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-Overlord: The Demon Empress (One chapter)
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Chapter 21
The insides of the tent were simply enough; there was no need for more than a table, two chairs, and the anxiety the people there brought in. Robb and Galadriel stared at each other, saying nothing. The white-haired queen's serene face was quite a challenge to read for Robb, who could feel the stares of Tywin Lannister, her grandfather. The Old Lion of the Rock has taught her enough to keep people from guessing her true intentions. Or perhaps he didn't have to teach Galadriel anything. Nevertheless, the tension in the air was palpable as they sat across from each other, neither willing to break the silence. But after what seemed like an eternity, Jaime Lannister eventually made his way into the tent, with two Stark soldiers on his side, making sure he didn't try anything funny like before. He was still dishevelled, filthy, and frail. But had a smirk on his face when he saw his father.
"Father, niece," Jaime said, trying to look like his old self. "Sorry for appearing in such a ragged way. I couldn't bathe properly."
Tywin approached him and carefully inspected his son, trying to see if wounds were being properly taken care of, which, from the looks of it, wasn't the case. Jaime had a few rather nasty cuts and bruises. Tywin glared at Robb with palpable fury in his eyes.
"Is this how you treat a knight? How do you treat the son of a lord? My son?" Tywin questioned him with cold fury.
"Your son should be grateful to be alive, Lord Tywin. He's quite a problematic prisoner," Robb replied, with no fear in his voice. "He mocked the guards. He tried to play with them. He spit on them and spent all his time speaking about what would happen and how it would all end. Why are you surprised that some of my men ended up losing their patience?"
Tywin didn't answer him. He knew that Jaime would do that; of course, he would. Tywin could recognise his son's stupidity when he was in dire situations; that was Jaime's arrogance causing problems for himself and everyone. Nevertheless, he couldn't show that he disagreed with the treatment of his son and heir. Jaime was a Lannister, and he should be treated as such.
"There were times when I had nothing to do but count the constellations and joke around with the Stark soldier, and those were difficult, isolating times, my dear father. I had to come up with my own form of amusement," Jaime continued, drawing a scowl from Tywin.
"Enough," Tywin declared. "At least someone finds this amusing."
Jaime just chuckled, feeling quite amused that his father hadn't changed at all. Still, Jaime, however, noticed Galadriel, his niece, and saw how different she looked. More mature, a true woman of beauty. But stern and calm. When did she change this much? Jaime couldn't help but wonder.
"Had I known this is the way you treat prisoners of war, I would have reacted differently on the battlefield," Tywin scowled, as Robb and Catelyn only glared at him.
"Your men have been plundering the Riverlands as they please. Killing, raping, looting, and burning. The way we treated your son is far better than you'll do to any of your prisoners, Lord Tywin," Robb declared, rising to the challenge to face The Old Lion face to face.
"We will remember this, Lord Tywin, and what you have done to my home," Catelyn added, with anger of her own.
"Good," Tywin replied with a cold voice. "Remember well what happens when you raise your arms and march on the south."
Catelyn could have slapped Lord Tywin if she were close to him. But kept her fury down, as Galadriel only leaned on her chair, amused by the exchange of words.
This is quite problematic; there is a great deal of bad blood, and I must exercise extreme caution. Galadriel thought, chuckling to herself. This is going to be an interesting meeting!
"Enough, please. Arguing won't help to solve the problems, nor will it stop the bleeding," Galadriel spoke with a clear voice, bringing the attention of everyone to him. "Please, Robb, what are your terms?"
Robb glanced at Tywin before looking at Galadriel.
"The North and the Riverlands are to be recognised as independent kingdoms of their own. Neither Your Grace nor anyone else would have a claim to our dominions. The dead bodies would be returned home, as would those who died with my father at King's Landing. We are willing to participate in any type of economic trade in the future, but we are no longer part of the Iron Throne rule."
Tywin scoffed but remained quiet; he wanted to see how his granddaughter handled it.
Arya clung to her mother's hand, wondering what would happen now. She glanced at Galadriel, who looked deep in thought, and even Jaime Lannister, who seemed to take any moment to joke, was silent.
It's quite a straightforward deal. Robb, you are very brave to demand such a thing. I believed that if you had your way, such a thing could be accomplished. However, I can't allow the North and the Riverlands to leave my grip. Galadriel wasn't a master of politics, but she knew how to negotiate. That was a key part of her work back in her old world. Galadriel learned the golden rule. Never give up trying to haggle for a better price in the market. Never allow the competitor to know all you have. The risk of your bag must be hidden, and always play along. Until the moment to strike appeared. She knew it wasn't quite the same. Galadriel was now dealing with the future of an entire nation, but the basics were similar. It was a commercial transaction in Galadriel's eyes, and she was guaranteed a win.
"I see," Galadriel replied. "These are your terms."
"For peace and a prosperous future for our kingdoms," Robb responded.
"Prosperous future, eh?" Galadriel stared at Robb. "Your terms are understandable. However, do you understand what you are asking? The true extent of this... independent movement?"
Robb stared at her, confused, wondering what she meant by that. "What do you mean?"
"Do you know how much it would cost for this? The North has been part of the Iron Throne for three centuries, just like the Riverlands. Do you know that the complete separation of the Iron Throne would be catastrophic for your people? Especially now that winter has come?"
Robb looked around, feeling a few gazes upon him. "It's going to be harsh, no doubt about that. I know. But it's a price we are willing to pay."
Galadriel raised her eyebrows. He's still a young boy who doesn't understand economics or think in the long run. You truly have a lot to learn, Robb. Truly a long way to go.
"King Robb, do you know how many sacks of wool the North exported in the last two years?" Galadriel asked, taking Robb by surprise. He couldn't answer quickly as Galadriel smiled internally.
"2,598 sacks of wool, 36% less than three years ago. Do you know how much leather hides the North has produced in the last two years?" She asked again, and one more time, Robb couldn't answer.
"12,562 leather hides, 47% less than five years ago."
