Stone, But I will treat her well and do all that I can to make her feel comfortable at Winterfell. Perhaps someday she can forgive me.'
Dragonstone
As the Queen's Grace made port on the ancient isle the queen's hand disembarked, all too thankful to be on solid ground once again. His eyes immediately fixated on the grim and imposing stronghold at the top of the hill. Its design was unlike any other keep he had ever seen. Ancient valyrian architecture was prominent throughout the dark stones that composed the stronghold. The dwarf of Casterly Rock wasn't surprised by this, the castle was built by the Targaryens merely twelve years before the doom that consumed their homeland.
This was where Aegon and his sisters planned their conquest of Westeros, where the crowned Targaryen prince or princess ruled before ascending to the throne, and where Daenerys had been born before being whisked away to Essos. As the others disembarked, the dwarf's eyes looked for his queen, wondering how the Mother of Dragons would react to the sight. However, the bustling masses of larger man made it difficult.
When Tyrion finally saw Daenerys, who was walking alongside Missandei and ser Barristan, he saw for the first time a look of awe and sorrow across her face. Many would have thought that it was impossible for a woman, who had cared and nurtured three dragons, to be moved at the sight of an ancient castle, but this was more than that. It was her first step of returning home, to the place of her birth.
Tyrion noted the look of wonder faded from her eyes as she saw something in the distance. When the dwarf looked to see what it was, he saw a small company of men approaching. 'No more than ten… no eight men in total.' He counted, 'hardly a force to make demands. Not that they could if they wanted too.
It became more interesting to see at the head of the group, was not a seasoned commander or a high-born lord, but a maester. A rather young one at that, judging by his appearance and the number of links on his chain. They were stopped about twenty paces or so ahead of them by Greyworm and six Unsullied warriors. To their credit the soldiers did not object, and after a closer look, Tyrion saw that they all looked worn and disheartened, hardly to start a fight.
Stepping forward the dwarf sought to inquire after their intentions, as was his duty as Hand of the Queen. "Greetings good sirs and maester, I am Tyrion Lannister of Casterly Rock, hand to Queen Daenerys, last of the Targaryen line and rightful ruler of Dragonstone. Her grace would like to discuss the matters of surrendering the keep with your commander."
At first the soldiers didn't respond, until the maester stepped forward. "My name is Pylos, the appointed maester of Dragonstone… sadly her grace will have to settle for me. The commander, along with most of the garrison that was charged with defending the keep, fled when word of King Stannis' death reached us"
When the queen approached the maester bent the knee as did the former Baratheon soldiers. "If your commander abandoned the keep, why have you stayed?" she asked, her voice firm yet gentle. Clearly the soldiers were afraid of what the Dragon Queen might do to them should they displease her, but her voice lulled some of their worries.
"The remaining men live on this island, your grace. Their families are here as well, and they had nowhere else to go. As for myself I am a sworn maester assigned by the Citadel to Dragonstone after maester Cressen's death. I am bound to serve the castle's acting lord and their household. Which I now believe is you, great queen."
This was reassuring to hear for all those present, both Tyrion and ser Barristan (the former from books and the latter from first-hand experience) knew how formidable the old stronghold was. Even a small force, if well provisioned, could fend off a host five times their number. It also bode well for them that they did not have to fight for their seat of power, where they would make their next plan.
"I commend your devotion to your charges maester," remarked the Dragon Queen offering her hand to the maester. "Rise, all of you, know that you needn't fear me or those in my household, our only enemies are to the Crownlands. Nor should you fear reprisal from the same false rulers. From this day forward you and your families are under my protection."
'Well done,' thought Tyrion, 'showing herself as a merciful and kind ruler while naming Cersei as their common enemy.'
There was little doubt in his mind that the remainder of the garrison will join their ranks before midday, and given his sister's taste for vengeance against her perceived enemies, what choice did they have? Without a leader or a strong enough host to back them, every man, woman, and child, would be put to the sword and their bodies mutilated to serve as a warning to others. 'She has always had a flare for dramatics and spitefulness, my beloved sister,' he thought bitterly.
As maester Pylos escorted them up the steps, a long and shrill roar echoed through the air, followed by the beating of large wings. Pylos and his fellow compatriots were transfixed in complete awe and terror at the sight. Three massive dragons flew overhead as if they were circling prey. Their contrasting colors distinguished themselves from each other. The one that was as black as night (and by far the largest) was Drogon.
He was the first to land atop a jagged rock that was only a dozen or so yards off the main island. Viserion, the color cream landed against the stony cliffside, clinging to it like one of the bats on house Whent's banner. Rheagal, green as an emerald, landed just short of the keep's outer wall. Although they were as fierce as ever, there was something different in their eyes. It was a mad thought, but Tyrion believed that they were more at ease here than they were in Meereen.
If Tyrion remembered his history lessons correctly, the dragons of house Targaryen made their home on Dragonstone since before the Doom of Valyria and long after Aegon's Conquest. 'No doubt they'll take to the caves here, just as their forebearers did.'
"They sense the distant shadows of their kin," remarked Daenerys garnering his attention. "They know that this is a place where they can prosper."
Smiling at her remark the half man spoke freely, "Indeed, my queen, I believe it was Rhaenys Targaryen who said the Gods had dragons in mind when they fashioned this island from the sea. They are also the first true dragons to reside on this isle in centuries. Perhaps here is where they are meant to dwell once your kingdom and crown are restored."
