Disclaimer: I don't own A Song of Ice and Fire, the Game of Throne or the Star Wars books, TV series or games. They belong to their creators, publishers and/or copyright owners. This story is not for sale or rent.
Chapter 2 Part 5
=Sith=
290 AC
Driftmark
The sea breeze carried salty spray all over the docks at Driftmark. Monford could remember how busy the harbor was less than a decade ago. Warships, both royal and sworn to his house, docked here all the time, enriching his House. The port was constantly busy, and its warehouses and taverns were full. The shipyards on the island built new vessels or repaired ships returning from long, profitable voyages all the way to Yu-Ti.
Then, his father had to throw their lot with Aerys the Mad instead of backing Prince Rhaegar. Everything House Velaryon gained during the last years of the Targaryen's reign slipped out of their grasp when the Usurper won his rebellion. As a consequence, Monford had to bend the knee to a kinslayer, then swear his allegiance to the brother of that murderous bastard. It was like the gods hated the loyalists at the end, with a storm obliterating the Royal Fleet and gutting Driftmark's prospects. House Velaryon lost too many good people in a single wretched night, including Monford's father, who didn't even have the grace to live long enough to suffer the consequences of his actions.
It burned that the only reason Driftmark partially recovered was because of the Greyjoy Rebellion. The influx of money and work into the shipyards was a blessing that Monford sorely needed to drag his domain back to its feet.
The Lord of Driftmark watched his meager five warships with a mix of pride and disgust. Before the Ironborn went mad, the Usurper didn't allow his house to field a single military vessel. That meant no escorts for trade ships braving distant, more profitable routes. Without protection, sending ships on such journeys was sheer madness Monford couldn't afford to indulge in. Losing those lucrative trade routes further crippled Driftmark's income. Only now, with the Iron Fleet crushed and the war over, Monford could finally afford to send expeditions as far as Leng and Yu-Ti. He could attempt to reestablish trade routes and relationships that died with the fall of the Targaryens.
The Lord of Driftmark smiled when he saw his little brother disembark from a ship that just docked. Captain Dunkan Celtigar walked down with care, slowly finding his land legs. In contrast, young Aurane stumbled when his feet hit the dock, failing to adjust.
"Brother! Pentos was incredible! We heard the most amazing things!" Aurane babbled.
"Our journey was most enlightening, my Lord," Celtigar agreed. Monford raised an eyebrow at the gleam in his friend's eyes. "I'll tell you everything over a bottle of wine and some warm food."
"Come join us at the castle. You, young man, have a meeting with a bath," Monford ordered his brother.
Aurane scrunched his nose, sniffed his shirt, and shrugged unrepentantly.
Late that evening, Monford hosted his old friend at his solar, where they could talk without fear of who might overhear them. The sad reality of the situation was that nowadays, even most of Driftamark wasn't entirely safe for proclaiming old allegiances.
The Old, the Brave, the True, Monford chuckled bitterly at his House's words. In the end, they proved nothing but a lie. It was easy to tell himself that there was nothing else he could do. Risking annihilation for no tangible gain was indeed madness. Besides, everyone who held to their old vows fled into exile, ended up rotting on the Wall, or lost their heads.
Dunkan's large frame barely fit into the chair waiting for him. He picked up a cup of hot, spiced wine and saluted Monford with it.
"Those crazy rumors we heard a few weeks ago? They are all true," Celtigar's eyes twinkled merrily.
"We will be under incredible scrutiny from this point on. A single misstep can see our Houses wiped out," Monford admitted.
"That hasn't really changed. The Usurper stuck Stannis on Dragonstone specifically to keep an eye on us," Dunkan reminded him.
"What did you find out about Viserys and Daenerys?" Monford didn't want to even think about Stannis right now.
"A group of Ironborn ran into them, and everyone we spoke with agreed on that point. While the squids all died, rumor has it their intent towards the Princess set Viserys off," Celtigar explained. "I've heard unsubstantiated claims, allegedly from the Prince himself, that he got his sorcery from the Targaryens of old. Apparently, it might be a contingency meant to prevent the extinction of the last Dragonlords."
Monford winced at that. He knew his history. The Velaryons were minor nobility from Valyria. Their ancestors were wealthy merchants who earned themselves a few good marriages. They were no dragon riders or powerful sorcerers in their lineage. His ancestors didn't dabble with blood magic, like the Targaryens. Still, there were stories and blatant hints about the forty families that ran Old Valyria.