Robb frowned deeply, wondering what it mattered at the end of the day. "Yes, we are not producing enough to export. But what does it matter?"
Galadriel sighed, shaking her head. "Do you know how much wheat the North produces?"
Robb now felt as if Galadriel were speaking to him as if he were a child, which made him angry. "What's the point of telling you this if you already know it?" Robb spat, frustrated. "What is this time? 25% less? 50% less?"
Galadriel only stared back at him for a few seconds, allowing the silence to make him more uncomfortable before simply signalling "0" with her hands. "The North doesn't produce wheat. Nothing at all. And the reserves you have won't last you a full winter. Do you know what I am trying to say?"
Galadriel put her hands on the table, leaned forward, and made eye contact with him. "The North is not self-reliable. This war has killed hundreds of young Northerners. The skilled labour you need. They have no fields to take care of. Your crops, the few you have if the Ironborn hasn't already done so, are being destroyed by a sudden change in the climate. And the reserves you have aren't sufficient. You're going to starve them to death."
Galadriel spoke slowly and clearly so Robb would know what he was trying to say. I already made sure to destroy your crops and reserves. You can't win against someone who has all the cards on the table. Understand this, my dear Robb. Galadriel thought, hiding her smile. However, as she watched Robb's troublesome facial expression, she glanced at Catelyn and Arya; they seemed unaware of things like that, which Galadriel understood. Why would they? They care little about how everything works. They believed that the Iron Throne was just that—a throne—and that the union of the Seven Kingdoms was but a name.
They had no idea of all the commercial treaties, all the business-related transactions, the incredible amount of wares shipped from one port to another, or the taxes traders had to pay when moving from one kingdom to another. It was an economic system that allowed the Seven Kingdoms to flourish. She has been perfecting the mechanism since she created her bank. Creating a perfect economic trap for those who were part of the market circle.
If one wanted out. It would cost them dearly.
Robb looked uncomfortable as he breathed deeply. "Like I said... I know times will test our resolve, but I am confident that things will get better in time."
Galadriel shook her head as she replied in a hushed tone. "You don't have time, Robb," she said in an effort to get him to comprehend the situation. "The Seven Kingdoms. The Iron Throne is more than a moniker or a title; it is a concept that the kingdoms involved have reached a truce and agreed to cease hostilities with one another. Is it flawless? Of course not! Yet, the existence of a centralised authority, on the other hand, ensures continuity and consistency. That's what union in the Seven Kingdoms under the Iron Throne is!"
Galadriel knew; she was speaking carefully crafted words to make them believe that only one person, one authority, was the answer to all problems, which, if she could say so herself, was true. And history didn't lie, either. Aegon's conquest and the creation of the Seven Kingdoms under a united monarchy did create stability in the region. If one were to look at the amount of war that Westeros used to have in contrast to the ones under Targaryen rule, one would see that Westeros before the Dragons was an endless battlefield with no real winner.
Harren the Black turned the Riverlands into a slave kingdom where he could raid, enslave, and destroy at will. The Westerlands were perpetually divided and tainted by corruption, constantly fomenting conflict with neighbouring kingdoms for their own gain. The Reach and Dorne were involved in a never-ending feud. Though it avoided meddling in the affairs of other kingdoms whenever possible, the North nevertheless fought an annual war with the Vale and the Ironborn. And the Stormlands were perpetually at odds with the rest of the world. Westeros was a continent where people were deeply divided along political lines and bloodlines. A political marriage only lasted as long as the married couple lived, which sometimes wasn't long.
"The division of the Seven Kingdoms will cause nothing but pain in the long run. It will destroy us all."
"So what do you suggest? That I should simply bow my head to the people who mock my family and me. Who killed my father and captured my sisters? Is this your plan for peace? To scare me with the prospect of future chaos and death?!" Robb exclaimed, as Galadriel sighed deeply but kept the pressure.
"I in no way implied that. Please understand that I am not trying to convince you that the Seven Kingdoms are without flaws. But has brought us all enduring success when peace arrives. The North is especially dependent on the wheat and food supplies from the Crownlands and the Reach. You need the South to survive. Adapting doesn't come in a few days. It takes years, decades even, and you have little time for that."
"Do you want me to sell my people for wheat and food?!"
Galadriel rolled her eyes. She could understand Robb's fears and point of view. But this wasn't about his independence but what I'll cost them. Honestly, didn't his measter teach him anything?!
"Robb, I know you want the best for your people, but you won't do that if you put the North in harms way. The debt alone owed by the North will cripple all of you. And that's the debt you have to pay. Otherwise, no one would like to do business with the North ever again. Hunger will strike. Then there is the Ironborn. You have not ships to defend yourself from them. Your men are exhausted; you can't continue fighting for another six months. You know this. Also, you need me... you need the South's help from what's to come," Galadriel said, as she prepared herself for the strike. The-all-in part of the deal. She could see it on Robb's face that he has stopped trusting his leadership and decisions. He was second-guessing, and when that happens in a negotiation, one must push harder.
"What do you mean?" Robb asked. "When would I need the help of the South in the future?"
Galadriel then pulled out a letter. One written by Jeor Mormont before he left Castle Black. Galadriel intercepted the raven before it even reached King's Landing and saved it for a moment like this. A perfect bullseye. She had more information and knew about the army gathering all the way in the north. But that was pretty much it. Yet, that bit of detail was key for this.
"Jeor Mormont's last letter before he left Castle Black with hundreds of men," Galadriel said, as Robb began to read the letter multiple times. Trying to think it was all but a lie. A trap, which, to his credit, it was, but he didn't need to know. "A man by the name of Mance Rayder has gathered 100,000 wildlings, and he wants to take them beyond the south, past the Wall."
Those words couldn't have met a more drier audience. But it wasn't as if they were laughing about such a notion. But more than that, they couldn't believe it. Or at least not Tywin or Jaime.