"They are meant to be at their mother's side," the last Targaryen countered, her voice becoming slightly more rigid than before.
The sudden change in her voice, made Tyrion realize he had stepped on a bear-trap yet to go off. If the queen's hand was to keep his foot intact, he needed to choose his words carefully. He knew that she saw them as her children, all but replacing the one she had lost years ago. Missandei and Greyworm also told him how heartbroken she was when she had Rhaegal and Viserion chained within the pyramid of Meereen.
"My apologies, your grace. I was only thinking of their prolonged wellbeing. As you've seen first-hand dragons do not do well locked away in darkness." He saw he had her attention now, ss well as ser Barristan's and Missandel's, who had looked slightly concern about the course of this conversation.
The half man didn't waste any time illustrating his point. "When your ancestors started penning up their dragons, the majestic creatures began to fade away. Their growth became stunted, fewer eggs hatched, until the mighty creatures were reduced to oddities the size of cats. A fate that no creature, especially those as intelligent as your dragons, deserves."
The queen considered his words carefully before replying, as was his hope. By the look on her face this weighed on her mind greatly, torn between keeping her children close and doing what was best for them, a dilemma all mothers faced at times.
"Well said lord Tyrion," she finally said, "But these are matters to be discussed after the war is over. Only then can we decide what is best for them. I am tired from the journey, let us talk more once we've all had our rest." With that said the Mother of Dragons left to find her royal chamber, with her Queensguard and confidant in attendance, leaving Tyrion to his own devises for the evening
000
It was perhaps the most horrendous sight he had ever witnessed in his life. The shear neglect that the wine cellar had endured over the years. Dust coated the sealed flagons tucked away in the wine rack, or at least the handful of flagons that were there. The dwarf of Casterly Rock suspected that the poorly patched up barrels were bone dry with their prize content staining the stone floors, Apparently Stannis Baratheon, along with his other faults, had little respect for the art of wine preservation.
"This will have to be the first of the many changes around here… at least it will if I have anything to say about it," Tyrion remarked aloud already devising ways rectifying the sorry state of this cellar.
From the small selection of wine before him, the queen's hand, found a miracle from the Seven Gods. An Arbor Red, the finest wine in all of Westeros. While he had enjoyed the vintages Essos had to over, Tyrion had long missed the taste of a well-aged Arbor Red. As he unsealed it, the fragrance of the wine filled his nostrils, bringing back many fond memories of his drunken youth.
As he poured his first glass, a voice spoke from the shadows. "Even among all the chambers, halls, and corridors this stronghold has to offer, I knew I'd find you here, my old friend."
When he turned, Tyrion saw a hooded figure standing by the torch light. While his face was concealed the dwarf new his voice all too well. "Varys," he said almost unsurprised. "Lingering in the shadows as usual, I take it the talks with houses Martell and Tyrell went accordingly."
Removing his hood and respectfully bowing to him, the Spider replied in his usual polite fashion. "Your faith in my talents for persuasion is reassuring, my lord, But before we discuss politics, how fares our beautiful queen? I hope that her voyage wasn't too taxing on her wellbeing. Such things can wear down one's health and mind."
"I thought we weren't talking of politics just yet," remarked Tyrion, knowing what Varys' true intentions were. "Your concerned about her state of mind."
"A warranted concern, considering her father appeared to have escaped the Targaryen Madness during the first twenty years of his reign. The last thing the realm needs is another war, if only to replace one tyrant with a mad one. One that has three dragons at her beck and call."
Swirling his glass in hand, the half man recalled all that he had witnessed from the Dragon Queen. "Daenerys can be strict and uncompromising when dealing out justice, but I believe she truly wishes to be a good person. She truly cares for those in her service; Ser Barristan, Greyworm, Missandei… I believe she is even starting to care for me as well."
A sigh of relief escaped from the eunuch. "Good… that is very good to hear my lord. For prince Doran and lady Olenna have agreed to support the Dragon Queen in reclaiming her throne."
As Tyrion finished his first glass, he let a satisfied smile spread across his face, partly to the exquisite taste, but mostly for the news lord Varys brought. They now had a force that could subdue Cersei's and end the conflict in a remarkably short amount of time. Unfortunately, Cersei wouldn't see it that way and would fight bitterly for what was hers and her children's.
"This calls for a drink between men… or at least a man and you," The half man replied cheerfully as he poured a glass for his compatriot.
Faced with the insinuating jest, Varys merely rolled his eyes and shook his head, "Please, a man of your stature can do better than that." Varys' barbed remark elicited a smirk from the queen's hand. Unfortunately, the lighten mood of their conversation faded as quickly as it began.
"I take it you have bad news as well. What's the saying 'dark wings, dark words?"
To only those initiated to the game, there was a discernable change in the Spiders voice when he spoke, "I am afraid so. While in Dorne I thought it prudent to locate a mutual acquittance of ours, one that has been left unchecked for too long."
There was no need for Varys to say who it was they were talking off, the silver-tongued moneylender Petyr Baelish. "I take it he is not trapped beneath Lysa Arryn at the Eyrie." The crud jest was Tyrion's attempt bring levity back into their conversation, which he completely failed to do.
"Sadly, for lady Arryn, her union with Littlefinger was short-lived before she apparently threw herself through the Moon Door, a horrific prospect you are somewhat familiar with my lord."
The memory of the Moon Door and Sky Cells of house Arryn's ancestral home were all too vivid to say the least and compelled him never to set foot the Vale again. He also recalled how that unruly, spoiled brat Robyn Arryn screamed, 'make the little man fly,' at the top of his lungs.
