AN: I LIVE!
I know you all have been waiting for this, but while the previous chapter was right after Midterms, I only wrote about two sections of this before Finals managed to get started. Good News on that front, my final grades were 93, 94, 96, 98, and another 96! So, I am all set for my last semester of my senior year.
I figured it would make a good late Christmas gift to make it up to you all. I had hoped to also do the first chapter of the Fate story as well, but I unfortunately had to prioritize this story first. May have Fate chapter 1 done by New Years if I am lucky, but it would only be chapter 1, as I need to bing a few Let's Plays and animes in order to get the characterizations right. Interestingly one of the Servants I plan on using has not actually appeared, though they were mentioned.
With that out of the way, let's get started!
TYWIN
RED KEEP-2 DAYS BEFORE TOURNAMENT
Tywin's procession of Westerland duelists competing in the tournament had taken their time to get there. Word of them got to the city long before them, and Tywin expected Robert and Jon Arryn would be anxious over the thought of him coming. As they should. Did they really think that they could get away with depriving the Lannisters of the Twins? No, it was Robert no doubt. Jon Arryn was simply too weak to say no to the man he thought of as a son.
Despite the ire he had at the reason he was here; Tywin still entered the Red Keep with the air of dignity befitting a Lannister. As Warden of the West, his presence alone was enough to justify the King himself watching the Lannister procession come.
Tywin rode in and dismounted quickly. He walked over to his foolish son by law.
A quick bow was made. Still precise and with the right amount of submission expected of a loyal vassal, it did nothing to stop anyone from sensing his hostility. Even Robert could sense that he was angered by this tournament and what it meant.
"Your Grace. Apologies for intruding on your home so soon after departing." Tywin said, as easy as if it were honest.
"Think nothing of it, Lord Tywin. We are bound not just by oaths of fealty, but by family. Our homes are each other's." Robert said the expected response.
'So, what makes you think you can take our newest one?' Tywin thought but did not speak.
Tywin turned to look at the rest of the procession. With a minute nod, they fell out of their orderly form and began to unload the necessary objects to be brought to Tywin's personal rooms; he doubted they had changed much since the war.
He saw Tyrion and his two sellsword companions out of the corner of his eye as they began walking towards the library. He also knew that Ser Cleos- who had been given the duty of guarding the rear on the journey- would soon walk up to the both of them to present his case for the eighth time. So, Tywin did nothing to stop Robert when the king invited him into a more private room.
Once they were away from most prying eyes- Tywin had no doubt Varys would soon be able to recount the conversation they were about to have verbatim- he let any sense of decorum melt off his posture.
"I gave you the Mountain, and I reduced the debts of the crown. Despite not getting a betrothal with Princess Arrianne, I might add. And you decide to reward us by stealing what is rightfully my nephews?" Tywin lined out his immediate issues with Robert.
The King did not flinch back, to his credit. Tywin was not a fool, he knew of Robert's improvements, but even Aerys could flinch back when Tywin was wroth, even when they were on the best of terms. "Don't act like that was all done out of the goodness of your heart. The Mountain was given up because you saw him lose value. If he was still of use, you would never have let us send him on a suicidal trap." Robert rebutted. Leaning back in his chair, he changed his tone. "And Jon and I have already been planning the betrothal issue. We are ready to legitimize your niece Joy, and she can marry Trystane." Robert said.
Tywin could have laughed at the offer. But he did not. "Even if Joy and Trystane were wed this instant and go on to have a dozen sons, the moment Arriane returns to Dorne, the kingdom will flock to her. She has a greater claim due to the Rhoynish customs, and if she comes with Essosi troops at her back, then the pain of Dorne's humiliation will fade. They will call her Nymeria's return."
"Varys is already sending his 'birds' out to look for her. If she reaches her mother, we will know. Norvos will not risk us aligning with the other cities over one girl from a middling family." Robert justified. "If she turns herself in, we can see about redoing negotiations. If not, we have nothing to worry about."
Tywin's fury was not weakened by these words, but as always, his mind accepted the logic of them. There was not much he could do about it without risking more than he was comfortable with.
Tywin nodded, signaling a near end of the conversation. "I hope you are correct in your decisions. But know that The Twins was a mistake. The Lion of Casterly Rock will fly above it by the Tournament's end. I assure you that."