Tywin muttered, "Impossible," as he found the idea of holding such an army so far north to be almost offensive. "Those savages are just that—savages. Wildlings, who don't know how to speak. Such a host cannot be there. It can't. You're a fool to believe this."
Robb glared at Tywin with a scold, and Galadriel internally smiled, getting the reaction she wanted from both of them.
"It is not; this is real," Galadriel quickly replied. "Jeor Mormont has been a correspondent of mine for years. We wanted to slowly reconstruct the Night's Watch and some of its fortresses before this war started. I know he's telling the truth. He's a Mormont. And I know that Robb knows this."
Robb said in a whisper, "100,000 Wildlings." He knew that, with the Ironborn and this army, the North was now completely outnumbered. They couldn't win alone. "The Wall…"
"It's not the same Wall from 8000 years ago. And you know, Wildlings have raided the coast of the North before. They can bypass it. Also, Mance Rayder was a member of the Night's Watch. He knows the Walls weakest point. And knows, the Night's Watch's isn't the same force of a thousands of years ago. Even if I accept and give you the northern realm, then what? What would happen when winter comes and, with it, 100,000 wildlings desperate enough to climb the Wall itself? Even if they are holding sticks, the deaths and chaos they'll bring. Is that something worth risking a crown for? The hunger, the last of resources, the war... is it worth it?"
Galadriel stated that she was slowly creeping her shadow around Robb's neck. "My people trusted me...
"And that's a good thing, Robb. No one else would have done what you have. They love you. They are loyal to you because you're not doing this for glory. Or a personal goal. You did all of this because it was the right thing to do. Now, I am asking... to do the right thing for all of us."
Galadriel's voice simply felt like a song that flew over their heads, changing them and making them realise that she was right. Even if it was painful to admit.
"Robb..." Catelyn whispered, watching her son's face.
Robb just sat on his chair, wondering what he could do now.
Galadriel walked around and slowly kneeled in front of Robb, looking into his eyes to calm him down. "Robb, I beg you to have faith in me. Following their rebellion, our parents united the Seven Kingdoms, and for over a decade, there was nothing but peace and prosperity to be found. The same is true for us. We can change this... we can do better."
"My father…"
"Lord Eddard Stark was a man of honour and duty. He wanted peace and never wished harm to his family. I failed him, but I won't do that to you. We can end this; we can fight together and make sure the people who trusted you go back home safe."
Robb could read the unwavering resolve in Galadriel's irises as it started to spread throughout his body. If she had this determination to truly help them, she would end it all. Maybe that future was worth his crown. After all, his father had faith in her, so why shouldn't he?
"My people, the North, and what has happened to the Riverlands under your grandfather's order..."
Robb muttered, just trying to find an excuse to say no. But Galadriel was a step ahead of him.
"I swear it; I'll rectify it. There will be accommodations that the crown will provide to those affected by the war," Galadriel said, looking at Tywin. "As well as compromises and treaties in order to repay the blood spilt."
Galadriel said this while looking intently at Tywin, who had a thoughtful expression on his face. Tywin appeared to be calculating something.
"Compromises? For what your grandfather has done?" Catelyn hissed, but quietly. She couldn't forgive such horrors, and that peace was not as simple as that.
"Yes, compromises. I'll be there personally. This is our chance to end this; otherwise, it will just keep going until there's no one else to fight for."
Galadriel stated with a dramatic voice.
"Will he accept? Will the Lion of Casterly Rock make compromises?" Robb questioned Tywin, but he only scowled.
"As the Queen has stated, I'll make compromises in order to secure peace."
"Will you now?" Catelyn muttered as Tywin simply remained calm but slightly annoyed.
"I raised my army because you captured my son without proof. Your son did the same for his father. Whatever plot you think I have or my family has, it's nothing but a scheme of someone who wants us to fight. And even then, I am still here, so, yes. Lady Stark, I'll make compromises in order to avoid further bloodshed."
"Even if it meant facing the ire of Riverlands?" Robb now asked.
"Their ire is not a surprise, nor should it be my concern. It was war. I did what I had to protect my family. Something your family would have done to my people in the Westerlands. My niece, the Queen, is willing to help us move past it to put an end to it and I am willing to do just that. But the question is, Are you?"
When Galadriel heard that Tywin now referred to her as Queen, she couldn't help but laugh. But she quickly coughed, hiding her smirk.
"What about the Ironborn and this wildling army?" Robb now asked, staring directly at Galadriel.
"Robb, I'll help you deal with the Greyjoys and the Wildlings. But before that, I must take the Iron Throne. We must stop Renly at all costs."
"No help comes free..." Robb muttered.
"We need to gather our forces. And we need ships as well."
"I know… still marching south to fight your war?"
"Help me to help you, and besides, Sansa is there. And while I doubt Renly would harm her, Joffrey is another matter entirely. He's mad and would definitely kill her, just to spite you," Galadriel responded, making Robb truly understand the whole picture and everything that he had overlooked. He was unprepared for leading outside of a battlefield. "But don't worry, we can arrange a small detachment in order for them to go north immediately. Once we defeat Renly and secure King's Landing, we would gather our forces and send them directly to the Iron Island and prepare for whatever is happening beyond the wall."
That allowed Robb to feel slightly better than before. Only slightly.
"My lords will not like this... After everything we have fought for... the idea of a King in the North has brought a sense of pride to them."
"But you didn't fight for a crown."
"Why did I fight then?"
"You fought for your family—for your father and sisters," Galadriel stated softly. "Once they know everything, they'll understand. But I will speak to them as well. I want them to see me. I want them to understand that I am not like the rest of the Southerners who spite them. That, as strange as it sounds. I am here at their service, and that I'll make sure to help them for when winter comes, with all the evil in it."
Sighing, Robb exhaled. "Still, they won't be keen on battling alongside the Lannisters. Not after feuding for so long and murdering each other."
"There's a bigger picture for all of us. Bigger than any anger or resentment. Your father taught me this... during winter, we must protect ourselves."
