THE KING NOBODY WANTED--(ASOIAF AU)

[Space Oddity]

THE FOUL-SMELLING FLOWER

"I'll not deny it," said Garth, lying in his long chair, "I find the sun a tonic, on days such as these." He gave a contented yawn as he felt it beat down on his face.

Prince Oberyn, leaning on the fence nearby, shook his head. "If I had not become fully acquainted with you, Lord Seneschal, I would assume you the most sluggish man alive. But knowing you as I do, I know that even as you sit here, your mind races, plots, schemes, all on a scale a man such as I can barely comprehend."

Garth chuckled at that. "You flatter me, Prince. In truth, even I need rest and refreshment." Garse approached with his goblet, filled to the brim with Arbor Gold. "Ahh, there's the latter part." Garth waved his son off. "That will do, lad, that will do." Garse gave a quick nod and darted away. Garth began to quaff his drink. "Ahhh, that takes me back. Summers as a young man, spent with Ser Garett Oldflowers."

"I do not believe I've heard of him," said Oberyn.

"Few have, these days," said Garth with a sigh. "He was a tourney knight, of some skill and great charm." He shook his head, and ran his thumb over the wine goblet. "Immense charm, really. When I saw him, it was the first time I realized I could love a man as I loved a woman." He gave a relaxed sigh. "Ahh, I still can recall that glimpse, bathing after a match, skin glistening, muscles strained from their exertion. Oh, it was glorious." He gripped his goblet tightly and took a long, long swallow. "I oft think of him, whilst I drink."

"Was your affection… returned?" asked Oberyn.

Garth smiled. "Deeply and vigorously, Prince Oberyn." He shook his head. "Oh, I know I do not look it now, but in my youth I made women moist and men hard. And I fully took advantage of my charms." He sighed. "But that was youth. Now I am aged, and sit in my garden, and drink, and muse on all I've done."

"Lord Seneschal!" came the young voice. Garth turned to regard his younger guest. Tyene Sand had arrived later than her sisters, finally sent by a suspicious mother. Perhaps it was that late arrival that kept her on the fringes of Viserys' little court, despite her great charm. Or perhaps it was simply that she found Garth's company deeply fascinating. Even now, her pretty blonde head watched him with an expression of deepest interest.

"What is it, my dear?" he asked.

Tyene gestured at a painted image, tucked into a corner of the garden. "What is that?" she asked, eyes wide. "It looks… interesting."

Garth smiled as he looked at the image, a red rose with a thorny stem, with blood dripping from the thorns, on a field of sable. "That, Tyene, is the Bloody Rose of Tyrell, my family's original coat of arms. Under that sign, we served Drox the Corpse-Maker Penrose in the Stormlands as he marched against the Storm Kings, and later, when we began our service to the Gardeners." He shrugged. "A more savage symbol, for a more savage time. We even had different words then."

"What were they?" asked Oberyn. "If I may ask?"

"You may. 'Not without peril', is the answer," replied Garth. "As I said, a more savage time. Leo Tyrell changed both when he won the office of Lord High Steward for his family. Still, there was resistance for a time. For many long years afterwards, men would speak of Gold Rose and Red Rose Tyrells, not so much as families, but as types."

"And which are you?" asked Tyene.

"My dear, I am a quintessential Red Rose Tyrell," answered Garth with an indulgent smile.

"I do hope, my dear, you aren't finding it boring here," said Oberyn to his daughter.

"Oh, no father!" she said. "It's wonderful! Why, most of the plants here are poisonous!"

Garth chuckled. "My dear, sweet child, you are quite mistaken. Everything I grow in my garden is poisonous."

Tyene's eyes went wide. "Oh, my." She gestured to a nearby bush. "Even that?"

"Oh, that one is a particular favorite of mine," said Garth, standing up from his chair to look at it. "The Grey Monk. By itself, harmless. One can eat the leaves if you wish, and suffer no harm. Ahh, but take those same leaves, dry them, then macerate them, take the resulting juice, and mix it with wine or ale in the precise amount, which I shall not reveal to your young ears. I must keep some of my hard-earned secrets, dear." He smiled at the girl, who was staring at him enraptured. "Then allow it to sit a month, and you have a deadly poison. A drink laced with this swells the brain. A man who drinks a glass acts as if he'd drunk a bottle, a man who drinks a bottle, as if he'd drunk a hundred. They die, some staggering about, others screaming of being covered with insects or other vermin. Some attack those around them, others lie on the ground moaning." He leaned towards Tyene, grinning. "And when it is over, the man's friends sigh, and say he should have drunk less." Tyene giggled at that.

Oberyn raised an eyebrow at that. "Remind me never to take a drink from you without your drinking from it first."

"Ah, Prince," laughed Garth. "As if you have ever done anything else." Oberyn gave a rueful nod at this.

Tyene pointed to another plant, a hanging vine with pretty purple flowers. "What of this one?"

"Poison kisses," said Garth. "Causes a nasty rash by itself. The essence can cause a nastier one, if properly strengthened, though this requires a delicate touch." She stared at him, clearly disappointed. "Oh, come now, child. One doesn't need to kill everyone. If for example, a young lord is looking for a wife, and I wish his eyes to look towards a certain fair young miss, well, a rival coming down with a disfiguring skin condition does the job as well as turning her into a corpse, if not better."

Oberyn stared for a moment. "Wasn't there some strange occurrence of that nature when Paxter Redwyne was looking for a wife?"

"Leyla Hightower, who you now know as the Lady Leyla Cupps, did come down with a mysterious skin affliction when he came a courting, yes," replied Garth. Tyene stared at him, mouth open. "I confess to nothing, child," he noted with a wink. He looked around his garden. "But you see, death is such a final thing. It has its place, but sometimes, well, a stomachache or a bit of loose bowels will do the job just as well. And if it will, then why not let it? Your father is a viper - he uses his own reputation as a thing of death as a weapon. But I - I am a flower, child. I sit by the wayside and let all think me harmless."

Prince Oberyn smiled. "And yet something tells me, you have put more men in their graves than I, Lord Seneschal."

"My victims are legion, yes," said Garth. "And few ever suspect fat, fond old Garth Tyrell of anything but ill will, and a case of ill wind." He sighed. "You know, in my travels in the Free Cities, I went to the Temple of the Weeping Maiden, where they brew the finest Tears of Lys. I saw there… a poison man, sitting in the garden."

Oberyn gasped. "Impossible. They are… legends. Like shrykes, and grumkins."

"Perhaps like shrykes, Prince," replied Garth. "But not like grumkins. Poison men are most assuredly real."

"What is a poison man?" asked Tyene, her interest clearly piqued.

"A poison man," began Garth, "is a student of the Art who, having a great labor in it, decides to take the ultimate step to achieve his ends. He imbibes poisons and venoms, in very specific amounts, with the use of certain charms and spells. This process is lengthy, and if it is not done precisely right, the man dies. But if it is successful, the man becomes a poison. To be in his presence is to die. The poison man then usually seeks out his enemies and merely stands before them, and thus achieves his end. He then goes to the Temple to expire, for these men do not live long. The priests direct him to the Tree of Woe in the center of the temple, and there he sits, waiting to die." Garth's thumb began to idly stroke the goblet. "As I said, I saw one there. He had just slain the murderers of his parents, after a long wait. He sat there, finished, and content. A bird flew into his hands. And then it died."

"You seem to have been profoundly affected by what you saw," said Oberyn quietly.

Garth gave a sad smile. "I will not lie," he said. "I thought it all beautiful. Such dedication, to one's purpose, and to the Art. Dedication, total, complete, perfect. I saw it, and wished it for myself. Regardless of the sacrifice."

Tyene and her father stared at him. "And did you get it?" asked Tyene innocently.

Garth sighed. "I do not know, child. Years and years lived now, in the study of the Art, and I do not know." He smiled sadly. "Perhaps that is proof that I did not." Tyene stared at him for a moment, then took his hand. She gave it a squeeze, and then leaned her head against it. "Why, thank you, my dear," said Garth, with a smile. He stroked her blonde hair. "Somehow, I knew you'd understand."