When the queen's hand didn't speak Varys continued with his report. "How fortunate for young, sickly lord Robyn to have his new father-by-law to guide him in this troubling time. To act as the Vale's lord regent until the boy is ready to lead his household for himself… should that day ever come."
Tyrion finished his second drink paying less attention to the bouquet and more on its aftereffects. "Has our wayward friend compelled his impressionable son to declare for the Iron Throne, or to remain safely tucked away on his mountaintop."
"Neither and before you ask, no. He hasn't tried to worm his way into our ranks by offering the Knights of the Vale." Varys' answer was so unexpected Tyrion put down his glass, his face looking as puzzled as he felt.
"Then what has he done with them?" Tyrion asked anxiously. For as long as he had known Littlefinger, the moneylender and whoremonger had proven difficult to predict when playing the game. He always appeared to be on everyone's and no one's side all at once. One minute he would help in someone's endeavors and in the next the cold-hearted businessman would destroy everything they had built for themselves.
"He along with the Knights of the Vale are in the North serving your former wife lady Sansa and her half-brother Jon Snow, the newly elected King in the North."
'Sansa is still alive, 'he thought, 'and siting in Winterfell at her brother's side.' Truly it seemed there was no end to the surprises Varys had in store for them. The former husband of lady Sansa was both impressed and concerned by these new developments, particularly with Baelish's role in events to come.
"Yes, the sweet child found her way to what remains of her family and together they marshaled an army, destroyed house Bolton and reaffirmed the North's independence from the Iron Throne. So now the realm is faced with three potential rulers"
The idea of Baelish in a royal court with two kingdoms behind it was enough to make anyone with an understanding of the game nervous. However, Tyrion remember Jon Snow from their Journey to the Wall together. He found the lad to be clever, honest, and as honorable as his father. There was little doubt in his mind that Jon Snow would be wary of anyone like Baelish. There may be an opportunity there, if presented in the right fashion. "Perhaps there won't be any conflict with the Starks, perhaps they will see us as allies facing a common foe. Given enough time we could sway them to the queen's cause."
The look on the Spider's face expressed his doubts on the matter. "My lord, the northerners, as we both know, have a very long memory and are quite reluctant to forgive misdeeds done to them. Misdeeds such as the burning of their grandfather, lord Rickard Stark, the strangling of their uncle Brandon Stark, and the unwarranted call for their father's head. It is doubtful that they will aid the daughter of the man responsible for all this. Especially after the upcoming wedding."
At the mention of a wedding, Tyrion was beyond intrigued, the last wedding that the northerners attended ended in a blood bath, curtesy of Walder Frey, Roose Bolton, and his late father. What surprised him further was learning the names of the betrothed couple, Jon Snow and Mya Stone. The blood of the direwolf and the stag bound by marriage.
'Somewhere Robert Baratheon is laughing, and my sister is screaming… or soon will be.' He thought. It truly was amusing, the thing that Robert had wanted all those years ago would finally happen, but not in the fashion he had imagined. However, this presented a problem for them, for Daenerys.
"Regardless of how poor a king Robert was in practice, he was still beloved by the people, and if given the choice between the daughter of the stag or the Mad King who do you believe they will follow?" Varys' questioned reaffirmed Tyrion's concerns; a prolonged conflict was seemingly inevitable. Granting the Iron Islands independence was one thing, but the North and Vale was another. ''he doubted that their queen would accept a neighboring kingdom larger than her own.
In face of the growing odds against them, Tyrion did what he always did, he made a joke. "Is it too much to hope that Tommen sees the folly his mother is leading him down, take measure for himself and surrender?"
"My lord- "
"I jest Varys, I know my nephew is too timid and loves his mother too much to do such a thing." While he expected Varys to be concerned by his poor joke, the queen's hand didn't expect to see the look of true sorrow in his eyes, something the eunuch wasn't known for. When the dwarf inquired what was wrong, his companion refused to answer for a moment.
"I'm truly sorry my friend," Varys began, perhaps for the first time in his life unsure what to say. "Your nephew has passed nearly a month ago."
In that moment it felt as if all the air in Tyrion's chest had been ripped from his body, his throat clenched, and his cunning mind couldn't comprehend what he had just heard. Only when his lungs begged for air, did the half man let out a gasp before falling back to his seat. His mind was flooded with sweet memories of his innocent nephew, the first time he mounted a pony, how tenderly he cared for the fawn he was gifted, and how his face lit up at the sight of his funny uncle.
Unlike Joffrey, Tommen and Marcella had never mocked or insulted him for being a dwarf. No, to them he was simply their uncle, and he loved them for that. They were the only good thing to come from their family in so many years.
His thoughts turned to Myrcella who was all alone in Dorne. "How… how did Marcella take this news. Did you see her in Dorne?" when he asked his voice was raspy and barely audible. When his question was met with silence, he inquired again, but less courteously this time.
"If the Gods are just, she is with her brother in the Seven Heavens." The half man jumped from his seat, knocking it over onto the floor, banging the table with his fists. As the glass of wine spilled, he let out a cry of anguish. When he finally spoke, he only said one word.
"How?"
For a moment the Spider sat quietly, judging what he could share with him. "She died at the same time when the chaos of Meereen erupted and Daenerys disappeared, I did not learn of this until I arrived in Westeros."