Galadriel said, achieving what she wanted to achieve, and it was Robb's acceptance. Robb then stared at her. "My father put his faith in you. And I, the North, and my family should do the same."
Galadriel stood up and secretly cheered for her success. "By the gods, old and new. I will do my duty. And I won't disappoint you, my lord."
Robb stared at his mother and knew that there was a lot to talk about behind closed doors. He had a lot to explain to his lords. But this was the state of things. "If these are the terms, I'll accept them."
Galadriel's golden eyes shone brightly, and finally, a smirk cracked her face. "Thank you, my lord."
Galadriel smiled as she saw Robb ride with his family and Arya back to their camp. There was truly lots for them to do, and also for Galadriel and her family. She glanced and saw Jaime looking at her in the same way Tywin was looking.
"Uncle, I'm so happy to see you."
Jaime chuckled but still glanced at her. "I'm surprised, my niece. I truly didn't expect you to have such an ability to negotiate."
"I have a certain knack for it. It was a good thing I didn't have to use my last resort."
"What was that?"
"Marriage. It was my last proposal. But, thankfully, it seems that Robb Stark has gotten himself a lady. A Frey, if I recall."
"Lucky girl…"
"The letter from Jeor Mormont. Since when do you have it?" Tywin demanded, wondering just how much his granddaughter knew about what was going on there. "Why didn't you tell me beforehand?"
"I've known about this for over two months," she replied, waving her hands. "And I didn't tell you because otherwise, your reaction wouldn't be the one I needed. They trust me, but they don't trust you. They would think that you were controlling me. That you're using me to get some sort of advantage."
Now, Jaime stared at her, stunned. "She used you," Jaime said, staring at his father, who, instead of looking angry, was just staring quietly at her.
Smart girl. Tywin thought deeply as Galadriel smiled at the both of them.
"I listened to his lessons. I think he approves."
Tywin didn't say much for a while, but he nodded. "I do."
"Now we have enough forces to face, Renly. It's going to be a frail alliance, but I did what I must," Galadriel said, looking at Tywin and gazing into his green eyes. "Is this enough for you? Lord Tywin?"
Tywin did not respond, but there was no mistaking the triumph that shone from his gaze. He was content with everything that had taken place. He paid attention to the way she moved and how she spoke. In all honesty, the amount of loyalty and devotion that she was able to command was astounding. No king could replicate that. It was at that moment that Tywin realised that everything Galadriel had been able to do was truly beyond his wildest imagination.
She's going to secure my legacy and more.
Tywin thought before nodding. "Yes, it is. Your Grace."
Galadriel smiled now. "Alright, now, what's the next step?"
Joffrey tapped his fingers on the table, annoyed and anxious. Everyone has been blaming him for the lack of wheat, for the lack of crops, and for the hunger infesting King's Landing. He isn't the one at fault. He didn't control the weather or the criminals who dared burn his food. But Joffrey would get his due. He was the king, and those who dared to try to usurp his crown would pay the price.
"How do you like the food?" Joffrey asked, smiling gallantly, or so he thought. Sansa could only see a monster. A cruel monster. But she didn't say much, only staring at the food on her plate. Peaches, and some bread. Nothing more.
"They are delicious, Your Grace," Sansa replied monotonously.
"Eat, please," Joffrey smiled at her, but Sansa wasn't truly hungry at all. She has not been hungry lately.
"Thank you, Your Grace, but I'm not hungry," Sansa replied, but, to her misfortune, that wasn't what Joffrey wanted to hear.
"I said, eat," Joffrey hissed, now increasingly angrier. "Eat!"
Sansa sobbed, unable to muster the energy to eat the food. Joffrey appeared to be tired of waiting for others to obey his orders. But that made him flash a wicked smirk as he cast a glance at Ser Meryn Trant.
"Ser Meryn Trant, could you please help my lady with her food?" Joffrey said, making Sansa shiver in fear.
"Your Grace, please, I-"
"Too late, my lady. Not following your king's orders is punishable by death. This will be a good reminder for you."
Joffrey smiled while watching Ser Meryn Trant grab a piece of bread and force Sansa's jaw open.
"P-PLEASE!" Sansa gagged as the knight began to furiously shove the piece of bread inside her mouth, not caring at all if she was about to suffocate. Joffrey leaned back on his chair, taking a sip of his wine and chuckling, as Sansa sobbed, while Ser Meryn now shoved a peach in her mouth. Sansa wanted to shove the knight away but couldn't even make him flinch.
"My lady should eat; we can't have her being skinny, can't we?" Joffrey joked as he enjoyed the view of Sansa's torture. It was such a sadistic way for him to make himself feel in control—that everything was his. No one could say no to him. Joffrey was the king, and a king gets what he wants.
Ser Meryn Trant pushed the peach further inside Sansa's throat, causing her reflex to act up.
Sansa's response caused her mandible to drop, and she bit into one of Ser Meryn Trant's fingertips, drawing ire from the man-child. His palm came down, striking Sansa across the face.
"You stupid child!" He growled angrily.
Sansa held her face as she tried her hardest not to puke or cry.
"A shame," Joffrey said mockingly. "You have a bruise now. What do you say, dog? Doesn't she still look pretty?"
The Hound just stood there, not saying anything, not moving, or expressing any emotion. A part of him wanted to simply sneer at the young boy-king. But he knew better than that. The Hound just remained quiet, ignoring any request to speak. Joffrey didn't care, of course; he simply glanced back at Sansa, who held her face with a trembling hand.
"Did you like the food?" Joffrey asked, as Sansa's tears made him feel strong. The blood from her split lips, the purple bruise. Her dead eyes as she once again returned to her mind, where she was safe, and Joffrey couldn't touch her. "I say... did you like the food?"
"Yes, Your Grace," Sansa replied softly, not trying to anger him any more. "It was delicious."
Joffrey smiled. "You should thank Ser Meryn Trant for helping you eat this meal. Go on, thank him."