"Tyene!" came a familiar voice. The girl turned as Ellaria Sand entered the garden, and then ran to the woman's side with a smile. Ellaria entered Garth's garden cautiously, eyes darting around the greenery as if she expected some sort of attack to issue from it. Garth did not begrudge her this - her life with Oberyn had instilled in her some idea of the danger of a place such as this, and well, people tended to toss the name 'Sand' about her so often, they forgot the name 'Uller' that lay behind it. Dark things were whispered of the Hellholt, and darker things of the ruins of Hellgate Hall that lay just within view. The Lords of the Hellholt had refused to destroy what remained of the now extinct-Drylands' monstrosity of a castle in the long centuries that followed.

'So we may remember', was how one Lord Uller had put it. Garth saw Ellaria's eyes focus on one innocent looking flower that he knew was far from that, and wondered precisely what she remembered from her upbringing. "Tyene, there you are," said Ellaria, nimbly making her way to the girl while avoiding touching anything. "The King is going out for an afternoon on the river, and the King and your sisters wish you to attend," she said.

Tyene bit her lip. "Is… is Lady Ruari going to be there?" she asked hopefully.

"She will be, yes," said Ellaria with a nod. "And she mentioned she would like to see you as well."

Tyene considered things, and then looked at Garth apologetically. "I am sorry, Lord Seneschal," she said. "I have enjoyed my time here."

Garth gave her a fond pat on the head. "Now, now, my dear, I am not so selfish as to demand you give up a delightful time with His Grace and your sisters. Especially with the charming Lady Ruari in attendance."

Tyene's face glowed with excitement. "Oh, she is so fascinating. Did you know that her parents went for a trip down the Zamoyos to Yeen to celebrate their marriage?"

"Why that is astounding," said Garth. Not for the first time it struck him how much the court's Lyseni visitor was at the heart of her what she appeared to be - a bold and clever child eager to impress others and make friends, and utterly in love with the grand adventure she was on. It almost makes me feel foolish for thinking her a threat. Almost. He knelt to give Tyene a fond pat on the head. "Well, you go along now. Do not keep your friends waiting."

Tyene smiled at him, then leaned forward and placed a kiss on Garth's jowly cheek. "Thank you, Lord Seneschal." She darted away to the garden gate then turned at it. "I love you."

"I love you too, my dear," said Garth with a wave. Ellaria smiled at him, and then placed a kiss on his cheek before following Tyene Sand out of his garden. Garth glanced at Prince Oberyn. "You are very fortunate to have so fine a lady as her by your side."

"I know it," said Oberyn. He sighed. "Would that your goodsister saw that. Ellaria's had to put up with constant slights."

"My dear Olenna, despite her many virtues, remains in many ways the provincial lady she was born," noted Garth. "She never travelled or studied as you or I did, and so her mind remains limited."

Oberyn nodded at that. "I do not think she is quite as dedicated to the young king as you or I."

Garth shrugged. "She is loathe to admit that circumstances have… hmmm, not so much changed but been more fully revealed as we've continued down this road. A part of her still wishes to that we had gotten a more reasonable peace from the Stags, even though she realizes now that this was never truly an option. Not from this Baratheon, and especially not when we brought Viserys here."

Oberyn's eyes narrowed. "And what if you had gotten that more reasonable peace, Lord Seneschal?"

"With the understanding that it was most likely always the stuff of dreams and fancies," said Garth softly, "we would have taken it, gone quiet and set ourselves to the task of tearing down the realm around Stannis when the chance came." Garth felt his mouth set into a firm line. "Doubtless that sounds dramatic, but… you long for vengeance for your sister. Well, Olenna and I long for vengeance for our son and nephew." He sighed. "I know Mace likely seems a fool to you…"

"I would not say…" began Oberyn.

"Because you do not wish to offend me," said Garth. "But I knew my nephew. I raised him, I taught him, and I know he was a fool. As does his mother. But he was our fool, and we loved him, for all we groaned at his folly, and now he is dead." Garth took a deep breath. "I took care of the body. It looked as if it had been torn into by animals. My nephew. A Lord of the Reach. That is what they did to him." He looked at Oberyn pointedly. "Do you see why there could no more be a true peace between the Tyrells and this Baratheon, anymore than there could be a true peace between you Martells and any backed by Lord Tywin? Blood has been shed, savagely and cruelly, and our families, they are savage and cruel under all the finery. We call for blood to appease our anger, as we've done in the past. If we're calling for the same blood this time, instead of each other's, well, that puts our enemies in a very bad spot."

The prince nodded at this. "And we are in it to the end."

"Against Stannis? Oh, yes," said Garth. "It seems more bloody-mindedness than cunning, but it's not devoid of the latter. The young man does not like leaving enemies about. Which is a heavy task for one with such a gift for making them, but so it is. If your foe can only rest if he's pressed his boot into your throat, then you don't show it to him." He gave a shrug. "Simple as that." He regarded his goblet and took a long swallow. "That is how it ended with Ser Garett and me, I'm afraid."

"He did not appreciate your affection, then?" asked Oberyn.

Garth frowned. "When I returned from abroad after my father's death, and became my brother's Lord Seneschal, Ser Garett approached me, and attempted to… strongarm me into getting him a position, based on our past connection. The Oldflowers have always had more pride than sense." He gave a shrug. "I refused. He became most insistent. When he made it clear that he would do much to cause my family trouble if refused, I took care of him."

Oberyn raised an eyebrow. "Poison…?"

"My hands," replied Garth calmly. "I was quite strong then. I still am, mind you, but then, moreso." He sighed. "I wrung his fine, thick neck, and then… disposed of the body." He raised his goblet, and took another swallow.

The prince stared fixedly at the cup. "Ah."

"Indeed," said Garth, with a smile, stroking the contours of the goblet fondly. "As I said, I often think of him when I drink." He shut his eyes, and remembered fond summer days, and many, many years of duty.

 

[bookwyrm]

I really like what you've done fleshing out Garth the Gross into a fully realized character, with him and Oberyn being almost like an evil holmes-watson duo probing the secrets of the little king's court. I do think they see lot of themselves in each other, with Oberyn as Garth in his red-blooded youth, and with Garth as if Oberyn was the dutiful eldest who was forced to stay behind and mind Sunspear instead of Doran.

 

[Space Oddity]

I really like what you've done fleshing out Garth the Gross into a fully realized character, with him and Oberyn being almost like an evil holmes-watson duo probing the secrets of the little king's court. I do think they see lot of themselves in each other, with Oberyn as Garth in his red-blooded youth, and with Garth as if Oberyn was the dutiful eldest who was forced to stay behind and mind Sunspear instead of Doran.

Click to shrink...

One's the bisexual younger son who studied at the Citadel and the East, becoming a master poisoner and his family's secret deniable asset. The other is... ummm.... the same, but with a different style.

 

[Space Oddity]

THE LOYAL KNIGHT

Ser Alliser held Jon Connington's hand as the man's life ended. The Lord of Griffin's Roost wept as he died, and called out for Rhaegar. Sometimes, it seemed to Alliser that Lord Jon thought he was Rhaegar, other times as if Rhaegar was somewhere alive and needed Connington's help, if only Lord Jon could get to him. But eventually, the calls stopped, followed by the man's breathing. Ser Alliser held onto the hand long after it went cold.

Another thing of beauty ended in this cruel world, he thought as he released it, and then stood from his chair. The cost of living in it is heavy. Connington had seemed fine when they started for Darry, but had begun to seem feverish the next day. By the time they arrived there he'd been desperately ill, and beginning to rave. Ser Raymun had gotten him a guest chamber and had his maester see to him. A fat lot of good that did, grumbled Alliser to himself. The man declared there was nothing to be done but to ease Lord Jon's passage. And eventually… he'd passed.

Alliser glanced outside where the heavens had seen fit to mark the Lord of Griffin's Roost's end with lovely fair weather. I never got to tell him of how deeply I admired him, thought Ser Alliser to himself, then upbraided himself. As if he'd have cared for the kind thoughts of a done old man like you, Alliser. Still, he'd had them. And now, now I shall hold them in my heart, and never hope to speak of them to him.

He heard the door to the chamber open. "I… Maester Pendrig said he'd passed," came the quiet voice of Ser Raymun.

Alliser nodded. "He's gone from the Seven Kingdoms once again. The first time, he went across the Narrow Sea. This time…" He frowned. "He's gone further."