"It's plausible," Monford allowed. He picked up his cup of spiced wine and sipped it, enjoying its scent and taste. "He is going to get himself an army then?"
"Unsullied. The slave soldiers might not be the best option to try to reclaim the throne with, but that's not why Viserys wants them. He apparently didn't hide his intent – the Prince wants people he can trust to protect his sister. That kind of rules out mercenaries. Only the Golden Company might be an exception, but we both know their history with House Targaryen."
"They can be an asset or a death sentence," Monford noted. "In their shoes, I wouldn't risk it if I had another option."
"On the bright side, the Usurper will be fit to be tied," Celtigar pointed out.
"We can only hope the gods finally smite him down," Monford noted.
"Cursed is the kinslayer, damn him," Dunkan finished his spiced wine and sighed in contentment.
"What are you going to do? My Cousin is in an even worse position. Still, at least he is farther from Dragonstone and prying eyes," Celtigar inquired.
Monford avoided meeting his friend's eyes. Instead, his gaze drifted over tapestries, paintings, and maps holding prominent places of pride all over his solar's walls. They were painful reminders of House Velaryon's old glory and their blood bonds with the Targaryens.
"Right now, we will do nothing. We will keep our heads low and bide our times. In a few years, when Aurane is older, and if Viserys proves he isn't his father reborn, you will bring him to Essos to make contact. If anyone asks, we can write it off as an ambitious bastard brother whose reach exceeds his grasp."
"That's cold," Dunkan sounded equally impressed and disgusted.
"Needs, must."
=Sith=
290
Highgarden
The Reach
Upholding House Tyrell's motto, Growing Strong, often required deft political maneuvering. Most other Great Houses were significantly more powerful than their strongest bannermen. The same was never true for the Tyrells. Hightower, Redwyne, Tarly, Florent. Each of those Houses alone could challenge their lieges in military power and wealth. Only the Tullys' in the Riverlands were similarly weak compared to their peers.
Tywin Lannister fortified his House's position in the West with the Rains of Castermere. In the North, only the Boltons came anywhere near House Stark's strength, and only Roose and his son Domeric were left. A single misstep could see them annihilated, and that alone gave Eddard Stark piece of mind.
House Arryn had the opposite problem. There was only the old Falcon and his young, sickly boy. The military strength of the Eyere was more than a match for any of Jon Arryn's bannermen, ensuring that a direct confrontation was highly unlikely.
In comparison, the Reach was volatile beside the Narrow Sea houses, which was the realm with most Targaryen loyalists in Westeros. Many of them were unhappy with how Robert Rebellion unfolded, and they were even less happy with the choices Olenna Tyrell pushed for.
The truth was that the Reach knights could have won the war for Rhaegar. Ultimately, their military might be intact, and the same could only be said for the West. They could have made a difference at the Ruby Ford, but it wouldn't have mattered what Tywin Lannister did. The numbers simply wouldn't work for the Lions.
Instead, under the wise guidance of House Tyrell, the Reach preserved its strength, avoiding Aerys' madness and Rhaegar's foolishness. A different outcome would have seen them rise high as the only pillar strong enough to keep the dragons in power. Instead, that same strength allowed them to return home with not even a slap on the wrist when Robert won his crown. House Tyrell was a marriage away from placing its blood on the Iron Throne.
Mace preened in Highgarden's Great Hall, waving an invitation to the Red Keep to discuss a betrothal between little Margaery, and the Crown Prince.
"Grandmother?" Willas asked, ignoring his father's antics.
"The timing is suspicious, isn't it?" The Queen of Thorns smiled crookedly. "We wouldn't have gotten this kind invitation without the rumors coming from Essos. My little roses in King's Landing tell it all. Robert has been looking forward to betrothing his son to Eddard Stark's eldest daughter. He saw it as a way to reignite their friendship. We are seeing the work of the Hand in this."
"Mother? What are you saying?" Mace finally ceased his posturing.
It was fortuitous for the Reach that Olenna didn't give birth to a complete fool, even though her eldest son had his moments. He was a boy of summer who never had to experience the hardship that turned boys into great Lords. Olenna saw to it, and while part of her was glad that she managed to shield her son from the worst the world had to offer, she recognized what a disservice her actions were to him.
There was no point in crying over spilled milk. Besides, Mace's kind, gregarious character had its uses. It allowed him to play the fool, ensuring everyone underestimated him, and that counted for a lot.