"I didn't ask when eunuch! I asked how in Seven Hells did this happen… Tell me how, you severed BASTARD!" But Varys remained silent, eyes showing no contempt or offense, only sympathy.
As he stood the eunuch looked remorseful for what he was about to say. "As master of whispers it was my business to know everything, as well as knowing when and where to share these secrets. For the sake of the realm we wish to build, I cannot tell you this, not yet at least. I hope you can one day forgive me my friend." Enraged Tyrion kicked his stool, sending it banging into an empty cask
"Get out… I SAID GET OUT." Tears were threatening to escape the mournful half man's eyes. "GET OUT… before you learn what my father felt as he died!"
Like a shadow, the Spider faded from sight, leaving the heartbroken lord alone in the dark cellar. His trembling hands reached for the glass and the flagon of Arbor Red, feeling an all too familiar need to drink away the pain. What was intended as an evening of leisurely drinking, became a night of drowning sorrow.
The Sea's Daughter
As the hull of the ship creaked against the bobbing waves of the sea, a young woman sat in her cabin and stared into her reflection, hardly recognizing the person staring back at her. She wore a black velvet dress with golden trimming, it was the most elegant piece of clothing she had ever owned in her life. The colors were chosen for her, honoring her… father's house. Even though her mother said the dress suited her well, she felt completely out of place wearing it.
She had spent most of her life wearing woolen trousers and old leather shirts, which were more appropriate for trekking up the mountainside leading to the Eyrie. For years she had climbed up those mountains, escorting supplies, and noble guests to the ancestral keep of house Arryn, without fear of falling. But now, here in this cabin the young woman felt as if the world itself was spinning about her. Her rein-callused hands fidgeted and fiercely gripped each other in her lap.
"Mya, please try to stay still," A woman's gentle voice almost startled her, only then did she feel the brush softly go through her short coal black hair, removing any tangles that normally would have gone unnoticed. In her youth, there was hardly a day when here hair wasn't a tangled mess, blown about by the strong mountain winds of her homeland. Almost unconsciously, the young woman turned to look at her mother, despite her plea to remain still.
Mya's deep blue eyes met the brown eyes of her mother Betha, who after seeing the look of worry in her daughter, placed the brush on the mirror stand, and knelt so they were at eye level. Her mother's face, although lined with years, was still finely featured with high cheek bones, and a narrow forehead and jawline, no doubt that was what caught her father's eyes during his stay at the Eyrie. That was before he was king, before he even rebelled against the mad King Aerys and hammered the Targaryen dynasty.
"What's wrong, darling? Her mother's question was simple, but the daughter of Robert Baratheon didn't know where to begin. Her dismay at being torn from everything she ever knew to marry a stranger, her lingering resentment towards Mychel Redfort for leaving her, or that all of this was happening because of who her father was. Yet she couldn't put her feelings into words, it was maddening.
After taking a few breathes Mya did her best to express herself to perhaps the only person who truly cared how she felt. "I didn't ask for this." Those five words seemed to weigh as much as hardened lead, once they left her mouth, her whole body felt lighter. "I was happy with my life in the Vale, tending to my mules, and being a mountain's daughter."
"I know you didn't," her mother replied, gently stroking her cheek. "But we wouldn't be safe if we stayed in the Vale, not with Cersei Lannister on the throne. I thanked the Gods every day of your life for making the noble families overlook you. So that you could have your own life, one that was safe from their politics, but part of me always knew it wouldn't last forever."
There were times Mya couldn't understand the motivations of nobles, first they looked down on her for being a bastard, unsuitable for anyone born within a great household, but now because she was Robert's daughter, she was fit to be a queen… or perhaps a private whore was a better name for it. What did they really expect from her, a born leader ready to avenge her father? No, they expected a pretty face, to keep their king's bed warm at night, to spread her legs and bear his children. Is that what she had to look forward to in life?
This wasn't the kind of marriage she expected the day she caught that crown of roses half a year ago. It had been her friend Bethany's wedding, a humble union between a kitchen maid and a mason. Yet the night's celebration was truly one to remember, joyous laughter, good food and drink and best wishes for the couple. Then came the garland toss, an old commoner custom (one that the attending septon didn't approve of), where the bridesmaids would dance and sing around the bride. The bride would then toss her crown of roses in the air without looking, if one of them caught it they were next to get marry, but if the garland touched the ground, it spoke ill of the couple's future.
She remembered how shocked she was when the garland awkwardly landed on her head, hanging over her eye and along her face. Innocently the young woman thought it meant that she and Mychel would be together after all, instead he married Ysilla Royce, and she was to be shipped off to the North. The thought of Mychel infuriated her, the appointed knight didn't even have the courage to tell her in person that he was marrying someone else. She only learned of it by overhearing kitchen gossip, a week after the wedding took place. She remembered how she wept that night because of his betrayal.
She was done crying now and would like nothing more than to break her former lover's nose, like she had done with the stable hand who tried to grope her arse when she was sixteen. "I loved one man who only wanted me in bed, now I'm marrying another who only wants a claim to the throne." Mya half-joked and half-lamented, finding cruel humor in the Gods jest at her expense.
"I know this is difficult on you my darling, but you are being harsh on a man you don't even know," her mother replied arching her brow. "Don't forget that he too was born a bastard, and while his life has been better than some, he has no doubt faced his share of challenges and scorn."