"I am sorry," said the young Darry. "I know you were close."

Ser Alliser gave a snort. "We barely knew each other. I served under him in the Battles of the Bells."

"Still, it was kind of you, to stay with him through… this ordeal," said Raymun.

"He deserved it," replied Alliser. "He was a good man, and loyal, and true. When others fell away, he remained loyal to the king." He nodded at Raymun. "Much as your family has."

"I surrendered at the Trident, Ser Alliser," noted Ser Raymun. "My brothers likely would have as well, if they'd lived."

"And yet you've let us stay here," noted Alliser.

Raymun nodded. "I have." The man's voice was faint and tripping, as if he spoke at a great distance, and with much effort on his part.

"We greatly appreciate it," continued Alliser.

Raymun was quiet for a while. "I will have Pendrig see to the body. Lord Jon will lie in honor with my kin."

Alliser managed a nod at this. "He should lie in Griffin's Roost," he noted quietly.

"Aye, but I can't manage that," said Ser Raymun. "He has Darry blood in him. Or had it, while it ran in his veins. It was distant, but it was there. This will serve." He looked away, awkwardly. "It will have to."

"Yes," said Alliser. "Yes. It will have to." He took a deep breath, and left the chamber, eyes shut to avoid looking at his latest failure.

Every hope I have ever had has been betrayed. By family, by fools, by bloody awful fortune. Alliser turned left and went down the stairs. I was to be Master-at-Arms at the Brambles, but Ouen chose that damned Tyroshi. We were to crush the traitors but at each step we were cut down by our own leadership. Exhaustion swept over him, and he leaned against the wall. Merryweather… Staunton… Blasted Velaryon… And Chelsted, Chelsted was the worst of all. A savage smile covered his face. I care not what men say… the only shame in you burning him was that you couldn't do it twice. Oh, my king, you had been stabbed in the back many times before that Lannister brat did it. That was only the one that finally killed you...

Alliser shook his head. Sometimes, it was almost like he was in some horrible dream. King Aerys, dead. Prince Rhaegar, dead. Robert, the blasted traitor who'd started it all, dead. And what was left? A brother that no one of note had really known who now called himself king, and seemed to be getting a firmer seat on the Iron Throne by the day, and a young lad, the true heir in Highgarden, fighting a valiant fight. But so far from King's Landing…

Alliser suppressed a yawn. I need to sleep. I have gone without it for so long. I have gone without many things. His stomach grumbled. And food. Food first. He turned and made his way to Castle Darry's kitchens. "Here you go, old timer," came a voice as he finally reached them. Opening the door, he saw Curgen Crabb was carefully spooning broth into Lord Filodor Darry's mouth. The large man watched the lord swallow. "All going down well?" asked Curgen, in tones of surprising tenderness. Lord Darry managed a motion of his head that seemed close to a nod.

Alliser smiled despite himself as he took a seat. "I'd not imagined you as a nursemaid, Curgen," he noted.

"We've experience," came a voice from the corner. Alliser turned to see Luthor sitting there, stirring some stew. "Our grandfather had such a fit, when we were lads. We cared for him, and made his last days easy as we could." Luthor peered at Alliser. "How is…?"

"Lord Jon is dead," said Alliser.

Luthor winced at that, and Curgen gave a frustrated growl. Alliser thought he even saw Lord Darry flinch. Connington had spoken of him, before his health had started to fail, had said that Darry was allied with loyalists who were simply waiting for their chance to rise against the Stags. But when they arrived there, with the ailing Lord Jon, they found that the old man had had a stroke and Ser Raymun now ran Castle Darry. He seemed less certain of the cause.

Still, he has not turned us away. Alliser looked about for a bowl.

"I knew he was done for when I saw that wound," snarled Curgen. "Damned crannogmen!"

"At least he died in a warm bed, among friends," noted Luthor softly. He glanced Alliser up and down. "Gods help us, Ser Alliser, we need to get some food into you."

"I can see to myself," noted Alliser testily.

"As far as I see," replied Luthor, putting a bowl filled with some strange slop before him, "you see to everyone but yourself, Ser." The younger Crabb brother smiled. "Well, let me return the favor."

Alliser peered at the bowl's contents. "What is this?"

"Barley and turnip stew," said Luthor. "Also, a bit of chicken for the broth."

"Smallfolk food," snarled Alliser as he looked at it.

"Food," said Curgen bluntly. "It will fill the belly of who eats it, be they prince, lord, or serving man. Eat it. You may have to eat worse, before this is through."

Alliser grumbled to himself and ate a spoonful. He had to admit that it was filling and settled his stomach. Then again, just about anything would now, he thought, shovelling it into his mouth. Even mud.

"So," said Luthor quietly, "any thought about what we do now?"

"Finish eating," replied Alliser. "Then sleep."

Curgen actually chuckled at that, and even Luthor cracked a smile. "You deserve both, Ser," said Luthor. "But we do need to plan. We can't stay here."

Alliser nodded at that. "So where would you have us go?"

Luthor shrugged his massive shoulders. "To Highgarden? To Dorne? Across the Narrow Sea?" He fixed Alliser with his gaze. "The world is wide, ser. This place is not. It is small and cramped, and we may be trapped in it."

"Ser Raymun will not betray us," muttered Alliser.

"Ser Raymun is not the only one to worry about," said Luthor quietly. "There are servants here, ser. Men… and women, who might not be so loyal to their lord and the causes he backs." He leaned forward, and raised one eyebrow. "They must be considered, ser."

Alliser took a deep breath. "I… you are right. But… what may we do? All these places you'd have us go take coin to reach, and we've none of that…"

Luthor chuckled. "Oh, I wouldn't say that. Get Curgen and I to Crackclaw Point and our kin will see that we've enough to make it across the water. Like as not, they'll be happy to be rid of us." Curgen gave his own chuckle at that, still watching Lord Darry swallow his food. Luthor spread his hand. "But yes, we're desperate characters, make no bones about it."

Alliser took another swallow of stew, and considered this rather grim outlook. As the latest spoonful of barley and broth went down his throat, he heard footsteps enter. His eyes darted to the entryway on reflex, to see Sers Jaermy Rykker, and Jarman Buckwell looking at him sympathetically. "We heard of Lord Connington's… passing," said Rykker softly. "We wished…"

"He was a good man," stated Jarman.

"And he has gone to a deserved reward," mumbled Alliser. "He is with the Seven. Same as Prince Rhaegar." He considered things. "And King Aerys too, mostlike."

There was an awkward silence around the room. Luthor Crabb managed a laugh. "Connington and the Prince I'll place with the Seven without a doubt, but old Aerys…" He sighed. "Well, that calls on a lot of divine mercy." Jarman and Jaermy both chuckled at that, while Curgen merely smiled.

"You mock an anointed king," snapped Alliser. "A king I served!"

Luthor looked at him levelly. "We served same as you, Ser Alliser, through the Battle of the Bells, the Trident, and the Sack. A king may be anointed, and still be a bad man," he replied. "He is still your king, and you still owe him your service."

Curgen gave a sharp nod. "And he most definitely does not deserve to be gutted from behind by one who's sworn an oath to him."

Luthor sighed. "Aye. Dark days. Dark deeds." He sadly shook his head. "That we've lived to see 'em, brother."

" 'Tis better than the other option," noted Curgen.

Jarman glanced at Alliser. "Ser… what are we to do now?"

Alliser glanced at the younger knight. "Well, in my case, I will finish my meal, Ser Jarman." He frowned. For all they were comrades in arms, Jarman and Jaermy were younger, softer men. And far too fond of each other, he thought to himself.

Buckwell leaned forward.. "You know that…"

"Let me finish my meal," muttered Alliser, taking another spoonful of stew. His eyes felt heavy all at once, and he let out a yawn.

"A meal, and then perhaps some sleep," said Luthor softly. Ser Alliser growled at that, and then yawned again. He shook his head and then…

He did not remember what happened next. All he knew was he was at the gates of King's Landing, watching a great host go off. Prince Rhaegar was leading them, and with him were Prince Lewyn and Ser Jonothor. And then as Ser Alliser watched, King Aerys rode up and joined his son… not the sad figure he'd been in later years, but the man who Alliser remembered from his childhood, handsome and dashing, every inch a king. He reached his son's side and took him gently by the arm, and smiled. And then, then came Jon Connington.