"Viserys might prove himself a fool or a madman yet, or he could be Aegon the Conqueror reborn," Olenna stated bluntly. "We are outside the alliance network binding most of the Great Houses, and we must change that. However, binding ourselves to the throne until we know more of what kind of man Viserys is becoming could be foolish."
"We can't simply refuse, not under these circumstances!" Mace waved the invitation.
"You will be going to the capital and will negotiate. You will bluster, make unreasonable demands, and generally presents yourself as the buffoon people expect to see," Olenna suggested.
Mace laughed merely at that. Let people think what they will. The Tyrells would have the last laugh, no matter what it took.
"What are you up to this time, mother?" Mace asked. "How will you entertain yourself while I have fun with the Hand and the Small Council?"
"I will write North. Winter is always coming. House Stark can't afford to avoid a marriage alliance that comes with generous terms on food purchases for the next few winters. Willas or Garlan will take Eddard Stark's eldest daughter as their Lady Wife."
"The North, Riverlands, Vale, and us, united by marriage. We will have a bond with the Crown, no matter if it will be with Marge as Queen or because Roberts succeeds in uniting Baratheons and Starks. That will bring us the Westerlands, too," Mace concluded. "When everyone is allied to everyone else, no one is allied."
"Precisely. On the surface, we will have the protection of the alliances binding the realm together. We will keep our options open if Viserys Targaryen can restore his House. He will need a Queen."
"Unless he marries his sister in a typical Targaryen fashion," Willas reminded them.
"Then he is a fool, perhaps a dangerous fool, but a fool nevertheless. The Targaryen's only chance to regain their throne is through two marriage alliances, backing whatever army and magic Viserys brings to the table," Olenna scoffed. "We didn't support Rhaegar fully because he was a fool. We won't back another fool and risk it all."
=Sith=
Chapter 2 Part 6
=Sith=
290 AC
The Water Gardens
Dorne
Doran Martel put his signet on a blob of wax, sealing a letter, when his force of nature brother stormed into the solar.
"Send this to Blackmont," the Ruling Prince of Dorne handed the missive to a servant and ushered the rest of his staff to take a break. "Oberyn,"
"We were celebrating!" Oby pointed an accusing finger at his brother. "I am going to have another daughter!" He boasted.
"I am always happy to have more nieces to spoil. You will make me happy and even richer if you finally marry Elaria and call it a day," Doran innocently suggested.
"You should stop betting on me getting married, Doran. You know there's only one reason I might go for it," Oberyn's good cheer vanished at the reminder.
Oberyn vowed that he would only marry if it was a political alliance that would see the Usurper dead and the Lannisters hunted like the rabid dogs they were.
"Sit down and pour yourself some wine," Doran nodded at a nearby table holding drinks, cold cuts of meat, and cheeses. "It's good you mentioned marriages because that is one of the things we must discuss with haste."
"What happened? I've been busy," Oberyn pointed out while critically examining the wine selection. "Is this a conversation for sweet or sour?"
"It can go either way. Have you been paying attention to the rumors coming from Essos?"
"You know we've been at Hellholt, so Harmen and Ulwyck could spend time with the girls," Oberyn looked pointedly at Doran. "We've been keeping busy. I had heard nothing interesting from the docks before we left."
Doran filled in his brother on the rumors coming from Essos. Oberyn chose a sour wine and poured himself a cup.
"Viserys might not be a waste of time then," the Red Viper concluded. "He might be actually interesting!"
"That's why I want you to set sail for Astapor. Meet the boy, and find out if he is worthy of Arianne's hand, not to mention our allegiance as a King we might support."
"You know it would have been best if we took them under our wing to raise them right," Oberyn reminded his brother of an old and buried argument.
"We lost Lewin and ten thousand spears because of a madman and a fool who disgraced our sister. Did you expect me to support those two just because they are Targaryens?" Doran shot back.
"Of course not! I expected you to act because they were our best chance for vengeance!" Oberyn barked.
"Support for the Targaryen cause melted like snow in Sunspear before they fled Dragonstone. We were in no position to continue the war, and that is precisely what would have happened if we shielded the exiles!"
"We wouldn't have lost! Only the Stormlands and the Lannisters might have dared attack us! And the Stormlords were spent! The Tyrells would have been content to wait and let us kill each other so they could play kingmakers!" Oberyn snapped.
