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Chapter 9 Part 1

=Sith=

291 AC

The Hightower

Oldtown, the Reach

Thick fog covered Oldtown like a fluffy blanket, obscuring it from sight. A morning chill crept up the shores of Battle Isle, carried by crashing waves. The fire atop the High Tower glowed brightly, illuminating the fog like a second sun.

It was a miserable beginning to the day, with everyone who could afford it staying home to keep warm. High up in their tower, three Hightowers gathered to break their fast and discuss recent events.

Leyton, the Old Man of Oldtown, his second son Garth, Greysteel, and eldest daughter, Malora, the Old Maid.

"Lynesse wrote," Malora spoke after drinking from a cup of steaming herbal tea heavily fortified with honey. "Her raven should arrive at dusk."

"Dreaming again, sweet sister?" A bittersweet smile graced Garth's face.

His sister's dreams sometimes came true. Between regular dreams and prophetic ones, she often had no time for or awareness of the present. Malora dabbling with magic and certain parties, making it known, ensured she wasn't safe outside the High Tower. If Garth ever found out which Maesters or members of the Faith spread those rumors about his sister, there would be blood on the streets! That the rumors were true was beside the point! His sister should have been free to move around Oldtown as she saw fit without needing a heavy escort! This was their seat long before Oldtown was even a thing!

"I always dream, brother," Malora smiled dreamily. "Day and night, all day, every day, all night, every night…" Malora sang.

Their father loudly speared a slice of well-done bacon with a fork and put it on a piece of warm, buttered bread. Two pairs of eyes looked at Leyton, who raised an eyebrow in response.

"How Lyn faring up North?" the Lord of the High Tower asked innocently.

"Happy, to be ruined and happy again…" Malora hummed. "She was to visit and never return, but now…"

Garth looked pointedly at his father.

"Happy and away, if perhaps ruined or unhappy and eventually dead but close. It was an easy choice to make, besides…"

"The ink is dry… but the story is still being written…" Malora smiled kindly, looking at Garth with wide eyes full of wonder.

"Do I want to know?" Greysteel asked tiredly. There was no winning when speaking with his sister.

"I dreamed of dark wings beating in the night. Of hot blood spilling, turning into fire. Our little sister should be going East. Farther than before! To the Bay of Dragons. She could be great, you know. It's all there in the dream…" Malora nodded to herself and drank more tea. Her gaze lowered and swept over the table, focusing on a strawberry pastry.

"Fire and Blood?" Leyton asked after he was done chewing a bite of bread and bacon.

"That's why we're gathered here this morning, isn't it, father?" Garth reminded them.

"Viserys Targaryen holds Astapor and has an army of Unsullied. As an alleged sorcerer, he was dangerous. Now he is a threat no one can dismiss," their father pointed out.

"Mace Tyrell is going to get his wish. Margaery can be queen," Garth noted.

"Olenna Redwyne, you mean," Leyton interjected.

"My dear niece, your granddaughter is set up to be queen," Garth noted.

His little sister Alerie was married to Mace Tyrell. Unless the Queen of Thorns outlived them all out of sheer spite, little Ale would be the Lady of Highgarden and thus the Reach one day.

"Son, I might be old, but my wits remain intact! I am well aware of who my daughters are married to and why my grandchildren are," Leyton grumbled.

"I am merely putting our situation in perspective. Marge is still young, thankfully. We have time to see events unfold, don't we?" Garth asked hopefully.

"Jon Arryn is no fool. He had already secured his shaky succession, stabilizing the Vale. The Queen of Thorns is traveling north to further bind the Tyrells to the alliance securing the Iron Throne," Leyton looked at his daughter, wondering if she had something to add and, more importantly if she had seen something of consequence.

He didn't even try to hide his distaste at the very idea. Eddard Stark was one of the few survivors from the group who killed his brother in Dorne. He didn't even know how Gerold died or who killed him. Stark was notoriously tight-lipped about those events. Given his station and friendship with the King, there wasn't much Leyton could do, no matter how his heart burned with the desire for vengeance.

"Winter is always coming," Malora hummed after finishing off a piece of cake. "The pack..." she tilted her head to the side as if listening to something. "Ice melts. Wolves burn or dance in the flames. Fire and Ice will dance together until the song is sung," she sighed. "I see but cannot see…" Malora's eyes fell upon the rest of the cake, and she smiled before taking another piece.

"I will not see my daughter or grandchildren burn on the altar of Olenna's ambitions," Leyton decided.