"Well then, I wish you luck." Robert said as Tywin left to see to his rooms.
WINTERFELL-SEPT
LADY CATELYN
"...And keep Arya and Sansa safe while they are in King's Landing. Let Robb and Samwell look over them." Catelyn finished her prayers kneeling to the Mother. Or what was left of it.
Officially, no one knew what happened. Septon Chayle just rushed into Ned's solar one morning and claimed that someone had tried to wreck the Sept.
Septon Chayle was unable to get full statues of the Seven created in the North, but he did manage to get masks carved to represent them. Now the masks were all cracked, and the one of the Father still had a lingering piss scent that the Septon could not get out. Ned had told her not to enter the Sept until it was presentable, but she entered the moment that Chayle said prayers could resume.
No one knew who had done something so mad and vile as to attempt to wreck a Sept, but Ned vowed to her and the Septon to find out. But everyone knew WHY. With the narrowly avoided threat of the Sparrows getting so close, only to be repelled by one with Stark blood, tensions between the faiths were strained.
Catelyn was… Contemplative about the repelled invasion. In some way, she realized that she was responsible for it, as it was her, in a moment of fear for Ned going to war, that ordered that Jon be sent away, allowing him and some of those Wildlings to be at the Moat, where Jon's single combat against the High Sparrow turned him into the North's favorite son.
She could see it now. Even if Jon proves loyal, his sons-sons who carry the Stark look- challenging her Grandchildren's lordship of Winterfell. Which Northern lords would fight for their liege? Which would think that the Starks had become more Andal than First Men. She understood that Ned had commanded Jon to be rewarded, but giving him the Moat? Why not a simpler, more humble Keep? The North had a handful of those hidden everywhere.
Her thoughts of her yet to be born grandchildren brought her actual children to mind. Robb had proven himself fairly capable when Ned was at war, and he was prepared to head out himself to deal with the Sparrows. Bran and Rickon were growing into fine men, if a bit strange at times. Bran would sometimes just stare in the distance for a bit mid conversation, and Rickon… Well, Rickon was a wolf, in more ways than just his Sigil.
If it truly came down to a matter of faith, then she feared for her children. While they had been raised in both faiths, there were many on either side who believed only theirs was to be worshipped. The Old Gods outnumbered the New in the North in terms of followers. That was not to say that the Seven were completely shunned. An old Maester from a century ago tried to find a rough count, and he said the split was roughly one of the Faith for every eight or nine Old God followers. In the south, the numbers were reversed. Should it come to conflict, then their only hope would be aid from the south. Which would be hindered as the Moat now to Jon's name had never fallen.
Catelyn's thoughts and fears were brought to a halt when yelling from the front gate reached her ears. She walked towards it and saw a man trying to enter, only for the guards to block his path.
"What is going on here?" Catelyn asked, removing any sign of her concern as she did her duties as Lady of Winterfell. Ned was currently at Castle Cerwyn, leaving settling issues to her.
"He claims to be a singer, M'lady." Varly answered.
"It's the truth!" the man said. Now that she was closer, she could see his face better. He was slender, and of about average height. His hair was grey, save for some brown that refused to age, and laughter lines surrounded his mouth. In his hands was a lute, so his claim had some credibility.
"We do not often get singers this far North." Catelyn responded. "Why come all this way?"
The singer smiled. "Why else? I heard that the Hero of the North was still living in Winterfell, rather than heading to Moat Cailin. I figured I could come here and talk with this, Jon Snow, get to know what happened with the Sparrows, and write my own song about it! It would be the greatest song to be sung in all the North!"
Catelyn felt her blood boil. Another reminder of how great Jon Snow suddenly was in the eyes of everyone. "Well, I am sorry to say your trip was a waste. He has gone South to King's Landing for the tournament. I am afraid he has likely already told the story."
"Ah, while that may be, none of those Southron singers could truly capture the emotions of
The North." The singer said. "If I need to wait to meet this savior, then I can. I would never impose myself, worry not. I can stay at your Winter Town if you don't want me in the castle, or I could help in the kitchens or something."
Catelyn just wanted to get this over with to resume her proper duties. Besides that, she could hardly turn away a Norther singer who praised Jon. Not if she wanted to keep the worshippers of the Seven relatively safe. If word went around, then they would all suffer. She could not afford to be careless.