At first Mya didn't believe what she was hearing and expressed herself accordingly. "You do not know him either mother." It was irritating that her mother was defending someone who, for all she knew, was vain, ill-tempered, and possessed a wondering eye for women. Even if she was being unfair, it didn't mean she was wrong.
"No, but I met his father several times after you were born. Your father called him the brother he had chosen and brought him along to visit you in your crib. Although a quiet man, he treated me with respect, never making any crud remarks like the rest of Robert's friends. He even asked how I fared long after Robert… found company elsewhere"
The daughter of the mountains, was fixated by her mother's words, having never heard mention of Ned Stark until now. She knew that he was a close friend to her father, one who was well regarded by many lords and knights in the Vale. The late Lord of Winterfell was also lord Arryn's uncle, a fact that many brought up when criticizing the Vale's neutrality in the War of Five Kings.
Her mother took hold of her hand, squeezing it tightly before resuming her tale. "I make no claim of knowing all there was to Ned Stark, but I cannot imagine a man as kind and honorable as him would raise his sons to be anything else." This still didn't waylay all her worries and her mother could see it.
The concerned mother rose to her feet and gently placed her toil worn hands on her daughter's shoulders. Her soothing touch alleviated some of the tension that had been building in Mya's shoulders and lower neck. However, the tension in her heart wasn't so easily abated, not with the storm of emotions racing through it. The daughter of the Vale felt her mother lean forward and gently kiss the top of her head. Her reflection in the mirror showed both pain and resolution in her eyes.
"It can be unbearable, can't it?" At first Mya was unsure what her mother was referring to, remaining silent as she continued. "The feelings of humiliation and of betrayal, to hears the promises and loving words whispered in the night, and believing them to be true, only to discover they were hollow come the dawn."
Mya bit her lip, chastising herself for forgetting that her mother knew how she felt, better than anyone else. Her mother had loved her father, but he lost interest in her not long after she was born. Her father, even when betrothed to Lyanna Stark, had gone from one woman's bed to another, while her mother served in the kitchens and was called a whore behind her back. Yet she never blamed her for their circumstances, in fact, she gave her the love of two parents.
"You didn't have a say in this marriage Mya, and for that I am sorry, but you have a say in what comes of it. Show him that you are to be respected and that you possess many fine qualities."
"I'm not a queen though, I'm not even a lady." she blurted out, lowering her gaze from the mirror's image as she spoke. "Proper ladies are taught from birth how to manage great households and what have I learned? To manage mules and guide people up mountain trails."
"How many great lords and knights put their faith in you to lead them to safety?" asked her mother with growing pride in her voice. "How many times did you lead the unruliest of creatures through the most treacherous passes?"
In truth, Mya had lost count over the years, there were so many banners and coat of arms that they all blurred together. She even saved a Waynwood once, pulling him to safety after his footing gave way under the weight of his armor. It was the first time a noble ever bowed his head to her out of gratitude, something she would never forget.
Gently lifting Mya's chin, her mother compelled her to look upon her refection once more. "You did this not because of who your father was, but because of who you are. A stubborn, strong-willed woman with a clever mind and a kind heart. Some would say this alone makes you more fit to be a queen than the one sitting on the Iron Throne."
Before the girl could say anything there was a knock at the door. As it creaked open the captain of the ship stepped in. He was a large man with hair white as the many winters he had seen, and an old scar that ran across his one dead eye. A token, as he called it, from one of the pirate scum lurking about the Three Sisters. Fortunately, their voyage had proven calm and amiable, save a winter storm that swept down from the Northwest.
"Apologies m'lady and ma'am," he stated in a firm but not an unkind voice. "We'll be making port at White Harbor shortly. M'lady is welcome to come on deck to take in the full splendor of the city." The bride-to-be felt that some fresh air would help clear her mind, upon receiving a nod from her mother, Mya donned a cloak and joined the captain on deck. The smell of the sea air was pleasant, something she had taken a liking to on their journey, while the mild gales threatened to undermine her mother's handiwork with her hair.
The sight was breathtaking. Although not as large as Gulltown, White Harbor matched its beauty. Its many walls and towers were all whitewashed stone, rising from the grey rocks of the coastline. Yet, between the city and The Sea's Daughter stood a massive rock, atop of which lie a weathered ringfort. As their ship approached Mya could faintly make out the shapes of scorpions and spitfires spread amidst the gaping stones.
"That would be Seal Rock, m'lady," the captain replied before she could even ask. "It's White Harbor's first line of defense if anyone was foolish enough to attach by sea." Mya's attention was drawn to the base of rock by the incessant barking coming from there. A dozen seals or so had perched themselves onto the grey-green rock.
Having spent her entire life in-land, Mya had never seen such creatures before, and for a moment felt like a child experiencing something new for the first time. While their heads resembled that of dogs, their limbs were thin and webbed, making them the strangest beasts she had ever seen. When she turned to ask how they survive the cold waters of the North, she saw that the captain had taken out a spyglass and was looking towards the city.
Looking towards it herself, the daughter of the Vale stepped closer to the experienced seafarer. "Captain, is there something wrong?"
"Hmm… Oh not at all m'lady," he turned to face her. "It appears we've arrived before the king is all." When she asked how he could tell, he directed her attention to the looming stronghold on one side of the inner harbor. "Tis the Wolf's Den, founded by the Starks ages ago and served as the stronghold for the Warden of the White Knife for centuries, until the Manderly's built New Castle. See how the merman of lord Wyman flies alone over its towers. If the king was here the Direwolf would fly above it as well."