Sansa cast a trembling glance at the knight, who seemed to have a sort of sick fascination with having her do something like that. A sick grin appeared on his face, loving the face of a bruised young girl.
"Thank you, Ser Meryn Trant, for helping me with the food."
"Ah, also, apologise to him for biting his finger. I can't have my kingsguard losing a finger because of you eating like a savage. Although, I guess that's how you Stark eat, eh? Your family members are a bunch of disgusting pigs after all," Joffrey mocked her as Sansa bit her lips. She felt humiliated and furious. But she couldn't do much but bow her head.
"Sorry, Ser Meryn Trant, for biting your fingers."
"And...?" Joffrey added, as Sansa's lips trembled.
"And for being a disgusting pig."
Sansa spoke with the most monotonous voice she could muster. Yet the knight simply smiled as he walked back to his position.
Joffrey smiled at her. However, while he found it entertaining to torture poor Sansa, he couldn't yet feel satisfied. No, he wouldn't feel complete until his sister, Galadriel, was the one being beaten, tortured, and humiliated. Still, Joffrey stood up from his table, giving her one last glance.
"A shame, you're becoming boring; hopefully, soon enough, things are going to change."
Joffrey left Sansa alone in that small courtyard. She didn't know what was going to change and couldn't care. The only thing she wanted was to go home. But every day that went by, that dream seemed more distant.
On the other side of King's Landing. Tyrion sipped his wine with a heavy sigh, contemplating the length of time it had been since he had gotten a full night's rest. He never thought being the Hand of the King would have been so tiresome and downright depressing. But serving Joffrey was maddening enough already if he added his good sister, the King's mother, who was just enabling all his behaviours.
Joffrey has made enemies of the people of King's Landing. The riots and hunger were not only slowly devastating the city but also dragging it down. But Joffrey's mercenaries were doing all his dirty work. Killing everyone who dared speak against him and burning any building that held people Joffrey believed to be loyal to Galadriel. Scenes from nightmares, Tyrion recalled watching the large fire on one of the buildings, which Galadriel built to teach people how to read and write. Most of the dead were young men and women. Children at best. All were dead, burned alive because of Joffrey's jealousy.
And that was just one of many incidents in the long list of evil deeds Joffrey has done so far as King.
Tyrion sighed once again, now looking at Bronn, who seemed lost in thought and not saying much.
"Long night?" Tyrion asked.
"Long night?" Bronn replied with a scoff. "If you only knew what's going on in the streets. Up here, it's very quiet, almost peaceful."
"Well, you're the commander of the Golde Cloaks. My eyes and ears, so tell me, what's been happening?"
Bronn huffed, taking a sip of his wine. "Joffrey's mercenaries are slowly taking over. They are causing more problems. King's Landing is their playground, and they outnumber the Gold Cloaks. Just today, a group of five little girls were raped by a group of mercenaries. One is dead, and the other one is on its way there. Another group, led by this cunt, Ser Brownbeef, killed two of my men and injured five others. They are taking over the food and blackmailing some of the minor lords into giving them more gold for protection. And this is only today. So, yeah, things are pretty fucking bad."
Tyrion grunted internally, wondering how much they could hold for a city that was ready to burn. "Ser Brownbeard, what a name."
"This Brownbeard is a psychopath who commands the ruthless mercenary group the Fiver Dagger. Very loyal to him, very out of control, and as crazy as your nephew."
"I see…"
Tyrion nodded, slowly trying to think of a plan or something. The truth was that they couldn't let those mercenaries do whatever they wanted. But with Joffrey doing whatever he wanted and Cersei allowing it, Tyrion had little resources to move around.
"I'm surprised they haven't tried breaking into the bank," Tyrion muttered. "They would have plunder the entire thing if it wasn't for those guards, which my niece put there."
Bronn responded, recalling the strange soldiers who stood outside the bank's doors day and night: "Yes, those fuckers are as big as the mountain and truly care little for anyone else. Where did your niece get people like that from? I would never know."
Their silver armour and the way they seemed more like statues than anything else made Bronn feel a bit intimidating. They didn't look human, and Bronn could sense something wrong with them. It was one reason he never wanted to approach the bank. If it was as if they knew if he had any ill intention or not.
"We should be grateful; my niece knows what she's doing," Tyrion said, mocking a celebration with his cup.
"Well, she should be here, kicking her brother out; people would love her more," Bronn muttered, with a tired sigh.
Tyrion couldn't argue with that logic.
Thankfully, soon enough, another person who shared their beliefs entered the room. "Lord Hand, Commander," Varys said, slowly approaching the table overfilled with books. "I came here with news from the Arbor. The Redwyne fleet is on the move. A part of it. 100 longships and a few dozen cargo ships are heading towards Blackwater Bay."
Tyrion sighed deeply. "The bearer of good news, they call you."
"We are lucky that Renly seems to have lost his way to King's Landing," Bronn added with a mild tease.
"Not luck," Varys interjected, as he sat near them, whispering the next words. "But soldiers. They are being led by the princess's half siblings, Gendry Waters and Mya Stone. They have 4000 soldiers, creating chaos in Kingswood and blocking any road towards the city. Cutting trees, burning them, and attacking scout groups. They are making Renly pay dearly for every mile he takes."
Tyrion was surprised to hear that; in fact, he was utterly relieved. "So, this is the reason why he's taking so long."
"Indeed. Renly may have a large force, but it takes a lot of time to move it. However, he will make his way here."
Tyrion nodded at the master spy as he pulled out a map of the city. "Renly knows King's Landing, and he should know that in order to take the city, he would need a large quantity of siege weapons. My beloved niece made sure to put a lot of effort into repairing and rebuilding some of the weakest points of the wall. Giving us some breathing room."
"Aye, that may be true, but we don't have enough men to secure the whole wall. There are not many archers or loyal soldiers for us to fight with," Bronn noted.
"What about the mercenaries?" This is their job for which they are being compensated, is it not?" Tyrion said, making Bronn laugh mockingly.