They were riding on, and he, he was stuck here, at the walls.

And then he awoke. He was in a strange soft bed, and it took him a while to realize that what he recalled about seeing Aerys and Rhaegar and Lord Jon was a dream. In the background, he heard a deep voice singing, accompanied by some stringed instrument. " 'Oh, come, oh, come,' Dame Margaery says, "Stay the night with me. I've good food, strong ale, sweet Young Darry, and the fire's bright!'. 'I must away,' Young Darry says, 'I'll not stay at your hall. For my new bride is fairer than you, and she waits my call'."

Ser Alliser felt as if he were bound, and a heavy weight was upon his chest. He could barely move, and words would not come to his mouth. The vague thought that somehow the singer was ensorcelling him occurred to him, and was discarded as nonsense. The singer kept on with his song. "He leaned over, upon his steed, to give a kiss or two. Dame Margaery drew her dagger sharp, and ran him through and through. They took him by his lily-white hands, they took him by his feet. They tossed him in Castle Cave Well, twenty fathoms deep. 'Lie there, lie there, Young Darry, lie there till you are bones, while that bride fairer than me awaits your coming home…"

Alliser found he could at last take a deep breath. He tried to speak. "Hello," he said faintly. "Who is there? Hello…?"

"Ahh, good," came the rumbling voice of the singer. "You are up." He heard the man rise and come to the bed. Alliser realized he was looking at the hulking form of Luthor Crabb, holding a small woodharp in his hand as if it was a toy. "Was a bit worried." Luthor's gaze fell to the harp, which he shifted behind his back.

"How long did I sleep?" murmured Alliser.

Luthor smiled gently "Near a day," he said.

Alliser frowned. "You should have woke me."

"You had need," replied Luthor.

"I have strength." Alliser rose from the bed.

"My grandfather was a mountain of a man," said Luthor. He frowned. "He could lift himself and the horse he rode on using naught but a tree branch and the strength of his arms. Then one day, he could not rise from his bed. Or speak, for that matter. Curgen and I cared for him for the next year, till the Stranger came." He leaned forward. "Strength fails us all in the end, Ser. It's one of the few things I'd call certain in this tricksy world we dwell in."

Ser Alliser sighed. "Did I humiliate myself so badly then?"

"No," replied Luthor. "You became somewhat incoherent, and were clearly dead on your feet. So Curgen and I brought you here." The man shrugged his broad shoulders. "And you slept." He peered at Alliser pointedly. "Would ye care for a bath, Ser? I wish I could put it kinder, but the truth is, you've a vile stench about you."

Alliser sniffed, and had to keep down his bile. "It… it can keep," he muttered.

"Ser Raymun has news for you," said Luthor flatly. "It would do you well to not smell like a stable with corpses in it when you meet."

Ser Alliser couldn't help but chuckle at that. "By the sound of it, you've some experience of those."

"I do," noted Luthor. "We've led interesting lives, Curgen and me." He gave a massive shrug. "I'll have them draw the bath for you, Ser. As I said, Ser Raymun has news."

"He wants us gone," said Alliser grimly.

"Mmmm, he will tell you it," said Luthor. "It is his. But yes, we will leave this place soon enow."

Ser Alliser grimaced to himself. "Very well then. Have them ready the bath. I will… talk to him." Luthor gave a rough bow, and headed out, taking, Alliser noted, the harp with him.

The bath came not that long thereafter. Alliser disrobed as soon as the servants were out, and plunged quickly into the water. It smelled of flowers, and other sweet scents. Alliser scowled to himself, and scrubbed quickly. A man should not smell of sweet things to his mind, but earthy. In truth, for all that he had a duty as a knight to clean himself, Alliser had always felt a vague sense of shame when he bathed, even as a small child. Still, it is not duty if it is always pleasant.

He got out as soon as he could, and saw then the servants had left him a change of clothes. He put them on, and could not help but think they seemed far too fine and soft for his liking. They will serve, he reminded himself, and left the chamber. Luthor was waiting for him outside, which startled him, until he realized that he had no idea where Ser Raymun was. Or where in Castle Darry he was, for that matter.

Luthor grinned broadly at him. "Well, you look greatly improved, Ser. A man, and not a corpse a'walkin'."

Alliser snorted at that. "Corpses do not walk."

"I would not be so sure of that," said Luthor. "I hear tales."

"Like…" Alliser paused at that, almost unsure of what to say next. "That song you were singing when I awoke…"

Luthor blushed almost like a maid at that. "Ahh, you heard. Was not sure, Ser." He coughed. " 'Tis but the habit of an idle mind, if you must know."

Alliser managed a nod. "You sing… well, it struck me. Surprisingly so." Alliser felt he'd misstepped there and spoke quickly. "The song…"

"An old thing, from Crackclaw Point," said Luthor. "Ill-omened to sing now, perhaps, but being here, it sprang to my mind." He laughed. "And no, I know not why a young man of the Darrys would be in the Point. Like as not, because it fits the meter."

"How… how does the song end?" asked Alliser.

Luthor did another of his epic shrugs. "Sometimes, where I ended it - Lady Cave kills Young Darry and has his body thrown in the well. In others, she is found out by means of a boy, or a bird, or a bone, depending on the song. Whatever happens in those, she's burnt for her crime." The man shook his head. "You may have it either way, as it please you. I'm sure both things have happened, on occasion. As I said, it is a tricksy world."

They'd reached a hall, and Alliser saw that they'd gathered here, all his fellows, and Ser Raymun. They have waited for me, he thought, and felt ashamed.

"Ser Alliser," said the young heir to Darry with a smile. "It is good to see you well again."

"I have rested," said Alliser with a nod, "and can soon… soon be on my way from here, with my fellows, if that is what you wish…"

Ser Raymun nodded. "It is," he said. "If you take some of my retainers with you, alongside myself."

Alliser blinked at that, despite himself. "Ser… what… Your father…"

"I have given order to my steward," said Ser Raymun, "so that my father will be cared for. I will not use his infirmity as a thing to shield me from my duty. We ride together, on the morrow, for Rollingford."

"Rollingford?" muttered Alliser. "Why do we go there?"

Ser Raymun smiled at that. "Why, to attend a wedding, Ser Alliser."

 

[King of Discord]

Derry

Click to shrink...

It's Darry not Derry

"I have given order to my steward," said Ser Raymun, "so that my father will be cared for. I will not use his infirmity as a thing to shield me from my duty. We ride together, on the morrow, for Rollingford."

"Rollingford?" muttered Alliser. "Why do we go there?"

Ser Raymun smiled at that. "Why, to attend a wedding, Ser Alliser."

Click to shrink...

Isn't that the wedding that Frey and Shawney are suppose to be attending?

 

[Space Oddity]

It's Darry not Derry

Click to shrink...

Much obliged.

Isn't that the wedding that Frey and Shawney are suppose to be attending?

Click to shrink...

Hmmm. I believe you're right. Funny that.

 

[bookwyrm]

Huh either this is the start of something like a Brotherhood Without Banners against the Baratheon regime and the wartime toil and strife placed on the Crownlands and Riverlands, or there's going to be some sort of devil of a deal with Black Walder and some solid celebration-disguised plotting much as poor "John the Fiddler's" ignominiously ended Blackfyre tourney scheme.

 

[Space Oddity]

THE OLD FALCON

"Guildhall wishes to know if they may have the Prentices' Matches at Fishmonger's Square," declared Petyr, following at Jon's heels, a handful of letters and scrolls nestled in his arms.

The Hand gave a sigh as he considered that. It will like as do no harm, and now that Stannis has granted them their little army, well, it would be wise to keep them merry. "Send them the Throne's assent," said Jon, "but bid them try and keep the King's Peace."

"The usual formalities?," asked Petyr.