Mya felt great relief at this unexpected news. Even though she had taken her mother's words to heart, she was still fretting about what her groom's arrival would mean for her. If nothing else she now had a few more days to prepare herself… for good or ill.
Dragonstone
It started with a nudge on his shoulder, eliciting a slight groan, then it happened again, but much harder. While Tyrion's eyes remained closed, his mind began to regain consciousness, and how did it throb, feeling like someone had used his head as a battering-ram. Although there was no denying he had experienced much worse over the years, from various instances where he had gotten piss drunk. Another nudge along with a murmur of words brought more of his senses to bear.
The Dwarf of Casterly Rock realized his head was resting against a hard wooden table and that his whole body ached from the awkward position he had passed out in. Considering the bench and table weren't fashioned with dwarfs in mind, it was a miracle that he hadn't fallen onto the stone floor, not that he cared much as the grim news of last night started to come back to him.
"Lord Tyrion," the same loud voice echoed in his ears. When the hungover queen's hand finally opened his eyes, he saw the legend made flesh, Ser Barristan Selmy, looking down at him. "Her grace, has called for a meeting of the small council within the next hour, and has asked after you."
The knight of the Queensguard didn't speak softly nor harshly, but in his current state Tyrion couldn't tell what he made of the sorry condition of the queen's chief advisor. "Ser Barristan," he managed to croak out. "I don't believe I'm fit to advise anyone right now. Please convey my abologies… I mean my apologies to her grace."
Still the knight made no move to leave, he merely stood there with his usually stoic face giving way to sympathy. That look told Tyrion everything that had transpired since his foray in drink and… this morning, evening? He wasn't sure which, the wine cellar didn't have any windows for light to come through. In any case, the Spider must have informed the queen, Ser Barristan, perhaps even Greyworm and Missandei of his newfound grief.
"Is there anything in the knight's code about leaving a man to mourn for his niece and nephew/"
At first Ser Barristan did not respond, the man devoted so much of his life to duty and service he hadn't seen his own family in years. "There is little I can say to offer comfort in this time. But I know this, Tommen and Myrcella were kind and gentle souls. The world is all the poorer for their deaths… but drinking yourself into a stupor will not honor their memory."
Tyrion saw this coming, a noble speech from the infallible Ser Barristan the Bold, to inspire him to rise above his own nature, and serve the queen to the best of his abilities. "And plotting to depose their parents, my brother and sister, from the Iron Throne. A prospect which will most likely end with their heads on pikes. Is that how I honor their memory Ser Barristan, with fratricide and sororicide."
"No, you honor their memory by doing everything you can to save as many innocent lives as possible, to leave behind a world where they and those like them could live as innocently as they saw fit. A world the queen can only bring about with us at her side." As inspiring as the notion was, the half man couldn't let go of his grief. Seeing this ser Barristan tried a different approach. "Tell me if it was their mother or ser Jaime that had passed, what would you say to comfort them in their grief."
Tyrion thought of a dozen jests about how the world had become a much better place from his sister's parting, but he would never had said them in front of Tommen or Myrcella. Despite all her vices she loved and was loved by her children. As for Jaime, he had to keep some measure of distance between them to avoid suspicion, but there was nothing he wouldn't do for them, and they knew it. Just as he had done for his stunted little brother.
"I would tell them that neither their mother nor Jaime would want them to weep for the rest of their days. That they should take comfort by how much they were loved by their… parents, and that they needed to stand by each other to share the burden and give new strength to one another."
Hearing his own words, compelled him to think what his niece and nephew would do if they saw him in his current state. Both Lannister children would speak of the kindness he had shown them, and how they could always turn to him when fearful of their brother's violent outbursts. The hand of the queen mentally commended Ser Barristan, his ploy was well played, especially for a knight who detested the game.
When the humbled lord turned to the legendary knight, he seemed to look beyond Tyrion, perhaps to the just world that he had spoken of, but that notion ended when he made an ambiguous remark. "I am sorry for this, lord Tyrion."
"Sorry for wh-aaaaagh," the half man cried as an icy splash of water drenched his entire body. At first it felt as if his skin was being stung by a thousand needles, jarring him out of his morning after stupor. Rising to his feet again, he turned to see a young lad, no older than sixteen, holding a bucket in hand. The lad looked anxious at what he had just done, no doubt he believed that drenching the queen's hand would have consequences. He then turned his nervous gaze to Ser Barristan for reassurance.
The old knight was behind this, no young lad would ever say no to someone they had admired and aspired to be their entire lives. Spitting out the remnant of the pale's content, Tyrion gave Ser Barristan a stern look, "I would have thought such an act would be too juvenile for a knight of such renown."
"Unfortunately, I've had to do this before for many comrades in the aftermath of battle, either in victory or defeat, at least when pressed for time. As I told you before her grace has called for a small council and you would be of better service to her conscious." The look in Ser Barristan's eyes told him that there was no point in arguing any further, it wasn't as if this would be the first small council meeting, he had attended hungover.
But before he could so much as take another step another pale of water drenched him again. "Seven Hells boy, I already awake!"
"It was necessary my lord," interceded the lord commander of the Queensguard, giving the boy a nob telling him he could go. "For the stench of wine and vomit." Tyrion had to concede on that point, after finishing his second bottle of wine last night, he lost the contents of his stomach across the table and the floor. Even in this time of mourning, he couldn't attend a royal meeting smelling of bile.