Under different circumstances, he might have been pleased with the match his goodson was negotiating in King's Landing. He was pleased enough months ago when Viserys was merely a dangerous sorcerer. He was the Lord of the Hightower. Magic was in his blood. Leyton knew its limits, especially in this day and age. Magic could be powerful, but it was costly and far from all-powerful. It could be fended off.

A sorcerer with a powerful, reliable army at their back was a very different creature.

"Burn?" Malora asked around a bite of cake. Her eyes were unfocused, and her face fell. "Such pretty green flames, eating the hearts of the seven… Marge… trice wedded, and never bedded… such pretty fires…." She looked intently at Leyton as if his life depended on it. "Lions eat stags, you know. Their claws are sharp… such a bloody red wedding… Roses burn, you know? Fire and blood, blood and fire…" and Malora was off in her own world again.

Garh sighed and forlornly looked all over the table for something stronger than hot tea. Greysteel noted that his father was looking as bad as he felt.

"Doran Martell has a few sons, you know…" Leyton's unexpected words caused Garth to look at his father sharply, his neck stinging.

"Tyrells don't do well in Dorne. Fucking scorpions and snakes," Garth shook his head in an attempt to loosen a kink in his neck and shake away unwelcome images of Dornish critters.

"Dragons didn't fare well in Dorne until they did," Leyton spoke of Marron Martel and Princes Daenerys.

"The Mother of Dragons?" Malora grinned like a little girl before staring at something no one else could see.

"Is she getting worse?" Garth asked worriedly.

"I think she's been seeing more as of late, and that's not necessarily a good thing," Leyton shared his concerns.

"I told you already, father, I see, but I cannot see!" Malora pouted. "I dream of such pretty, terrible things…"

Leyton grimaced and nodded at his daughter as if that explained everything. Which it really did, Garth sadly concluded.

"When can we expect Lynesse?" Garth decided to change the topic to something hopefully safer.

"For the tourney!" Malora scoffed as if it was apparent. "When the bear falls," she added in a matter-of-fact voice.

Garth had to admit that this was the strangest conversation he had with Malora in all his years, and that was saying something. Meanwhile, Leyton looked at his bread and bacon and put them on the table, feeling no longer hungry.

"What can you see of Viserys Targaryen, dear?" He asked Malora. Every time he asked that question before, the answer was the same. A peckish dragon was looking back.

Malora's eyes met her father's gaze, and she sighed contently. "The wars begin, father! Valyria comes again!"

Father and son looked at each other, unsettled by that foretelling.

=Sith=

Chapter 9 Part 2

=Sith=

291 AC

Dragonstone

Thankfully, it was rare for the King to visit Dragonstone nowadays – a radical change of how things were done for most of the existence of the Seven Kingdoms.

Stannis Baratheon was glad about it. The last thing he needed was his brother bringing his drunken ass into Stannis' home, dishonoring the only sanctuary he had left. Unfortunately, recent events got Robert rejuvenated with manic energy in a way he never was outside of war…. But that was why the King was here, so it made a disgusting amount of sense. If Robert had put this much effort and energy into ruling regularly, then he would have been a great king.

The Lord of Dragonstone stood to the side of the Painted Table, with only Ser Davos and Maester Cressen at his back. Robert was nearby, leaning on the large map, staring intently at it. Stannis had to admit that his brother looked better than he expected – it was apparent the King had kept up training after the Greyjoy idiocy instead of spending his days and nights drowning in wine and whores. All it took was the Targaryens becoming a threat instead of duty, the younger Baratheon thought bitterly.
"The Dragonspawn has an army," Robert declared in an odd tone. There was fury burning in his deep voice and hunger, too. "You didn't manage to get him killed, Varys!" the King accused.

The Master of Whisperers bowed his bald head in shame. "Astapor is far away. The Targaryens were already en route to Slaver's Bay by the time we knew we had to send more assassins, and you offered such a gracious bounty on their heads. The odds of someone learning of the prize and running into them before they got there were always remote. I've sent my Little Birds to Astapor. Hired blades as well! However, we have yet to hear anything from them. The distance alone means that it won't change until the turn of the year, if not later. Warships could get there faster, but obviously, sending Little Birds or assassins in such an obvious way would be unwise."

Robert glowered at the eunuch and cursed.

"It is clear now that I can't rely on you to do your damned job and kill the Dragonspawn," Robert smiled at that. "It is all right. It might be better this way. I am not made for sitting my ass on that uncomfortable spiky chair, counting coppers, or listening to fools bemoan their lot in life. I am made for war and can smell it in the air."

And here it was. Robert was never going to change, Stannis lamented.