"I see no reason for anything more elaborate," replied Jon. Baelish nodded, and then headed off to write the letter that would give the Guildsmen permission to watch their prentices wail on each other with sticks. Such affairs could be unruly, he knew from experience - there'd been a near riot at the one held at the end of the War of the Ninepenny Kings, and he heard of incidents in Gulltown when its Guildhall held similar games near every year. But the guilds adored them, and the guildsmen were not to be trifled with, even in normal circumstances. And in this present disturbance, with all that has happened, and all that has been given…

Guildhall had asked to be allowed to keep men at arms to help keep the city's peace, and Stannis… Stannis had granted it. They'd asked other things, and those… were under consideration. But the Guilds' militia was here, marching around the streets of King's Landing, hefting around pikes and wearing steel caps. They'd even sent across the water for some Myrish crossbowmen, paid for by the Guilds' own coin. Fools and their money, I suppose. It struck him as… bothersome, to put it mildly. but it was freeing up soldiers for Stannis' planned push into the Reach, and the guildsmen were keeping themselves in order. Who knows, if it works, it will be a gamble that paid off.

Jon sighed to himself, and continued on his way. Another Small Council meeting, the first with his replacement as Master of the Great Seal. Septon Balerion had been installing himself in the Red Keep over the last few weeks, a steady flow of acolytes from the Great Sept bringing him books, scrolls, maps, and other things, many of which Jon could not make heads nor tails of. Still, as baffling as it all was, the removal of the burden of his Great Seal duties was quite welcome. Indeed, the Most Devout was cheerily taking them all on, and had indicated he had some important news for this meeting.

While apparently forgetting that the meeting was to be held today. Which was why Jon Arryn was now heading to the man's apartments to remind him. As he reached them, he passed a few Sept acolytes, who stared at him nervously as he approached. One stepped in front of the door to Balerion's chambers. "Lord Hand," he began, nervously, "Septon Balerion is hard at work…"

"So am I," said Jon calmly. "Step out of my way, lad." The young man did so, and Jon Arryn opened the chamber doors and stepped in. After the endless deliveries, Jon had expected the septon's rooms to be a riot of papers and old tomes. Instead they were shockingly neat and well-organized. It took a moment to find Balerion, but the old Septon was in a corner, looking intently at some small brazier that he had placed before him on a desk.

"Septon," began Jon. "It…"

"I know," said Balerion, still peering ahead, "it is time for the meeting or will be soon. But I started this, thinking I would put it aside in time, and instead found myself producing results such as I seldom have…" He passed his hand quickly over the brazier.

Jon blinked at this, and found himself walking ahead, trying to get a look at whatever it was that so fascinated the septon. He saw that a small fire was lit in the brazier… a small fire, burning blue. As he looked closer, it seemed to him that the flame had the shape of a maiden, dancing. As Balerion passed his hand over it, the flame moved along with it, whirling and spinning not like a fire, but like a thing alive. The septon nodded and then suddenly tossed a handful of powder on to the flame. It burned purple briefly, then vanished. Balerion clicked his tongue. "Well, that went far better than I'd hoped." He picked up several large large scrolls, and turned to Jon. "Come, let us head to the Council."

Jon managed a nod. The pair swiftly left the room and made their way to the hall outside. They were halfway to the Small Council chamber when Jon managed to speak. "Septon Balerion, what… what was that?"

"In the brazier, Lord Arryn?" asked Balerion, a smile appearing on his strangely youthful face. "A conjurer's trick. They perform it on the streets of half the Free Cities, and places further east. I've simply been trying to understand the essentials."

Jon gulped. "It… did not look like a conjurer's trick."

"It's a poor conjurer's trick that does," replied Balerion glibly. He chuckled. "Come now, my Lord Hand. Surely something so small and slight has not unnerved you."

"You seem… to have an odd attitude on this matter for a septon," noted Jon.

"And why is that?" asked Balerion, still smiling, his deep blue eyes merry. "Because my faith in the Seven is not diminished by the sight of a fire burning in a dish, Lord Arryn?"

Jon took a deep breath, and decided that it was best to let the matter lie. He glanced again the Most Devout. It was odd. He had known Velaryons and Targaryens for years, and repeated the phrase 'the blood of Old Valyria', but it had never felt more than a courtesy to him, save perhaps for Rhaegar. But this old man… You feel it with him, that you look at one who traces his line back to wizards and dragonlords.

"I understand that some of the sellsail captains will be at the meeting," noted Balerion.

"His Grace wishes to pursue operations in the Stepstones," replied Jon. "In preparations for a move against Dorne, and the Ironmen."

Balerion clicked his tongue. "Prickly business, that. Very… prickly. Especially in the present circumstances." Jon waited for an explanation, but got none. He decided he'd most likely get it at the meeting. If one thing was true of the new Keeper of the Great Seal, it was that he delighted in mystification.

"Can they be trusted?" asked Balerion. "The sellsails?"

Jon considered that. "As much as sellsails can. They're a bunch of brigands, mercenaries and foreigners, but… they'd not deny it, and they've shown a strange loyalty to the cause. Or our coin, I suppose."

Balerion nodded. "Good," he said simply and then was silent. They went on in silence to the Small Council.

The room was in a small tumult when he entered. "...doubt the Hand and the Keeper will be here soon," Lord Seaworth declared to his captains.

"And here they are," noted Lord Chelsted, seated at the Small Table, clad in a shimmering blue robe with scarlet and orange frogs upon it. Jon Arryn turned to regard the captains, when a little white dog rushed forward. One of the captains, a young Pentoshi with bright blonde hair, a bit of which stuck up, came forward and grabbed it.

"No, Soni, no! Leave these gentleman alone." he muttered, and then gave the septon and Lord Arryn an apologetic nod as he tried to restrain the beast. "Sorry, Lord Hand. She's excitable."

"Ten thousand thunders!" shouted Captain Aelgleo as he darted forward. The black-bearded Myrishman placed a burly arm over the little Pentoshi's shoulder. "Don't mind little Gidrio, Lord Arryn. He's a good lad, and a ready first." The Myrisman gave a shrug. "Just rather fond of that dog."

"She gets nervous when I'm not with her," muttered the young Pentoshi.

Aelgleo rolled his eyes at that. "Of course she does," he stated.

Jon and Septon Balerion made their way to their seats. "Well, so long as your dog behaves itself," said Jon, "I have no issue with it being here."

"Oh, she'll be good as gold," said the Pentoshi, as the dog licked his cheek.

"By the Stone Cow of Faros, if I got the affection from a woman you get from that dog, Gidrio Gidryso, I'd be a lucky man," chuckled Aelgleo.

Jon Arryn glanced over the little crowd of sellsails. Most were not as charming as the Myrishman and his young second-in-command. The glowering Summer Island woman that Aelgleo called the Blue Lotus looked positively dangerous, as did the dusky-skinned man who swore he was called Captain Daorys. The pair were presently chatting with Salladhor Saan as always flamboyant in his elegance, the Lyseni laughing pleasantly as if he were at a pleasant feast. A brigand, pretending to be a prince, thought Jon to himself. His Braavosi counterpart, Commodore Narro Prestayn was dressed about as elegantly Salladhor, but with a great deal more restraint. He was in quiet conversation with Captain Flint, an exiled Northerner who'd somehow wound up a ship's captain. Jon didn't know his story, and doubted the man would tell him it.

These are who we must count on, thought Jon with a shake of his head as he took his seat next to Stannis. "My apologies for the wait, Your Grace," he said to the king, noting that Lord-Commander Brynden and Ser Lomas were seated on Stannis' opposite side, as was Pycelle for that matter, though quite a ways away. Lords Chelsted and Seaworth were on Jon's right, while Septon Balerion had taken the opposite end of the table, and was presently having young Gidrio assist him in putting his scrolls on the table.

Stannis managed a nod. "It is no problem, Lord Arryn." He glanced out over the crowd. "It has given me time to sound out the Master of Ships' sellsails on my plans." A slight frown appeared. "They are… hesitant."

Commodore Prestayn gave an apologetic shrug. "The Stepstones are difficult in times of peace, Your Grace. With Lys and Tyrosh now at war… any move on our part to set up bases there could be taken as a threat."

"Lord Arryn and I have fought in the Stepstones," noted Ser Brynden. "We know just how much a threat Tyrosh and Lys are."

"Exceptional circumstances," said Balerion, fiddling with a scroll. "Tyrosh was an ally of Maelys' Kingdom of the Stepstones, and Lys was forced into neutrality thanks to the threat of the combined fleets of the Saans and the Old Mother. And so we had the known opposition of one, and the tacit support of the other. Now…" He sighed. "It is murkier."