000
After a change of clothes and a rather basic breakfast of porridge, bread, and water, Tyrion walked along ser Barristan looking quite presentable. This disguised the fact that his head was still throbbing fiercely. Despite this, the two men made their way through the Valyrian-styled hallways, passing many unlit torches in the shape of dragon talons. No doubt the queen's ancestors had designed the interior to honor their dragons and inspire fear in any visiting dignitaries. A useful ploy, especially after the Targaryens lost their dragons of old, this grim reminder kept many houses in-line for centuries.
'But our queen doesn't need these haunting reminders, he thought, having witnessed Drogon tear men apart limb from limb with his teeth and setting them ablaze with his breath. Undoubtably, the mere sight of any one of Daenerys' dragons would compel many to bend a knee to her, fearing the same fate as house Gardner in the Field of Fire, or house Hoare in the Burning of Harrenhal. 'But dragons have been beaten before, he reminded himself.
During Aegon's Conquest, Rhaenys Targaryen and her dragon were slain in battle, when a shot from a scorpion pierced the beast's eye and they fell to their deaths. This event reminded the Seven Kingdoms that not even the dragons were invincible. Several other dragons were slain by men as well, during the Dance of Dragons. His sister will certainly do everything within her power to send the marvelous creatures back to the grave.
Upon reaching the Chamber of the Painted Table, the Unsullied guards, who stood at attention at the sight them, and opened the oak lined doors. Before the half man and the aging knight stood the legendary Painted Table, crafted by the Aegon and his sisters when they prepared their invasion of the mainland. At the head of the ancient table sat the Dragon Queen, looking every bit as formidable as her ancestor. Tyrion's eyes turned to the other seats, of which only two were left vacant. The rest were filled by Missandei, Greyworm, Yara Greyjoy, her brother Theon, lady Olenna Tyrell, two strangers and… Varys.
The sight of Varys made Tyrion's blood boil, having been denied the knowledge of how Myrcella died, a right that all men who loved their kin had, enraged him to no end. The only comfort the half man felt was seeing Varys' displeasure at being seated so close to the red clad stranger. A priest of R'ollor he wagered, having seen a similar robe worn by Thoros of Myr years ago. But judging by his stiff posture and stern face, the man would prove less pleasant company than his drunken counterpart.
Turning his attention to the woman seated between lady Olenna and Missandei, she was obviously a noblewoman from Dorne, with olive skin and thick black hair that reached the middle of her back. For a moment, Tyrion felt heat underneath his collar, for the woman was very beautiful with full lips and a shapely figure. Had she been a whore and they had met before Shae, he would have spent a fortune for a night with her, but he was no longer that man. While he had partaken in some whoring, he didn't have the same zeal for it as he had years ago.
Besides, from one look in her eyes the queen's hand knew exactly what she thought of him, uninteresting. Most noble woman looked at him with disgust, or worse pity, she was simply uninterested. Tyrion had to stifle a chuckle thinking how disappointed she must be with the present company of men; three eunuchs, an old knight sworn to celibacy, and a red priest. None of whom were suitable to accommodate the passion Dornish women were famous for.
The young queen bade them to take their respective seats beside her. As Tyrion sat, he noticed the fleeting look of concern from his queen before it was replaced by a stoic expression more befitting for matters of state. This was neither the time nor the place for condolences, but for cunning insight and strategy.
When the queen spoke, her voice was impassive as she looked upon her advisors. "I welcome all to this council for the purpose of restoring the Iron Throne to the Targaryen dynasty. But first, I would like to formally introduce princess Arianne Martell, who will speak on her father's behest, and Hylos, a servant of High Priestess Kinvara, sent to offer what guidance is offered by the Lord of Light."
Both the princess and the priest bowed their heads accordingly, but only Hylos thought it necessary to speak. "The Lord of Light has shown his will, through the Mother of Dragons his fires will cleans the lands of Westeros and consume the sinful and their false—"
"Oh, do shut up about that bloody nonsense," interrupted lady Olenna, starring indignantly at the fire priest, while drawing everyone's attention to her. "I have heard this drivel before, from the High Sparrow of the Faith. Some words may be different, but it is the same fanatical rant spouted out by single-minded fools."
At first Hylos just sat there, unaccustomed to the barbed remarks of the Queen of Thorns, but soon found his voice again. "You would dare insult a faithful servant to the One True God, whose favors grants us sight beyond that of ordinary men, to walk untouched by his flames, and to strike down his enemies." Much to his dismay, this only made lady Olenna give a small chuckle at his performance.
"Young man, the only difference I see between you and the High Sparrow is that the dirty rags you wear are red in color. I for one have certainly had my fill of fanatics."
The priest's face turned as red as his robes; it was clear that he wasn't used to being spoken to in such a manner. "Blasphemous—"
"Enough," interrupted the Dragon Queen, her voice becoming stern. "I did not call this meeting so we can squabble amongst ourselves. Master hylos, while I recognize the aid that the high priestess provided in Meereen during my absence, I will not force the people of Westeros to abandon the faith of their forefathers. And while the Red God will have a place in Westeros, the practice of human sacrifice will not."
It appeared the priest was about to protest, but one dangerous look from the queen silenced his tongue. Tyrion was impressed, with but a few words she had ended an argument before it began in earnest and established the conduct that she expected of those within their ranks. She truly had a will of iron.
'She will need one, now more than ever,' he thought grimly, as he pondered on all the dangers that lay before them. His sister, Littlefinger, false friends, and… and the Starks. But before he could give the northerners more serious thought, Daenerys brought up more pressing matters.
