Jon Arryn

It had been a long meeting of the Small Council, enlivened mainly by the presence of Prince Oberyn Martell, who had been sitting at the table with his feet up on one corner of it, lounging almost offensively as he drank wine from a silver goblet.

Most of the others had been astonished at the news that had come from Winterfell, with the exception of Renly, who had sat next to Jon and scowled a lot at Pycelle, who seemed to still be in denial about the whole thing. The Lord of the Stormlands would sail on the next tide to Storm's End with yet another head of a wight.

The old Maester had started off denying that it was impossible for the whole ghastly accusation to be even credible. Jon had merely glared at him and then pointed out who had witnessed it all. Pycelle had been thrown by this, but had then rallied and pointed out that it was possible that Lords Stark and Baratheon, as well as Ser Barristan, had somehow misinterpreted what might have been perfectly innocent horseplay.

This had made everyone stare at him, and then Oberyn Martell had laughed until he was out of breath. "Of course, Maester Pycelle," he eventually said mockingly, "Based on the latest raven from Winterfell they innocently both stripped naked and then she somehow fell onto his erect cock repeatedly. How could that possibly be misinterpreted?"

Pycelle had spluttered and muttered. And then he had vociferously objected to the King's disinheritance of his children, saying that this was folly, that it would weaken the Crown, House Baratheon, Westeros. What reason could there be for this? The colour of a bastard's hair meant for nothing and what was this nonsense about the sound that Stormbreaker made? Magic? Pah, magic was gone from this world and-

It had been Velaryon, oddly enough, who had snarled the words "If magic is gone then explain the Call, Grand Maester!" that had shut the old fool up again. Ah, no, perhaps not old fool. Lannister loyalist morelike. Jon had no doubt that the only reason why a raven would not fly to Casterley Rock as soon as this meeting was concluded was that Tywin Lannister was already on his way to Winterfell.

As the meeting of the Small Council meandered its way to a close – where in the Seven Hells was Varys? What kind of 'sudden crisis' was he dealing with? – Jon looked at the men around the table and sighed internally. Pycelle was still distracted, Velaryonwas deep in thought, Merryweather was frowning and the High Septon, whose presence he had insisted on, was busy frowning and probably mentally writing a sermon on the mortal sin that was incest.

As for Oberyn Martell, he was still amused and drinking from that silver goblet of his. The man had commanded the dismissal of the Lannister forces in the Red Keep with both competence and swagger, but Jon was fairly sure that he had been a bit disappointed that the Redcloaks had been too stunned by the news from Winterfell to really object in a violent manner. They were not under arrest – strictly speaking – but they were isolated in their barracks and in a day or two they would be on their way back to the Westerlands.

As he looked around the table again and opened his mouth to dismiss them, the door to one side boomed open and then Quill ran into the room, panting as he held out a handful of messages. As he skidded to a halt in front of him he panted: "From… Winterfell… my Lord… most… urgent…"

A glance at Quill's face was enough to send dread roiling through him. Something terrible had happened in Winterfell. Damn it. What though? He took the messages and glanced at them quickly. They were marked with Stannis's red ribbon. Multiple important messages sent via multiple ravens. Not good.

As he read the first one, conscious of every eye being on him, he found his eyebrows heading upwards in shock. After a long moment he finally drew a breath. "My lords, Prince Oberyn, High Septon, word from Winterfell. The Kingslayer has finally admitted as to why he killed Aerys Targaryen." The words were spoken hoarsely.

"To please his father, surely?" the Dornish Prince stated through narrowed eyes. "Why else?"

"According to this, no." He cleared his throat, which was suddenly tight. "According to a confession heard by Lord Robb Stark, Lord Tyrion Lannister and Ser Barristan Selmy, confirmed later by his Grace King Robert, he killed Aerys because… because the Mad King had ordered that caches of wildfire be hidden around King's Landing in order to destroy the rebel army when it arrived. Caches under every gate. Under the Dragonpit. Under the Great Sept. In many other places. And… under the Red Keep."