Stannis regarded the Most Devout with a piercing gaze. "Then dispel the murk, septon. I had hoped you would do so when you took up your position."

"I will try," said Balerion. He cleared his throat. "Firstly, some of my recent actions as Keeper of the Great Seal. I have made arrangements with several Free Companies. The Ragged Standard, the Iron Shields and the Long Lances have all agreed to take up service with us, while the Free Company, the Men of Valor, and the Jolly Fellows are interested."

Jon Arryn started at that, while Brynden Tully did more than that. "The Jolly Fellows?" he snapped. "That bunch of scum?"

Septon Balerion nodded. "They are one of the few companies who fight both at sea and on land. Indeed, they boast of it."

"They fought us on both," noted Jon. "When Maelys Blackfyre was calling himself a king."

"It's a bit a late to declare we will have nothing to do with those that served with the Ninepenny Kings," noted Balerion, "when Samarro Saan's nephew is standing in the hall." Every eye went to Salladhor Saan, who gave a cheerful shrug.

"Is this true?" asked Ser Lomas.

Salladhor laughed. "Of course, it is. I was serving on his ship as a lookout throughout the war, and had my first taste of battle." He smiled at them. "I bear no grudges, and I hope this is true of you as well."

Stannis nodded at this. "You've given me loyal service, Salladhor, I'll not deny it." He frowned. "Still, I am not certain Nine Eyes' band will do likewise."

"They have not been Nine Eyes' band for some time," noted Balerion. "He died not that long after the War. He got a ransom for Lord Redwyne in Arbor Gold, drank half of it, and died raving. A lesson for us all on the virtue of temperance." "The present captain is one Blood, who is a great deal more amiable than his name suggests, with a formidable reputation. He would do well for us, if hired."

"I'd rather not hire them at all," said Brynden. "Sellswords are unreliable."

"And expensive," noted Lord Chelsted.

"To lose the war would be the most expensive thing of all," stated Septon Balerion. "Highgarden is hiring Free Companies–each we bring over is less for them. The Second Sons and the Maiden's Men have already answered the call, and the Red Viper is enquiring in other old friends of his from his days in Essos… the Seven Songs, the Gallant Men, the Society of the Large Knife…"

Narro Prestayn winced. "By the Many-Faced, did Oberyn Martell seek out connections with the worst and maddest sellswords in Essos?"

"Apparently," replied Balerion, unfolding one of his scrolls. "However, all this is a small portion of what I wish to speak of. This latest Tyrosh-Lys War happens in circumstances that will likely make it far more dangerous than most of its predecessors." He put the scroll flat on the Small Table. "This is a map of Essos as it stood at the start of this war. It is reasonably accurate, or rather, was. Things have changed greatly."

Looking at the map, Jon was surprised at how elaborately painted and detailed it was. And judging from the reactions of others, he was not alone in this surprise. The septon placed a finger on a drawing of a group of men on horseback holding bows. "Now, somewhere around here lies Vaes Dothrak, the sole city of the Dothraki. Or more exactly, that's where it lay. It is presently, by most accounts, a smoldering ruin, and with it what pretense of unity the Dothraki had. They are now disrupting trade routes on the plains, and fighting with each other. In some locations, massive hordes are forming, their purposes mysterious. Khal Drogo, son of Khal Bharbo, has taken a vast number here…" The finger traced over to a lake that lay amidst the Free Cities.

"Dagger Lake," muttered Lord Chelsted. "The Old Blood won't like that."

Lord Seaworth nodded quietly. "And Khal Bharbo's son…" He shook his head. "There are dozens… maybe hundreds of Dothraki bands. Of them, there are perhaps ten or so you hear about in the Free Cities. Bharbo was one of them."

Prestayn nodded. "A dangerous man. If his son has the skill to not only keep what his father left him intact but to add to it in a time of crisis…" He shook his head.

"That is precisely what they are thinking in the rest of the Free Cities," noted Balerion. "Already bribes are being sent to Dagger Lake, Qohor and Norvos have reaffirmed the Ancient Bond with especial fervence, Pentos has requested permission to occupy certain old fortresses from Braavos, and Myr…" Balerion sighed. "Well, that is the important matter, and it ties into the war between Lys and Tyrosh."

The Most Devout tapped his finger onto the city. "The Skilled Daughter of Valyria, they call her. Not so fair as her Perfumed sister, not so fierce as her Armored one. The most vulnerable to attack on land, save Pentos, and Pentos is richer, and has built larger and stronger walls." An ironic smile came to Balerion's face. "Often by Myrish builders. For that is the Skilled Daughter's problem. Myr keeps getting pulled into war over the Disputed Lands and so its Myrish lenses, its Myrish lace, its Myrish artisans, it pays for that. And as this huge horde of Dothraki gather, their purpose a mystery, Myr asks herself, 'What can I do to be safe?' And she looks to the Armored Sister. In the past, she has often played Tyrosh and Lys against each other, but now… now she must make a more settled decision."

Balerion looked up at the Small Council and sellsail captains gravely. "Myr and Tyrosh have aligned. Tyroshi free companies already head to Myr to keep it safe, while Myr's fleets have added their strength to those of Tyrosh. Lys stands alone. And this time, Myr is unlikely to abandon Tyrosh for a bribe, or a settlement. And things grow graver…" Balerion's finger traced over the map to a city Jon Arryn knew well. "Tyrosh has reached out to Volantis for aid, earlier when the petty disputes between her and Lys were boiling. Such happens, and it rarely goes anywhere. The Elephants rule the city and they know their profit is in peace. War is costly, and bears much risk. Ahh, but now Lys is isolated, facing two foes. An easy target, and where there is ease, there is temptation…" Balerion shrugged. "And so it seems more and more likely they will send an allied squadron of ships, as a sop to the Tigers, and a chance for easy plunder. Lys grows more alone."

Salladhor Saan frowned at that. "It is only one more squadron," he said. "Lys can withstand that."

"Alas, there is more," said Balerion. "Where one scavenger alights, others follow." His finger moved on the map again. "Pentos has secretly aligned with Lys and Myr."

Pycelle's eyes blinked at that. "That is not much. Pentos may only keep twenty warships," the Grand Maester noted, then glanced apologetically at Stannis, who motioned for him to continue. "And those warships stay close to their home port, to protect against pirates."

"Very true, Grand Maester," agreed Balerion with a nod. "They also are forbidden to keep slaves, and swear they do so. Many servants are… indentured." The old septon scowled. "Just so with its fleet. Twenty warships stay in the waters of Pentos, paid for by the Council of Magisters. Merchant ships come and go, and some go to Tyrosh, unload their cargoes, buy weapons and go to work as sellsails for a while."

Narro gave a bitter nod at that. "I've often told Father that it will take one more war to finally settle things between Pentos and the Titan." Gidrio's eyes went wide, and he took a step away from the Braavosi, petting his little dog as it quietly snarled.

Balerion raised one silvery eyebrow. "Let us focus on the war that is being fought now, before starting another one." He glanced at the crowd. "In this case, these Pentosi sellsails are being hired by Tyrosh and Myr at an exceptional bargain."

There were nervous glances all around the table at this, especially among the sellsails. Salladhor took a deep breath. "And what does my home plan to do about this?" he asked quietly.

"The Council of Lys debates, and discusses," said Balerion. "A motion passed to name Drandeo Rogare gonfalonier."

Salladhor peered at the Most Devout. "And what did the old rascal say to that?"

"That he'd only accept if he was given absolute authority over the fleets and armies, and could serve with no threat of replacement for four years or the duration of the war, whichever came first," said Balerion flatly.

Salladhor laughed at that. "Ahh, yes, that sounds like Drandeo. The Council refused, yes?"

Balerion nodded. "Indeed. They've named Medero Ofans to the position instead, largely based on the fact that he offends no faction."

"Of course they have," muttered Salladhor, with a shake of his head. "I've often said that half the Council needs to be whipped, the other half beheaded, before Lys could get any semblance of good government."

"And one wonders why they so often do not get along with your family, Lord Saan," said Narro Prestayn.