"The siege starts; they are the first to leave, and the moment everything goes to shite, they'll turn against the one paying them. You can't trust snakes like them."
"You're a sellsword."
"Aye, but I'm a bloody good one."
Tyrion sighed and stared over the map, trying to figure out what their strategy may be. If the mercenaries couldn't be trusted, the few soldiers they had were currently divided between killing each other or killing the king. Then what options did they have?
"We are outnumbered, facing civil unrest, mercenaries running amok, starvation, and soldiers whose loyalty belongs to a person who is exiled on an island. Also, we are soon to be sieged by 100,000 men. What a joyful time to be here," Tyrion murmured, wondering if they were going to live for another month. Still, he wanted to believe. Tyrion truly wanted to have some faith—that something miraculous would happen that would save them. And thankfully, Varys had the answers.
"Nothing is lost, my Lord Hand," Varys said. "I also am the bringer of good news."
"Good news? What? Did my father and Robb Stark make peace and hug each other?" Tyrion mocked, letting the wine speak for itself. Yet Varys just glanced back at him with a smile on his face.
"They didn't hug each other, but yes, that just happened."
Tyrion just stared back at him, stunned, almost dropping his cup of wine. The same could be said for Bronn, who thought it was all a joke.
"What…?"
"The princess, or should we say queen, travelled to Harrenhal, meeting her grandfather, and sending ravens to Robb Stark. They met on Riverrun. I do not know what they spoke of in the tent. But I believe that the sudden attack of the Ironborn and the ramifications of the North-Post War would have been too much for them, especially with winter coming. So, Robb Stark decided to trust her, giving up his claim to kingship. Still, our dutiful queen has managed to establish peace and end the conflict between the Starks and Lannisters. Also, she has Dorne, who has sent 10,000 soldiers to Dragonstone, and longships. And now has the armies of both the Lannisters and the Starks, as well as the Tully, marching towards King's Landing to defend the city."
Tyrion now dropped the cup, utterly shocked at what had just happened. He glanced at Varys, trying to see if he was just jesting. But Tyrion couldn't see the eunuch lying to them in such a fashion. Not with everything going on.
"Well, it seems my niece's charisma is enough to end wars," Tyrion said slowly. "Truly... she's accomplished something truly great. Perhaps she's truly the queen we need."
Tyrion spoke slowly, as if attempting to persuade himself that it was impossible for her to do such a thing. And yet, he saw it coming. Galadriel has this mystical capacity to persuade others and win them over to her cause, an impressive skill and a feat that borders on the supernatural.
"Now I know why they love her," Bronn murmured. "The Golden Cloaks would throw Joffrey into the mud if she were to ask them."
"Indeed, she has the loyalty of the people and the love of those who lead. Who could say that the Iron Throne shouldn't be hers?" Varys whispered while making eye contact with Tyrion. "Wouldn't you be surprised if Lord Tywin declares for her?"
"If that's the case, then I'll drink for our Queen's prosperity," Tyrion said, raising his cup.
"Now, we only need to hold on," Bronn stated. "We could throw books at Renly's men."
"We don't have that many books."
"We don't have that many men either."
Varys sighed. "What do we have?"
Tyrion hummed before smirking. "Pig shit."
The forces of Queen Galadriel, who were sent to the Kingswood in order to hold down Renly's army, didn't have an easy time managing such an offensive; they were only 4000 soldiers against 100,000 of Renly's. But they were under the control of two new leaders who told them what to do. Two bastards from King Robert. The queen's siblings had to prove in a matter of a month how utterly terrifying it was to fight a Baratheon, and they did. They truly did.
Gendry's strength and ability with the sword weren't to be scoffed at. But it was his ability with the warhammer that truly made him a frightening warrior to face. The rage behind every strike broke bones like they were nothing but crackers. However, truly, what was impressive was his leadership during the battle. Gendry had a sharp mind for making quick decisions and looking at the bigger picture. He had quickly earned the respect of the soldiers under his command and inspired them to move on. Gendry, the Bull, was what they called him for the helmet he wore and the screams of raw anger when he downed his warhammer on his enemy.
Mya wasn't far behind. The half-sister of the queen has proved that she was more than just a rather attractive woman. Mya's calculating fighting style and her hunting prowess have allowed the men she commands to pick Renly's scout parties one by one. Doing quick hitting and run tactics. The Black Doe, they call her, for the dark cloak she wore while patrolling the Kingswood when she was hunting. Her arrows would always find their way. It does not matter the distance.
Renly's forces, who were becoming increasingly paranoid as they advanced deeper into Kingswood, knew about the forces making it harder for them to reach King's Landing. But they couldn't find them. Like ghosts that didn't exist. That's how they saw it.
Renly's commanders were also getting antsy, and some of them were even starting to doubt his ability to lead or their own devotion to him. After all, if he were the true king, why hasn't he already won? Even the environment appears to disregard Renly's supposed birthright. Despite this, Renly remained determined to continue his march towards King's Landing. It was just one victory he needed to obtain. Renly thought that once King's Landing fell and he sat on the Iron Throne, it was all over. A truly naive way of thinking.
"But it's waiting for me," Renly muttered as he stared at the map. "How are scouts?"
"A full day's ride from here, Your Grace," one of the commanders said. "We should listen to the news soon enough."
"Good. We are a few days from King's Landing. My dear niece's soldiers have done a great job slowing us down. But it ends now," Renly stated, as he stared at the lords before him.
"I think they are your brother's bastards, Your Grace. Gendry Waters and Mya Stone."
Renly scoffed with a smile. "They may be bastards, but Baratheon's blood runs in them. So, it's not surprising they are this good at commanding or fighting."