"At what price? How many people would have died for a fool's hope?!" Doran responded in kind.
"You still signed the betrothal I brought back, didn't you?"
"That was me hedging my bets," Doran admitted. "Two exiles with no support were one thing. A dangerous sorcerer with an army is a different beast."
"It's a brand new game, isn't it?" Oberyn relaxed. He brought up his cup and sniffed at the wine, enjoying its bouquet, before taking an experimental sip. "I'll go meet Viserys and take his measure. You should talk to Arianne. She deserves to know what you've got in store for her, especially if the betrothal goes through."
"I'll think about it. My daughter is still young and too headstrong for her own good," Doran winced as pain flared in his knees.
"That's the making of a good Ruling Princess or a fine Queen," Oberyn countered. "I will be leaving Elaria and my daughters home this time," he decided.
=Sith=
290
Winterfell
The North
Slowly but surely, ravens and rumors made their way to Winterfell. Due to sheer distance and the relative isolation of the North, news from Pentos and the reactions from the key players across Westeros reached the seat of House Stark in rapid succession.
Eddard Stark retreated to the Godswood after reading the latest letters with offers from the South. He hoped to find clarity among the Old Gods. Ned on a moss-covered Weirwood root and relaxed in the piece and quiet. Crisp Northern air filled his lungs, carrying the distinct scent of Weirwood sap.
After the war, it should have been all over. Eddard's family should have been safe, far away from the cut-throat politics of the South. If not for the Greyjoy idiocy, Ned would have been content to never step a foot south of the Neck again. The farthest he might be willing to venture forth would be Greywater Watch to visit his old friend.
Eddard's dreams of peace were now ash. The last Targaryens should have lived peacefully in exile, perhaps found marriages among distant kin in a place like Volantis. No one really expected that the Beggar Prince could become a credible threat. Year after year passed, and with peace came contentment. Anyone willing to risk everything to aid the exiles would have done so already. The longer the Targaryens spent in Essos, the weaker their claim to the Iron Throne became. Sooner rather than later, they would be seen as foreigners. Then, the only people who might welcome them would be opportunists without honor and the Dornish, who still hungered for revenge.
Robert should have given Doran and Oberyn Martell justice at the end of the Rebellion. The heads of murderers like the Mountain and his henchmen would have been a small price to pay for lasting peace.
Instead, everyone claimed that Viserys was a deadly Sorcerer wielding long-forgotten Valyrian magics. Hundreds were dead at his hand, and he was sailing to buy himself an army. War was on the horizon. The South was scrambling to prepare for the coming storm of blood and steel.
"Gods, Lyanna, what were you thinking…" Eddard sighed mournfully.
Ned had a Targaryen Prince under his roof. All he wanted was to protect Lyanna's son and fulfill his vow. In a few years, the boy would have been safe on the Wall. Instead, as long as Viserys lived, Eddard didn't dare send his son to the Night Watch. If, against all odds, Viserys succeeded in reclaiming the Iron Throne, Jon might be the one thing that stood between bloody retribution and many more dead Starks. At the same time, his son's very existence might get them killed if the truth came out at the wrong time, or perhaps at all.
The Warden of the North looked at the Heart Tree for guidance. In the last two weeks, he received many offers from the South for fostering and betrothals. Those from the Reach were the kind Ned Stark might dare to disregard, but the Warden of the North could not afford to spurn. The Tyrells offered him a deal he couldn't refuse without spitting on his duty. Robert offered fostering and a betrothal between his newborn daughter, Princess Myrcella, and Rob.
If Sansa married one of the Tyrell boys, then Rob couldn't hope for a better marriage. And no one refused lightly a betrothal to a Princess. That was doubly true for someone in Eddard's position, hiding and abetting high treason.
To make Ned's situation even more complicated, after his father's disastrous Southern ambitions, the Warden of the North needed as many marriages between his children and his bannermen as possible to reinforce their loyalty in preparation for the coming storm.
That meant fostering and betrothal for tiny Arya. His Cat was heavy with a child, conceived rigth after Ned returned froim the war. She would give birth before the year's end. That babe, if it lived, would also have to be betrothed painfully young. The Karstarks, Manderlys and Umbers came to mind.
Ned closed his eyes and dozed off, praying for guidance. He dreamed of cold winds howling in the North, of fire and blood sweeping over everything in its path. When he awoke, red sap soiled his tunic like freshly spilled blood.