"We are going to properly prepare for the war to come! I don't trust the Dornish as far as I can throw this dragons-infested castle!" Robert waved at the map. "Little Ren's too young yet to be relied upon to do a man's job," a thick finger pointed at Stanni's chest. "Brother, you are going to Storm's End and gathering our Stormlords. I want all passes from Dorne into the Stormlands fortified; the keeps holding them examined and repaired if needed. If the Dornish decide to lay with fucking Dragonspawn again, we'll fuck them in such a way they'll never forget it!"

"I'll see it done," Stannis grit his teeth in frustration. He would have to act as the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands but not have his birthright then. Fucking Robert…

"That grasping Rose Tyrell might get his daughter as Queen one day," at that, Robert at least had the decency to look contrite. "I'll leave it to Jon to get us the best deal he could. The Reach must hold their side of the Dornish mountains, and we will need the Redwyne fleet to shield the West."

At least, they could rely on Robert in matters of war and strategy. It could be worse, Stannis kept telling himself. For all his flaws, Robert wasn't Aegon the Unworthy, much less Aerys come again.

"The Reach must shield the West until Lannister can rebuild his damn fleet! For all we know, the Dornish will eagerly spread their legs to the Dragons, but who knows, sanity might prevail over there. Jon has a few ideas that might pacify them," Robert made a dismissive gesture and pointed at the edge of the Painted Table. "Varys and everyone else keeps telling me how far Astapor happens to be! If Viserys lands in Dorne, we will smash them in the passes. The Redwynes will shield the West; no matter what, we'll have to give the fucking roses. That leaves the Royal Fleet. Stannis, I need you to secure the East!" Robert jabbed a finger at the Stepstones. "If Viserys gets a fleet through there, he can land anywhere from the Dornish Marches up to Runestone! Before we can get a fleet or army to intercept him, he can burn my cities and people like his mad father!"

"If we secure the Stepstones, we might reunite the Triarchy and have to fight them," Stannis warned. "Doing so will cost men, ships, and treasure."

"You'll have your coin. Build more ships as you see fit," Robert waved Stannis' concerns away. "If the Triarchy decides to be uppity, I'll lead the armies to smash them away myself! Expand the Royal Fleet as much as you need to secure the Stepstones against any possible threat!" the King ordered.

Stannis bowed his head in a show of submission and pondered his orders. Taking the Stepstones would reduce piracy and secure vital trade routes for Westeros merchants. If the Triarchy reformed, instead of remaining at each other's throats, perhaps Braavos might be willing to aid? Tyrosh, Lys, and Myr were slaver cities, after all. Keeping the Stepstones safe for Braavosi merchants might be enticing enough of a prospect. Stannis said that much aloud.

"Braavos?" Robert and Varys looked at him in surprise.

"What do your Little Birds say about the Sealord?" Stannis demanded.

"He is an old man who won't last more than a few years. We'll have a new Sealord by the turn of the century at the latest. He is rumored to be thinking of his legacy," Varys said after thinking a bit.

"What better legacy than secure the Stepstones for Braavosi ships and land a blow against slavery?" Stannis asked.

"Taking the Stepstones will make those slaving bastards in Essos squeal, won't it?" Robert barked a laugh. "That makes it even better! Make the necessary preparations, Brother! I'll feast you at the Red Keep when we are ready for the war!"

=Sith=

291 AC
The Red Keep
King's Landing

The pleasant breeze cooled the upper floors of Tower of the Hand, allowing Mace Tyrell to sit comfortably near an open window. The Hand sat beside him at a small table covered with food and drinks. Considering all that was happening as of late, Jon Arryn was happier than he should have been. But then, his wife was finally with a babe again, and this was the longest time Lady Lysa was pregnant before miscarrying. Gods be good, Arryn might have a hair of his body early next year. That might make the succession of the Vale more interesting or not. The Hand was almost sure to arrange a marriage between his future grandchildren and the children to come of his current heir and Ser Hardying's betrothed.

Lord Arryn took a deep breath of cool, fresh air – something rare in King's Landing and smiled kindly at Mace.

"Soon, every Kingdom from the Vale to the Westerlands will be bound through marriages, further securing the Crown. That leaves only the Reach and Dorne," Arryn pointed out.

So, the rumors that Bronze Youh's Royce's younger sons would marry in the North and the West were true.