"Perhaps. Lord Stark can make a final decision, but for now, you can come inside to rest at the very least. You must be tired… Forgive me, I did not ask your name." Catelyn realized.
"Ah, but of course." The singer bowed to her. "I am the bard Abel. I look forward to meeting your husband, Lady Stark."
STEPSTONES' SEA- 50 MILES EAST OF TYROSHI TERRITORY
MELISANDRE
The ship-renamed by its new owners as - R'hllor's Chosen - was a half day away from reaching an island they could restock on. Until then, Melisandre could do nothing but stare in the fire while reflecting on her gains at Dragonstone.
Ser Axell had proven himself a fine addition to the cause, in much the same way as a twig added to an already roaring flame. He learned of her power and sought to try to turn it to his own goals in due time. But his title as Castellan let him access the money needed to buy the ship quick enough for them to evade the Great Other's spies. Lady Selyse had given to the cause as well, in her own way that was proving to be just as useful. The Highborn lady was a true believer worthy of joining the Red Temple. The rest, none of whom truly significant to Westerosi society, and thus easy to sway with speeches about grand destinies awaiting them, numbered less than ten, and their devotion ranged between Axell and Selyse's.
Melisandre bitterly remembered the High Priest of The Temple. Not Benerro, the unfaithful swine, nor any of his predecessors who slowly chipped away at the faith from the inside. But the one who bought her. The one who burned away Melony and allowed Melisandre to take the slave's place. Under him, the Temple had been truly devoted, and Selyse's devotion would be considered rather weak in comparison to the average believer. But he burned too brightly, never mastering the magic to lengthen one's youth. His life was extinguished too quickly for him to name a direct successor. Instead, the Triarchs got involved, and managed to force the temple to stop their burnings of the unfaithful, fearful that their immunity would one day run out. Melisandre had been forced to watch as her fellow devotees died, be it of disagreements over doctrine or age. Before long, Melisandre had hardly recognized the temple.
But despite her new loyal followers, Melisandre had not been able to sway most of the island. They were too enraptured by the false idols of the Seven, and a few of the Trees that the Enemy used to spy on R'hllor's faithful.
Melisandre saw a brief flicker in the flames that broke the usual pattern they had been doing. Her eyes focused more on that spot.
Unfortunately, the ship did not have a hearth or any place to light a fire in it. Melisandre had been forced to settle with putting several candles in a bowl and watching them from there. Pathetic compared to what she usually used, but it could not be helped.
The fire of the candle that flickered turned purple for the briefest moment. Melisandre focused even harder.
Seeing how badly her recruitment was going on Dragonstone, she began to fear that she was the last of the true believers. But then she saw the purple erupt in a night fire. And it began showing her visions. Clearer ones than she had ever had in a long time. It was through these purple flames that she learned what she must do to the unbelievers of Dragonstone. Instead of burning their mortal forms, she must burn the souls. Only through such a sacrifice could R'hllor prepare for the final battle. As well as awaken Azor Ahai from his self-doubt.
In the purple flames she saw a ship. One that was heading towards her. While she could not make out any recognizable details, it looked like the ship was damaged somewhat from a bad storm.
Melisandre was about to theorize what could be on the ship, when the scent of the flames answered her. Rotten Onions.
Melisandre smiled. The false advisor who got to Azor Ahai before her. The Great Other's unwritten pawn.
Melisandre walked out of her cabin. There, one of the sailors who worked on the ship was waiting, charged with obeying her.
"Tell Lord Axell that once we restock, we must leave immediately. We must find a suitable location for the first direct battle of the Great War."
JON SNOW
SEPT OF BAELOR
Having never been in King's Landing before, Jon did not know all the streets or where they led. Which unfortunately meant that he could end up in a place without knowing how.
Which was how he found himself standing in front of the largest symbol of the New Gods in Westeros.
'I should probably get out of here.' Jon thought to himself.
He may have been a hero to the North, but the High Sparrow was said to have had much support from the actual Faith. Which made any Sept the last place he wanted to be.
Once again, the High Sparrow's death came into Jon's mind. It had been quick, but Jon had seen it in every detail.
Ygritte's… diversion, had been very effective, but Jon doubted that he could just keep his emotions hidden forever.