"Their soldiers are using small hit-and-run tactics, making it harder for us to follow them. Yet they are slowly losing men and do not have enough resources to last much longer. We should be able to strike them down and finish them off before we reach the city," said Randyll Tarly, the lord of Horn Hill. He understood one thing clearly: that while they heavily outnumbered them, they couldn't simply turn their backs on them. That small force was already vicious enough with their attacks and had the ability to penetrate deep into their backlines, taking some trebuchets and supply waggons on each raid. It was a logistical nightmare, especially when they had 100,000 mouths to feed. But again, it seemed that Randyll Tarly was the only one thinking about it.
"They are bastards fighting like cowards," one lord added with a boisterous voice. "Once they see our banner, they'll flee like rats. And once we take King's Landing, they'll surrender."
Randyll just scowled at the stupid Reach lord. In fact, all the Reach lords and some of the Stormlands lords who still followed Renly laughed, as if victory was already at hand.
"Your Grace, we shouldn't underestimate the power a small group behind our lines can do," Renly muttered, almost feeling sick at being called a king. However, Renly simply waved his corn off.
"We are so close to King's Landing that by that point we won't need supply lines. Because I'll be king."
As it turns out, not every Baratheon is a natural-born warrior. Randyll shook his head, still not convinced such a man could hold the position of king.
"So, with this in mind, I want us to push our forces. With any luck, this rain will cease, and we'll be less than three days from the city. Then, the siege will begin, and we are going to make sure to let everyone know who's the rightful ruler."
Renly made some merry declarations and then strode gleefully out of the tent. The meeting was over in under ten minutes. Renly was there to simply hear the words he wanted to hear to boost his self-esteem. However, he missed the fact that one particular lord was not overjoyed to see him. Randyll Tarly was utterly tired of watching the face of Renly Baratheon. Those ideas of kingship were clouding the man's mind and making his soldiers pay the price. Would he tolerate such things any longer? Randyll wasn't sure, but his limit was close.
Margaery heaved a sigh of exhaustion as she lay in bed. It's her marital bed, where she and Renly shared their nights. Or at least they would if Renly bothered to pay her a visit at all. The marriage doesn't seem real to her. Margaery feels not only frustration but also extreme desperation since Renly still refuses to complete the marriage, despite the passage of so much time. She wasn't even asking for a passionate love-making session, just for him to put a child in her. But that seems to not be happening at all.
It has become such a nuisance that Margaery was truly thinking of just bringing a soldier and bedding him instead. At least she'll have some fun during these depressing times. But again, she was the queen, supposedly, in any case. Margaery couldn't have her name torn apart by the common folk.
"Queen, I am the queen," Margaery muttered, not feeling at all like one. "What are you doing right now, Galadriel?"
Margaery could only wonder what the white-haired princess could be; for some reason, news was hard to come by, especially in a war tent. Ravens go missing, and the rumours were repetitive. No one knew what was going on outside Renly's army. And that made Margaery feel quite anxious. She hasn't heard anything from her grandmother in weeks. Nor if something in their scheme has changed.
"No one tells me anything," Margaery sighed before hearing a piercing, high-pitched screech that made her jump out of her bed in fear. A thunder, and a particularly loud one at that. Margaery panicked as the sound of men yelling outside her tent was heard. She quickly walked out and saw a large fire near the waggons carrying supplies.
"Quickly, bring water; these are the battering rams! We have to save them!" A soldier yelled.
"The food! Someone save the sheep! Quickly!"
Margaery just watched the fire spreading quickly towards some tents and other waggons, and no one could stop it. Not even the rain falling down. It was clear that Renly's army wasn't going to move out as fast as they thought.
Soon enough, a rampage of powerful lightning strikes struck a few more waggons nearby, prompting a fierce fire to break on the army camp. It was as if the sky itself was punishing us for daring to go against the gods. Margaery just stood there, watching the dark clouds above her and the smoke rising. It was a cold day, and Margaery's body shivered at the wind.
"What's going on?" She could only mutter in silence, as the soldiers were fighting against nature itself. Maybe that was a sign that things weren't going to end nicely for them. Margaery could only hope that the gods wouldn't be so cruel to them or to her. But maybe, if she couldn't get news from outside, she'd send them out.
And Margaery truly wanted to speak with her grandmother. The price was not worth the risk. Hopefully, it wasn't too late.
Galadriel stared at Dragonstone as she approached the island once again. It's been a long set of weeks for her. A truly long week. It was almost insane that so much had happened in such a short period of time. Nevertheless, she has accomplished her goal of uniting the Starks, Lannisters, and Tullys. Was it easy to do? Of course not. It was maddening having to calm things during the last meeting, when she had to speak directly to all the lords of the Riverlands and the North. But cool heads prevail. Now, it was time to meet up with her commanders and think about the next step.
"It's all very entertaining, but quite exhausting mentally," Galadriel muttered.
"Are you alright, Your Grace?" Ser Barristan approached her, making Galadriel chuckle.
"Just tired about everything, Ser Barristan," Galadriel replied with quite an honest voice. "I'm truly exhausted. But, at the same time, I'm anxious."
"It is advised that you get some rest, Your Grace. You have been corresponding with a great number of lords from the Riverlands and the North. I've seen you stay up all night just so you can try to satisfy everyone's concerns." A worried Ser Barristan murmured, "I don't suppose you've been getting any rest at all."
"It's been that long?" Galadriel muttered, half amused. "I don't think I have slept that much."
"Your Grace…"
"I know, Ser Barristan, I know. I'll get some sleep once I settle in Dragonstone, alright?"
"That's all I want, Your Grace."
Galadriel laughed and shook her head before she saw a huge fleet of longships come out of the fog that was around Dragonstone. The flags were ones she recognised easily and smiled at.
"Dorne has arrived."
"And their spears too," Ser Barristan added, feeling a sense of nostalgia in the banner.
"Then we shouldn't make them wait."
Galadriel got out of the ship and wasted no time walking towards the throne hall, where they seemed to have been waiting for her. She made sure to look nice and to keep the stench of the sea from her, which wasn't truly a problem. Galadriel never smelled undesirable at all. She doesn't even sweat. Still, she prepared herself for a certain girl.