Silence fell as they all stared at him, before that silence was broken by the sound of a silver goblet hitting the ground as Oberyn Martell went from lounging to bolt upright on his feet in the blink of an eye."What?"He darted over and then took one of the messages from the shaking hands of Quill, before glaring at it. "Wildfire? Here? Under here?"

"So it says," Jon replied, still in a hoarse voice, as he felt his legs tremble. The others were all white-faced with shock, whilst Pycelle's mouth was open as he gaped at him. He couldn't blame any of them. Then he pulled himself together. "Quill, summon Ser Davos Seaworth. And assemble as many men as you can. We must search the cellars and tunnels below the Red Keep to find out if this tale is true." The High Septon caught his eye and he added: "The Great Sept too. High Septon, we will need members of your Order who are familiar with the tunnels under your building."

"Wait," Martell said. "Your men should use lanterns. No brands – wildfire is filthy stuff that matures over time. One spark in the wrong place could ignite a batch. And if it has been down there since the Rebellion…." He went even whiter. "Then any containers might be leaking. Your men must be very careful. If they see green liquid they must stop, note the place and then leave at once without touching a thing."

Jon peered at him. The Dornish Prince's voice had a sharp note of command. "Prince Oberyn, you seem familiar with this… substance?"

Oberyn Martell shrugged. "I studied it in the Citadel. It was dangerous but interesting."

Interesting. He didn't think that he could ever use that word for that disgusting stuff. He had never forgiven Aerys Targaryen for murdering Rickard Stark in such a disgusting manner. Then he made his decision. "Prince Oberyn, given your familiarity with wildfire I would like to ask if you could lead the search parties under the Red Keep."

The Dornish prince, who was also dangerous but interesting, in an 'observe from a distance at times' sort of way, paused to thin, before nodding tersely. Jon looked at Quill and flickered his eyes at Martell. His servant tilted his head in recognition before following the Dornishman as he swept out of the room barking commands for Seaworth to meet him at once.

Jon returned his attention to the table. Pycelle was standing and for once his back was unbent and his shoulders were straight. "I will lead the search in the Great Sept," he said very firmly. "I too studied wildfire at the Citadel. I know what to look for as well."

As the Grand Maester strode out – not shuffled, not now – Jon sighed and sat down. And now all they could do was wait. Wait – and think about just how mad the Mad King had been.

Tyrion

He stared at the wall in the library and suppressed the need to throw things at it. Damn Joffrey to every one of the Seven Hells. He hoped that whatever demons existed there would gnaw on his face and bugger his arse, the little shit.

His family. His bloody family. Every time he took a step forwards they dragged him two steps back. First Jaime and Cersei were found committing incest, throwing the family name into the nearest privy and then Joffrey compounded everything by trying to stick a knife – a stolen Valyrian steel knife at that! – into Robb Stark's back.

He closed his eyes and ran his hand over his forehead tiredly. Would Ned Stark honour the talk they had had about Dacey? Would he want anything to do with him now? He almost wanted to bloody well cry.

No. This was not the end. He was not Jaime or Joffrey, he was Tyrion Lannister, bearer of Rocktooth and a good friend to House Stark. He hoped.

Someone cleared his throat in front of him and he opened his eyes and looked at Jory Cassel, who nodded formally at him. "Beg pardon Lord Tyrion, but Lord Robb would like a word with you in the Godswood. He says that he has something important to talk to you about."

His eyebrows rose and fell for a moment as he considered that. Oh. What was this about- Ah. He thought about everything for a moment and then he stood and nodded back. "Of course. I will go there at once."

As he waddled down the corridor he sighed a little. Life had been somewhat complicated of late. A little too packed with events that raised the pulse from a trot to a gallop. It was all a bit busy and Pod hopefully wasn't learning too many... interesting... new words.