Jon went to turn and walk away from the sept, when he saw the door open and a boy who looked to be about his age came out. He carried himself like a noble. From what he had heard, they were too old to be Prince Tommen, and Prince Joffrey had made some mistake during the war that led to a temporary exile.
The boy was probably another Lannister.
Before Jon could return to trying to find his way around, he found himself knocked over by a rather imposing figure.
He was taller than Jon but looked little more than half a decade older than him. He had golden red hair, and he openly wore a breastplate with a purple lightning bolt emblazoned on it. The sigil of House Dondarrion.
"Apologies there, good Ser." The man said. He reached a hand down and Jon grabbed it. "My fault entirely. I suppose you could say that I have been a bit on edge since the Tournament began, and I usually keep my Duel Disk from appearing. I thought this would be more organized than a melee. I am Beric Dondarrion."
Jon was pulled up. "I'm no Ser. Appreciate the apology though." He spoke.
'So, this was the Lightning Lord.' Jon Realized. He had become a hero in Dorne, and Jon had heard his name in passing several times since coming to the city.
"My lord!" A voice called out and a boy closer to Jon's age ran up to Beric, with his own Duel Disk on his arm. "I thought I lost you there."
"No need to worry Podrick. We will stick together. I was just chatting with this fine fellow...Apologies again, I don't think I caught your name." Beric said, turning from the squire to Jon.
'Well, no point hiding it now.' Jon thought to himself.
"Jon. Jon Sno...Jon Stark." He corrected himself. He may have been nervous about being near the Sept of the Capital, but that nervousness faded as he used his house's name.
Beric's face quickly turned to one of shock. Then, just as quickly, shame. "Ah so you are the Hero of the North. It's an honor to meet you I suppose. Though, on behalf of those of the South, I apologize for making you handle that. It was a burden started by us. You should not have had to handle it." Beric bowed to Jon.
"Think nothing of it. It is done. I was just protecting my home." Jon assured the Lord.
As Beric stood up, he looked at Jon's own Duel Disk. "I take it you are in the tournament as well?" At Jon's nod he continued. "I don't suppose you could use a Fire and Dark Dragons?" Beric asked, revealing his own.
"My lord? Are you sure?" Podrick asked nervously. The squire worried his mentor would lose quickly to someone of Jon's reputation, however new it was.
"That depends. Could you use a Dark and Water?" Jon asked.
Beric smiled. "Then I suppose we have a match."
The two of them walked away from each other and readied their decks. Podrick running by Beric's side.
"I admit, I am curious to see just how powerful the one who ended the Sparrows is." Beric confessed.
"If you want to see that, then show that you can handle it." Jon replied as they both drew their hands.
"May the Best Duelist Win!" Both declared at once.
AN: And that's a wrap!
Originally, I was planning on having Jon duel this chapter, but I realized I could not do the whole duel and get this out when I wanted to. So it closes off this chapter. Ironically, it was the first thing I tried to write, but when Finals took too much time, I added the other POVs when I could.
First, a flashback to Tywin and Robert's meeting in the city. Tywin wants answers, and the topic of Dornish repercussions comes up. Tywin is determined to win the Twins for the Lannisters.
Catelyn's mind shows her fears regarding Jon. Also, tried to give a ratio of religion, as we know some Houses are of the Seven in the North. In addition, a singer has come to Winterfell, and he has big plans for the North as a whole.
Melisandre gives some of her backstory and mindset. We see how she interprets the purple flames Darkstar is sending her way. I did toy briefly with the idea of her making a large fire and accidentally burning the ship and making everyone drown, but as satisfying for us as that would be, it would leave unresolved plots. She is also made aware of Davos' hunt. Figure I will do that one after the tournament, along with an explanation of what exactly happened on Dragonstone.
Finally, we have Jon. Who got lost. He ends up in quite possibly the worst place in the city for himself, but a neutral party intervenes. Next up, we get Beric vs Jon!
A serious question for my readers: should I change this and my other fics to T, or keep them M? Have I lived up to an M rating, or should I make it T and expand the possible reader base?
With that, I hope you all stay safe and have a good holiday season to wrap up this rather lackluster year.
Wish you all luck in whatever you need, and I will see you all next chapter.
Jaehaerys Joestar