"Indeed," agreed Salladhor with a nod. "We are their sword and their shield, when they ask it of us, but so often what we receive in return is suspicion and hatred, until they once again need us." Jon Arryn felt an urge to speak of all the piracy they committed against their home, as well as the times when they had carved out kingdoms for themselves in the Stepstones and Basilisk Isles on Lys' coin, but decided against it.

Stannis was eyeing his new Keeper of the Great Seal with interest. "And so what do you suggest, Septon Balerion? What are we to do about this war against Lys?"

"I would suggest we ally with them, Your Grace," said Balerion. "This would give us an entry into the Stepstones, and likely cause Tyrosh's more opportunistic allies to… reconsider things."

Pycelle coughed politely, and glanced at Stannis. The king gave another curt nod after a moment. Pycelle stood and began to sagely stroke his beard. "Septon Balerion, while I understand the purpose of your idea, is it not… dangerous? By allying with Lys in this situation, we risk offending not only Tyrosh and Myr, but also Volantis and Pentos." The Grand Maester's mouth formed into an unctuous smile. "That, you must admit, would be perhaps too great a challenge for even these Seven Kingdoms, especially in the present circumstances."

"There is a risk," agreed Balerion. "But there is arguably a greater risk in allowing Lys to be ravaged. Once the Free Cities regain their taste for unrelenting bloodshed, it may take them a while to lose it again." He sighed. "I fear we are on the verge of a second Century of Blood. We are unlike to stop it, but we might delay it or at least keep it out of the Narrow Sea."

There was utter silence around the table. "A new Century of Blood," muttered Prestayn at last. "That… Men say such things, but… it cannot be true. Idle talk."

"Alas no," said Septon Balerion, his face drawn. "For three centuries, Essos has been stable, more or less. It has not been a pleasant stability, it has not been a stability free of strife and conflict, but it has been stability. The Dothraki were an important part of that stability. But now all is changed. They do not act as they used to. A young leader arrives leading the greatest horde seen since the death of Khal Moro, son of Mengo. He deposits it on the collective doorstep of the Free Cities." Balerion shook his head. "No, the world changes now, and quickly. And when that happens… blood will be shed. One can only hope it will not be much blood. And that is likely a futile, foolish hope."

"So," stated Rys Chelsted, "we reach out to Lys, and offer them our aid…"

"I wish it were that simple," said Balerion. "Lys is proud. She will not accept charity. She must ask, must play the proud suitor, must be allowed the illusion she is doing us a favor."

Lord Chelsted sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "So what you are saying is that we must find a way to make the Lyseni ask us to help them, or they shall have a snit, no matter how bad a place that places them?"

"Correct," said the septon.

Chelsted groaned and rested his head on the table. "Gods, and I thought I had enough of this with my goodfamily."

Jon raised an eyebrow. "The Keeper of the Great Seal will admit he is proposing a… difficult course of action."

"It is not without its challenges," said Balerion, smiling slightly.

"I may know of a way to bring your suggestion to the Council of Lys," said Salladhor Saan.

Jon noted that Prestayn smiled at this, while Septon Balerion merely politely turned his head. "Indeed?" asked the Most Devout.

"Oh, yes," said the Lysene pirate with an enigmatic smile. "I know a certain Lysene nobleman, of very exalted rank. He is not always popular in Lys, but when he comes to the Council to speak, they must listen, will they or no. That right he claims by blood, by tradition, and by the power of his arms, and the arms of those who he can call to support him." He took a deep breath. "The Master of the Last Lonely House, he is called."

Septon Balerion raised an eyebrow. "Goodness me. Now that is a name to conjure with. And… the Master can be persuaded to talk for the Iron Throne?"

"I would not say he could be if this were not so," said the Lyseni, his face hard and stony for once. "But it is not merely his choice. If he wishes to speak in this manner, he speaks for his whole house, and his house must agree to let him do so."

"Seems odd to call him 'master' then," noted Brynden Tully.

"It is the way of Valyria," said Salladhor, harshly, "and it was followed there when your Seven Kingdoms were a hundred petty ones, always at war."

"And what will it take for your Lysene Master to do this, by the ways of Valyria?" asked Ser Lomas, face grim.

"He will need to speak to his house," replied Salladhor. "Many will have requests. Others will have objections. The house will weigh them, and the Master will help them do so. When all has been weighed, the house shall decide, and then, if they decide in your favor, the Master can speak."

Stannis leaned forward at this. "Salladhor Saan, I am tired of bandying words. Can you guarantee this man you speak of will take our part?"

The pirate took a deep breath. "Certainly, Your Grace," he said, with a strange dignity, "for I am he. I, Salladhor Saan, Prince of the Narrow Sea, Master of the Last Lonely House, Heir to the Glory, Keeper of the Flame, Sovereign of the Waters, First and Last of the First and Last House of the Glorious Freehold of Valyria offer to take your case to the Illustrious, Magnificent and Unequaled House of Saan, at the head of which I stand."

 

[bookwyrm]

Ah, and there's the reason the Saans always turn up again and again and the dynasty is collectively harder to stamp out than a cockroach. For all Lys boosts of the Valyrian look she has bred into her pleasure dens and temples to the love goddess, for all the Old Blood back in Volantis preserves itself as a hermitically sealed incestuous clan of Valyrian first families, there is but one living breathing line of continuity back to the actual dragon-riding Lord Freeholders of the fallen Freehold of old (other than the Targaryens across the sea) and that is the princes of Saan. For all that the Lyseni hate the Saans as tyrannical would-be kings, they are Lysene kings, and too precious by half to let anyone other than Lys destroy them.

 

[Space Oddity]

Ah, and there's the reason the Saans always turn up again and again and the dynasty is collectively harder to stamp out than a cockroach. For all Lys boosts of the Valyrian look she has bred into her pleasure dens and temples to the love goddess, for all the Old Blood back in Volantis preserves itself as a hermitically sealed incestuous clan of Valyrian first families, there is but one living breathing line of continuity back to the actual dragon-riding Lord Freeholders of the fallen Freehold of old (other than the Targaryens across the sea) and that is the princes of Saan. For all that the Lyseni hate the Saans as tyrannical would-be kings, they are Lysene kings, and too precious by half to let anyone other than Lys destroy them.

Click to shrink...

The Saans would never name themselves kings of Lys. It's a Free City. It got a charter from Valyria. Oh, they'll name themselves kings of plenty of other places as the mood suits them, but Lys is special.

(I should add that for plenty of ranking heads of House Saan, the final use of their guaranteed audience with the Council has been 'Remove these chains in which you have placed me, and return to me my freedom!' to which the Council has replied with a hearty 'Nope'. But they still give them that audience.)

 

[Nyvis]

Extending your own war into a world war is a bold move. Let's see if it pays off.

 

[Estro]

Oh dear, this is going to become incredibly complex once the Dothraki don't actually stay out of the affairs. Dammit, Stannis, I want you to be a better king but without the long summer of peace, it's not going to be a favourable comparison.

 

[SneakyWalrus]

Oh dear, this is going to become incredibly complex once the Dothraki don't actually stay out of the affairs. Dammit, Stannis, I want you to be a better king but without the long summer of peace, it's not going to be a favourable comparison.

Click to shrink...

It's a case of keeping things together in the face of what is likely to be a century of extremely messy warfare and political backstabbing. While he excels in the former, the later he flounders, so Stannis is going to need to take steps to ensure a clear level of stability within Westeros if he wants to keep his dynasty intact and functional, alongside putting the pieces in place to back-up said dynasty.

Granted, he's already taken a number of steps to ensure that stability, via treating with the Guilds, marrying into and allying with the other major powers of the realm that aren't supporting the Targs, and working towards gathering support from overseas via mercenaries, but he still will have a way to go in order to bring it all together.

 

[Netos]

hm, I do prefer the Saans as a long-running line of upjumped pirates, this seems like a rabbit pulled from the hat to me.
But I trust you'll make it work

 

[Pempelune]

"I would suggest we ally with them, Your Grace," said Balerion. "This would give us an entry into the Stepstones, and likely cause Tyrosh's more opportunistic allies to… reconsider things."

Pycelle coughed politely, and glanced at Stannis. The king gave another curt nod after a moment. Pycelle stood and began to sagely stroke his beard. "Septon Balerion, while I understand the purpose of your idea, is it not… dangerous? By allying with Lys in this situation, we risk offending not only Tyrosh and Myr, but also Volantis and Pentos." The Grand Maester's mouth formed into an unctuous smile. "That, you must admit, would be perhaps too great a challenge for even these Seven Kingdoms, especially in the present circumstances."