The Godswood loomed ahead of him before he knew it and he paused and adjusted his jerkin a little. There weren't too many lions on it, which was important. No, House Lannister really was not in very good standing right now in the Court, although Uncle Gerion was still cheerfully wearing what he had always worn, whilst pointing out every now and then that he was of House Lannister of the Summer Isles and that there was a difference.

Robb Stark was sitting in front of the pool by the Heart Tree. He was dressed in a cloak that concealed his left hand and from the way that he was holding himself he was in a bit of pain. As Tyrion approached he looked over and then smiled slightly. "I'm afraid that all I can offer you for a seat is a tree root," he said quietly. "Better than nothing though."

After a moment of careful inspection he found a spot that wasn't too intrusive and sat down. "You sent for me?"

"I did." Robb paused and looked into the pool. "I am indeed the boy who died and fell through time. The Old Gods brought me back from the moment of my death."

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end from the matter of fact way that the younger man said those words. Then he added: "I would have died about... almost two years from now. Will have." A frown. "The tenses get me a bit muddled up."

That was understandable. But disturbing. "And what happened in that time?"

Those unsettlingly old eyes focussed on him. "Why, I fought a war Tyrion. And then I was betrayed and I died."

He stared at the heir of Ned Stark. "You fought a war? Against who – surely it was against the Others? Wait. You fought a war? I'm not altogether sure I like the way that you worded that."

Robb sighed and ran his right hand through his reddish hair. "This is complicated. I come from a time when Jon Arryn died and King Robert came North to ask my Father to go to King's Landing with him and be his Hand. Much that has happened in this time did not happen in that other time. Father went South because there was no warning about the return of the Others. The Call was never sent out. Father never had a vision from the Old Gods because of me, the GreatJon never checked the Hearthstone, Father's solar was never searched and the room was not found, so the Call was never sent. The Others still came... but we knew nothing of them."

Something like horror rooted him to the spot. "But... but if the Call was never sent then who were you fighting against?"

A ghost of a pained smile flashed across Robb's face. "Your father mostly. I should tell you that I came from a time when Joffrey was King. And the truth of his birth was first not well known and then heartily denied by your father."

No, this time it was outright horror. The idea of that little shit being King was just... horrifying. "Joffrey... was King? What happened to King Robert?"

"He never found Stormbreaker, he was..." Robb seemed to search for the right words. "Old. Drunk. Fat. Defeated. Apparently he went hunting and was gored by a boar. Sounds odd I know, but rumour had it that he was drunker than he thought. Father was Hand, but he was betrayed and... Joffrey ordered him beheaded at the Great Sept. So I called my banners and marched South. It was complicated. Your father was already attacking the Riverlands to get you back."

"To get me back?"

Robb sighed again and then he recounted a tale of utter madness that made Tyrion's eyebrows fly up and stay up. No Call. Bran's mysterious fall. Him at the Wall because he wanted to see it, not because he had been summoned there by the Old Gods. Cersei being a bitch on numerous occasions. An attack on Bran.

Robb pulled his left hand free of his cloak when he got to that part, which was holding the Valyrian steel dagger that Joffrey had attacked him with. As he handed it over, he said: "The cutpurse had that on him. Now I know that it was Joffrey's. But at the time we did not know that. Mother took it South to King's Landing and Petyr Baelish told her that it had been his – before he lost it to you."

Baelish. Bloody buggering Baelish. What had that maggot been up to, truly? He took the dagger with a frown. "A deadly thing. And... you therefore thought that I had given it to this man as payment to kill Bran? Why?"

Robb shrugged. "Lysa Arryn told Mother that your family murdered Jon Arryn. Mother later found out that her sister was as mad as a spring hare." He winced. "We did not trust Lannisters. And with the odd circumstances of Brans' fall – he had always been so surefooted before – we leapt to some hasty conclusions. Mother especially. She ordered you arrested on the road to King's Landing and taken to the Eyrie. And your Father called the banners for you."