"Robar Royce will travel to foster at White Harbor and get to know his betrothed Wynafryd Manderly. They'll marry when the lass is fourteen, but there won't be a consummation or babies for a few more years. We are no barbarians after all," Arryn happily announced. He took a sip of wine, enjoyed it for a moment, and continued explaining the Reach's unenviable situation. "Waymar Royce is betrothed to Lady Cerenna Lannister, and they'll wed when he is fourteen in a few years. Lady Cerenna is already traveling to Runestone to foster and get to know her betrothed. I've set up lands and a keep for them; they'll have ample time to familiarize themselves with."

"That's nice?" Mace offered and drained a cup of wine without feeling its taste. His mother was traveling to Winterfell to discuss betrothal, which would give them an in and a bit of security. However, she was correct; when everyone was allied to everyone else, no one was allied with anyone… and the Crown wasn't thrilled with the Reach. Further, the North was far. Despite blood ties between Starks, Tullys, and Arryns, a future marriage between Willas or Garlan with Sansa Stark might not be enough, far from it.

The Tyrell's situation was already dangerous, even if they had much to gain. Now that Viserys Targaryen had a powerful army he could rely on… frankly, Mace didn't know what to do. On the surface, the Hand's efforts made the Iron Throne more secure than it had been at any time before the Dance of Dragons. His House needed a secure place in that alliance network, and Sansa Stark might not be enough. That realization was a sticking point for Mace. The truth was that when Viserys came, the Baratheons, Lannisters, and Starks had no choice but to hang together. The Tullys, too, for Hoster's politicking was the mortar that bound the Rebel Alliance together and gave Robert his crown. The Vale was intimately involved, and history was going to repeat itself. Jon Arryn rose into rebellion to protect his wards. He would fight for the crown he earned for Robert and wouldn't leave the Starks to face the Targaryens alone. That made it five out of seven.

Doran Martell was a patient man. He was going to bide his time until he knew who would be likely to win. The Prince of Dorne had a daughter and two sons. Ties of blood might divide Dorne's loyalty and, more importantly, their spears. Mace was sure that this was what Arryn planned for the Dornish. The Hand would fully bind the realm in ties of blood to secure it against Viserys Targaryen, even though that might lay down the foundation for wars of succession in the distant future.

Mace regretted that his mother was already traveling to Winterfell. He now hoped that Willas would marry Sansa. Then Garlan would be free as a possible consort to Arianne Martell. That and betrothals to Doran's sons might be enough to significantly lessen the danger Dorne represented with bloodthirsty Viserys on the horizon. There was just that little issue of Tyrell dying in Dorne, so it might be best if Arianne married Willas and became the future Lady of Highgarden.

On the other hand, backing a Targaryen restoration was always an option. Margaery was too young to marry, and Princess Daenerys would one day need a husband, too…

Mace decided that stalling might be for the best. He needed time and more information.

"Now that Viserys has an army, we need to further bind the realm together," Arryn was saying. "Bringing the Reach properly into the fold will be only for the best, but I understand if you want to avoid royal entanglements at this time," Mace greatly misliked the smile on the Hand's face. "We can always look at Lord Tarly's daughters, the Redwynes or the Hightowers. They all have young daughters and will help us secure the Reach."

Jon Arryn could be a complete and utter bastard when he put his mind to it, Mace decided.

=Sith=

Planned betrothals to bind the Seven Kingdoms to better face future Targaryen restoration attempt:

Margaery Tyrell and Joffrey Baratheon – negotiations are being held in King's Landing;

Garlan or Willas Tyrell and Sansa Stark – negotiations to be held in Winterfell; Olenna, Willas and Garlan Tyrell are traveling to Winterfell to neogotiated and seal a betrothal;

Robb Stark and newborn Myrcella Baratheon – negotiations to be held in King's Landing; possible fostering of Robb Stark for a few years in the capital, followed by fostering Myrcella at Winterfell until she is of age to be married;

Edmure Tully to possibly wed Lord Braken's daughter; Hoster Tully desires to shore up support for his house and that means marrying his heir into a powerful vassal family; most of those don't have daughters, or their daughters are too young to marry;

Harrold Hardyng, heir of Jon Arryn, is set to wed Ysilla Royce, binding Royces, Waynwoods and Arryns in order to secure the Vale;

a secret betrothal between Viserys Targaryen and Arianne Martell; neither of them are aware of that contract, and are unlikely to be happy when they're told about it; Oberyn didn't speak of it when he visited Astapor;

Wynafryd Manderly is betrothed to Robart Royce, set up to marry when she is fourteen around 295, though no consummation is expected until she's about sixteen in 297.

Cerenna Lannister is now betrothed to Waymar Royce they're set to marry round 294, when he would be fourteen;