A princess who seemed more than a little pleased to see Galadriel welcomed her when she entered the throne room. Galadriel simply smiled at the beautiful Dornish princess, who hugged her tightly.
"Your Grace!" Arianne Martell exclaimed happily, kissing both her cheeks. "I'm so happy to see you again!"
"Arianne?! What are you doing here?!" Galadriel exclaimed, faking surprise. She knew she would come. The Dornish princess wouldn't miss an opportunity to be with her, and Galadriel liked that.
"How could I miss this opportunity to see you again?" Arianne spoke with a sultry tone as she put her hands around Galadriel's neck.
Galadriel cracked a grin, but she quickly caught sight of a smirk she recognised. It would appear that there was more than just blood tying the Martells together. Oberyn Martell stared at her, seemingly devouring her with his dark gaze, before he bowed dramatically to her.
"Your Grace, it's been quite a long time since I've seen you," Oberyn said, kissing her knuckles in a lovely fashion. "The maiden has truly blessed you. I have never seen such beauty in all my life."
Galadriel raised an eyebrow at the clearly flirty voice of Oberyn, but what she found more amusing was how Arianne put her arms around her waist and pretty much hissed at her uncle.
Arianne hissed, "Don't think about it, uncle; she doesn't want you," as if she were a snake.
"What? Can I just look then?" Oberyn asked now, offended, as Arianne flipped him off. Galadriel chuckled but rolled her eyes. She didn't have time for amusing interactions.
"My princess, my prince, I welcome both of you to Dragonstone. I truly hope the seas were kind to you."
Obery smiled. "Oh, they were; however, we came here for something else."
"I don't doubt it. But please, it could wait; I had to send word to my uncle before the meeting began. There's a lot to talk about."
"Oh, more than just words," Obery said, handing Galadriel a letter, about which she already had a good idea of what it said.
"These are our terms. We've agreed to support your cause. But there's always a price to pay for loyalty, for our loyalty."
Galadriel read the letter and hummed. Yeah, this is what I was expecting. "I see, truly, prince Doran has a way with words. Clear and concise," she muttered, slowly sighing deeply, trying to look troubled.
"Clear and concise, yes, those are the words I'll use to describe my brother. But also our goals. Do you think this is good enough to gain our full support?"
A frown formed on Ser Barristan's face. "The Seven Kingdoms should have her as their monarch. It's her birthright. Why does she have to try to win you over before you'll back her?"
Oberyn glanced at the old knight, and there was a bit of respect in his eyes but also disappointment.
"Ser Barristan, you knew my uncle, Lewyn Martell. Did you not?"
"Aye, a brave man, a brave warrior, who died before his time."
"Yes, he died before his time, just like my sister and her children," Oberyn whispered, as Ser Barristan flinched slightly. "You rode with Rhaegar and fought with him at the Trident. But who was here to protect my sister and her children? Why was she alone? You swore to protect the crown, but the blood of the prince and princess still flooded the Red Keep. Elia didn't deserve what she got, and you know this. You knew her."
Ser Barristan's memories came to him in a wave of guilt and pain. He couldn't even look at Oberyn in the eyes.
"I did. And there's no day that goes by that I don't regret never being there for her and her children."
Obery just glanced at the old knight for a long period of time. "Then you know what we want. Justice. That's all we want for her."
"I will discuss this with my grandfather. But I believe you would want to be there, prince Oberyn," Galadriel said, looking at those dark eyes of his.
"Yes, I would like to speak with Lord Tywin privately."
Galadriel raised an eyebrow, but she knew that Oberyn wouldn't kill her grandfather in such a manner. No, maybe in the future, in a more efficient and silent way. Not with a dagger in his heart.
"We shall. My grandfather and the rest of the high lords of Westeros are going to meet at Duskendale. We are to go there soon enough. Once we gather our fleet and armies."
"Good. I will move the Dornish army there. We don't want to make the Old Lion wait, don't we?" Oberyn teased, returning to his usual self.
"Of course," Galadriel only replied, wondering if the Mountain would not mind being her little sheep for what was to come. Still, now that I am back, I must hatch those dragon eggs. I wonder... how should I call them?
Galadriel wondered, feeling a bit excited to have her own dragons flying around soon. She only needed to find out how, and soon, all of Westeros would have a reminder of why Dragon ruled the world.
On a ship not so far from Dragonstone, a certain butler hummed deeply, watching a quite large group of longships moving towards an island. There seems to be a large army moving swiftly, boarding ships, moving supplies, and more. Sebas had little experience understanding such mobilisations. However, it was clear that there was more than met the eye.
"Hey, old man!" one of the smugglers yelled. "It seems that Blackwater Bay is closed. We can't get you into King's Landing unless we want to risk being killed.
"I see," Sebas hummed, scratching his beard. Where can you leave me?"
"Well, there's Driftmark. The Sharp Point, or Dragonstone. You can pick!"
Sebas looked at the ships moving towards that island far away. "Could the princess be there?"
"Who knows? Maybe, or maybe not. However, we can't pass by so many ships."
"Mm, then please take me to Dragonstone."
"Hopefully, this ship will let us land," the smuggler replied, muttering under his breath that the gold should be worth it.
Sebas only glanced back at the distant island and could not help but sense that his lady was waiting for him there. It was just a strong feeling deep inside him. However, a new question emerged, and that worried him. What if his lady didn't recognise him? What if the name Galadriel was used often in this world? What if it wasn't her but someone else? Sebas' worries were making him tremble with fear. However, as a butler and fervently loyal servant of the Supreme Beings, Sebas must do his duty and see this through, no matter the cost.
"My lady, please wait for me."
Sebas' appearance would surely change things for a certain white-haired girl. Perhaps too much. But things were going to change soon, in more ways than people realised.
Authors' note!
The next set of updates is going to maybe be as long as these ones. I already have half of them made. Their title is as follow.
-A long overdue meeting with a Dragon
-The Battle of King's Landing.
-Am I not merciful?
See you all later!