"My," he said, more than a bit astonished. "I never knew that Father cared so much for me. Ah. Wait. It was the Lannister name he was truly fighting for, of course. Still, I am just a trifle touched." He leant back and then winced as a nodule of wood pressed against his back. "So, there was a war."

"The War of the Five Kings, the smallfolk called it."

He stared at Robb. "Five? That sounds a bit much. Joffrey was one, obviously, but... ah. Stannis was another? Then who were the three other kings?"

"I was proclaimed the King in the North and the Riverlands." Robb said it with a look that was partly sad and partly proud. "Balon Greyjoy proclaimed himself King of the Iron Islands. And Renly Baratheon proclaimed himself king as well."

Tyrion tilted his head and removed some wax from one ear, to make sure that he had heard properly. "Renly Baratheon? Did Stannis die?"

"No."

"But he's the youngest of the Baratheon brothers. He had no claim to the Iron Throne after Robert's death."

"He had the Tyrells on his side. And he thought, I suppose, that might made right."

Might made right. He made a note of that term. Not bad. But still... Ah. Loras Tyrell. Oh dear. "So there was a five-sided war. I presume that my father was in charge of his faction, rather than Joffrey."

"Aye. But he made the mistake of placing Jaime in charge of the forces besieging Riverrun." A wolfish smile crossed Robb's face. "I beat your brother and captured him. I relieved Riverrun. And I attacked into the Westerlands. There was a battle at Oxcross." A complex mixture of emotions crossed his face. "I regret much of that, given what I know now. Given that I know what's coming. So much death. What was coming then as well. The Others were coming and I didn't suspect a damn thing. And then... well, the Ironborn attacked the North. They could have had their pick of the Westerlands and the Reach, but no, Balon Greyjoy wanted his revenge against my dead father."

There was a pause as Tyrion watched the other man. He could not think of a word to say that would help against that further complex combination of emotions on his face. "And then?" He said the words as gently as he could.

"Father was not around to tell me who to trust and who to distrust. I had made mistakes. I'm good at war Tyrion. I'm very good at war. But politics is more complex. And I trusted the wrong people. Your father found that out. And... I was betrayed. And I died. And then I woke up here."

He looked at Robb for a long moment and saw the pain that was stored in those eyes. "I sense that there's a lot that you've skipped over."

"I have. Everything's different now. We know what's coming. The incest has been revealed. Joffrey will never be king. The Call has gone out. Stannis is different as well – he was never going to be Hand of the King in that other world. And he was... different."

"Different how?"

"Mother met him and Renly and tried to get them to reconcile. But Stannis was being... advised by a shadowbinder priestess from Asshai. Before the two could meet in battle near Storm's End, Mother saw a... a shadow slay Renly Baratheon. A shadow with the face of Stannis Baratheon."

If he sat here rooted in horror for much longer then there would be a chance that he'd turn into a tree. Instead he stood and then peered at the Heart Tree. "Your tale is all of woe," he said eventually. "I am guessing that various armies slaughtered the smallfolk as if they were worth nothing?"

"Aye," Robb sighed. "And before you ask, crops ravaged, homes burned, barns destroyed, flocks slaughtered or scattered. Folly."

He straightened a little. "Then it is no wonder that the Old Gods sent you back. I cannot imagine the bloodbath that must have followed on the Wall after the Others assaulted it." He paused and then remembered that dream from the road to Winterfell. "Or perhaps I can. I had a terrible dream on the way here. The Iron Islands lost, Winterfell besieged by the others, the Westerlands lost, the King vanished in the Riverlands, Dorne having closed its borders... Yes, we must avoid that."

He looked back at Robb. "I want to marry your cousin Dacey. That will make us kin. Could you stand to be related to a Lannister?"

Robb smiled at him. "We fought together at the Wall. You killed an Other. And Dacey likes you. You are not your Father or your brother. So – yes. I can stand to be related to you. You're a good man Tyrion. And you know what's coming. You know what's at stake."

There was another pause – and then they shook hands.