"Lady Olenna, princess Arianne how goes the marshalling of the Reach and Dorne?" The matriarch of house Tyrell, reported that her grandson Wylis waited only for her raven to send their forces, led by her other grandson Garlan and lord Randyll Tarly (both seasoned warriors and tested commanders), towards the capital.
The Dornish princess smiled with great satisfaction for the news she had. "My father has called upon his banners, nearly twenty-five thousand have already gathered with many more on the way. She has also sent my cousins to resolve a few matters in the capital. What cannot be done with spears, can be achieved with daggers."
Nothing more needed to be said to know what these matters were, especially if the sand snakes had been tasked with them. For the next hour they discussed where best to make landfall, how to establish a proper siege on the capital by land and sea, to which the would-be queen of the Iron Islands had much to say.
"The Ironborn do not sit idle in their ships, nor do we commit to sieges. When a keep stands before us, we storm it or die in the attempt. That is the Old Way." Tyrion noticed so far only Yara had spoken, her brother Theon had remained silent as the grave. The lad he met at Winterfell, would have demanded the glory of being first into the fray, only to make a botch of it. Now the youngest Greyjoy barely said anything, and if he did it was in support of his sister. How things change over time.
The debate between the Targaryen and the Greyjoy had shifted to the matter of Euron Greyjoy. "My uncle is more a threat than you realize. It's not just the Ironborn reavers that follow him. He claims the horn he brought to the kingsmoot has the power to bind dragons to his will."
"And you believe his claim? Daenerys asked skeptically. "You've said it yourself; he is a madman and a liar." However, that did little to sway the sea-raider.
In fact, she let out a slight chuckle before she replied. "He is, but I heard that horn blow into the wind, at the time I thought It would bring down the remnants of the Grey King's Hall. His horn does have power that much is certain. For when the horn's call ended, the man who blew it died as if his lungs had caught fire."
At the mention of dark powers at work, Varys expressed genuine concern. Tyrion recalled that Varys despised those with any magical connections. How strange to find him so eager to aid a woman with three fire-breathing dragons. Still the Master of Whispers had always expressed his concern for the common folk, claiming all that he did was for their benefit.
As the meeting neared its end there was only one matter left to discuss… the North. Greyworm suggested that once they had secured the Iron Throne it would best serve them to send their fleet to establish footholds in the Three Sisters and the Fingers. Missandei on the other hand, believed it would be better for the queen to fly one of her dragons to the Eyrie to compel lord Arryn to bend a knee like her ancestor Visyena Targaryen had.
The queen turned to him and ser Barristan since they had been the only one's to remain silent. "Lord Tyrion, ser Barristan your thoughts on this?"
The lord commander of the Queensguard was the first to speak, voicing his concerns. "Your grace, the Starks have as much cause to side against the Lannister as we do, they needn't be our enemies. I would encourage you to meet with the children of lord Eddard Stark. for when King Robert ordered your death and that of your child, he alone spoke against the council's decision. Such an act should merit consideration for his son and daughter."
"Am I to ignore the fact that the King in the North intends to marry Robert's daughter, giving them a claim to my throne?" countered the Targaryen queen. She had a point, while a bastard, Mya Stone could contend for the throne, instilling further discord within the Seven Kingdoms. However, Tyrion knew Jon Snow… or Stark he supposed, ambition and power weren't things he aspired towards.
Seeing his moment Tyrion voiced his opinion, hoping reason would carry the day. "Your grace, I've met Jon Stark when he was still a lad. I can say that he is his father's son, honorable, loyal, and genuinely cares for those under his command. Speak with him and let this young king know what your intentions are. That you wish to be better than your forebearers."
For a moment Daenerys considered his words carefully, before bringing up her last concern. "And what of this Mya Stone? What course do you recommend with her?"
"She is of Robert's blood it is true, but she is also of your blood as well." That little revelation caught his queen off guard (along with everyone else). Many forget that Robert Baratheon was a distant cousin to the royal Targaryen line, that his grandmother was the younger sister of King Jaehaerys II, Daenerys' grandfather. "She is a direct descendant to Rhaelle Targaryen, your great aunt, making her perhaps the closest living relation you have in Westeros, I think it would be better for the realm to treat her as such."
The Dragon Queen sat quietly as she processed all she had heard. The entire table anxiously awaited her decision.
When she finally spoke, she addressed her longtime friend and confidant with a composed voice. "Missandei, have maester Pylos compose two letters. The first is to be copied three times and sent to Winterfell, White Harbor, and the Eryie, these letters will convey my desire to meet with the King in the North to discuss an alliance." At the decree, Tyrion felt great relief and from the look of it so did ser Barristan.
"And the second, your grace?"
At the mention of the second letter there was a change in the queen's demeanor, her posture became more rigid, and her expression was resolute. "The second is to be sent to King's Landing and every noble house that haven't already declared themselves for one of the three factions. They will be given the choice to support their rightful queen or to stand with the pretender."
Tyrion knew that come tomorrow, the war of ravens will have ended, and the true war would begin in earnest. 'Gods help us,' he thought.
That is chapter five, I would like to say that there was so much more I wanted to write for this chapter, but to do it just it would have dragged on. So, everything else I had in mind will be addressed next time.
I hope I conveyed a realistic portrayal of emotions for the perspective characters. Please let me know what you thought of this chapter with a review and any constructive advice/criticism is appreciated.