"There is a risk," agreed Balerion. "But there is arguably a greater risk in allowing Lys to be ravaged. Once the Free Cities regain their taste for unrelenting bloodshed, it may take them a while to lose it again." He sighed. "I fear we are on the verge of a second Century of Blood. We are unlike to stop it, but we might delay it or at least keep it out of the Narrow Sea."

Click to shrink...

This seems like an odd course of action. Stannis would take the risk of getting into a war he is too busy to fight, and what for? If the Free Cities destroy one another, what of it? If anything it guarantees that Essosi sellswords will be too busy for Viserys to afford them.

 

[9-tsiak]

How can they lose, now that they've got Tintin and Captain Haddock on their side? I just hope the Thompson twins don't side with the Reach.

 

[bookwyrm]

The thought is to maintain the balance of power by threatening to make the war something other than "everyone ganging up on Lys" which should scare off Volantis and Pentos and reframe at least this phase of the war more into something like another tussle over the Disputed Land, constrained by the potential breakout of general war between all the local powers. With Westeros acting to guarantee Lys's security with a small tripwire and observation force, they then have the chance to move the Royal Fleet down the Stepstones to blockade the Broken Arm and Sea of Drone and fire Planky Town and the Shadow City. A seaborne invasion up the Greenblood is pretty much the only viable way to attack Dorne in their heartland, especially as the only landward route available to the Stags would be reconquering the Marches and then throwing enough bodies at the Boneway to walk over the pile to reach the walls of Castle Wyl and Yronwood. Plus they can now bottle up the Ironborn reavers and the Redwyne Fleet back on the other side of the Summer Sea and without any way to pressure King's Landing or Storm's End.

 

[Space Oddity]

This seems like an odd course of action. Stannis would take the risk of getting into a war he is too busy to fight, and what for? If the Free Cities destroy one another, what of it? If anything it guarantees that Essosi sellswords will be too busy for Viserys to afford them.

Click to shrink...

The thought is to maintain the balance of power by threatening to make the war something other than "everyone ganging up on Lys" which should scare off Volantis and Pentos and reframe at least this phase of the war more into something like another tussle over the Disputed Land, constrained by the potential breakout of general war between all the local powers. With Westeros acting to guarantee Lys's security with a small tripwire and observation force, they then have the chance to move the Royal Fleet down the Stepstones to blockade the Broken Arm and Sea of Drone and fire Planky Town and the Shadow City. A seaborne invasion up the Greenblood is pretty much the only viable way to attack Dorne in their heartland, especially as the only landward route available to the Stages would be reconquering the Marches and then throwing enough bodies at the Boneway to walk over the pile to reach the walls of Castle Wyl and Yronwood. Plus they can now bottle up the Ironborn reavers and the Redwyne Fleet back on the other side of the Summer Sea and without any way to pressure King's Landing or Storm's End.

Click to shrink...

This. If Tyrosh and its allies stomp Lys, the best outcome is "Alliance of the Three Sisters" 2.0, only with a clearly dominant power at the head of it this time, which is from Westeros' POV not ideal even in situations where they aren't fighting a war that requires them to have access to the Stepstones. And that is the best outcome because it gives the Seven Kingdoms one power to deal with, despite said power's significant advantage--it's quite likely what actually develops is an elaborate series of backstabs and betrayals that leads to escalating fighting in the Narrow Sea.

 

[bookwyrm]

Yeah I'm sure what's on everyone's mind is how the intervention of the Triarchy in the Battle of the Gullet had very nearly ended any chance of victory for the Blacks in the Dance of Dragons then and there if not for basically every dragonrider at Rhaenyra's command being flung against them. And how after the Dance in the child regency of Aegon the Rogares, as masters of a Lys that had suffered the least in the Triarchy's breakup, had very nearly solidified a Rogare oriented Westeros with the Lysene Spring.

 

[Space Oddity]

How can they lose, now that they've got Tintin and Captain Haddock on their side? I just hope the Thompson twins don't side with the Reach.

Click to shrink...

I was waiting for someone to notice that.

 

[9-tsiak]

I was waiting for someone to notice that.

Click to shrink...

It was masterfully done; doing so well at capturing the spirit of Captain Haddock's colorful imprecations in a completely different set of colloquialisms should qualify you for some sort of literary award.

 

[Temes1066]

The Two Current Kingdoms in Westeros

The King on the Iron Throne: Stannis of the House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms & Protector of the Realm.
Queen: Cersei Baratheon (nee Lannister)
Heir to the Iron Throne: Renly Baratheon (currently)

The Small Council
Hand of the King: Jon Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie and Warden of the East
Master of Laws: Ser Lomas Estermont
Commander of the Gold Cloaks: Ser Mandon Moore
Master of Coin: Aerys Chelsted, Lord of Bramsford
Master of Ships: Davos Seaworth, Lord of Driftmark
Keeper of the Great Seal: Septon Balerion of the Most Devout
Grand Maester: Pycelle

Kingsguard
Lord Commander Ser Brynden "The Blackfish" Tully
Ser Mark Ryswell
Ser Cortnay Penrose
Ser Lyn Corbray
Ser Richard Horpe
Ser Peter Plumm
Ser Harwyn Plumm

Lords Paramount

Lord of the North: Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North
Lord of the Riverlands: Hoster Tully, Lord of Riverrun
Lord of the Westerlands: Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West (Planning to marry Alysanne Whent)
Lord of the Reach: N/A (The Reach is in Rebellion)
Lord of the Stormlands: Stannis Baratheon [He is also the Lord of Storm's End, the castellan of the place is unknown]
Lord of the Vale: Jon Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie and Warden of the East
Lord of the Iron Islands: N/A (The Iron Islands are in Rebellion)
Prince of Dorne: N/A (Dorne is in Rebellion)

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The King in Highgarden: Viserys of the House Targaryen, the Third of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms
Queen: N/A (Currently none)
Princess of Dragonstone: Daenerys Targaryen

The Small Council/Regency Council
Hand of the King & Protector of the Realm: Randyll Tarly, Lord of Hornhill, Lord Protector of Brightwater Keep & [Unofficial] Warden of the West (Currently campaigning the in the Westerlands)
Master of Laws: Prince Oberyn Martell
Master of Coin: Adrian Celtigar, Lord of Claw Isle (De Jure)
Master of Ships: Paxter Redwyne, Lord of the Arbor
Admiral of the Narrow Sea: Monford Velaryon, Lord of the Tides and Master of Driftmark (De Jure)
[Unofficial] Master of Whispers: Garth "The Gross" Tyrell, Lord Seneschal of Highgarden
Grand Maester: Gormon

Kingsguard
Lord Commander: Ser Gerold "The White Bull" Hightower
Ser Barristan Selmy (Has pledged not to take up arms against the Baratheons)
Ser Arthur Dayne (Currently campaigning in the Westerlands)
Ser Oswell Whent (Currently heading north to take command of the Targaryen forces outside of Goldengrove)
Ser Garth "The Greysteel" Hightower
Ser Aron Santagar (Currently campaigning in the Westerlands)
Ser Ulwyck Uller

Lords Paramount

Lord of the North: N/A (In Rebellion)
Lord of the Riverlands: N/A (In Rebellion)
Lord of the Westerlands: N/A (In Rebellion)
Lord of the Reach: Willas Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden and Warden of the South (All Tyrell business is being handled by his grandmother and his great-uncle Garth)
Lord of the Stormlands: N/A (In Rebellion)
Lord of the Vale: N/A (In Rebellion)
King of the Iron Islands: Balon Greyjoy, King of Salt and Rock, Son of the Sea Wind & Lord Reaper of Pyke (Currently a Targaryen co-belligerent)
Prince of Dorne: Doran Martell, Prince of Dorne (Oberyn is his representative in Highgarden)

 

[Space Oddity]

GERION

His eldest brother entered Harrenhal with all the pomp of a conqueror. Lannister troops flew Lannister banners as Tywin entered riding a white stallion, wearing one of his finest sets of gold-plated armor, engraved with images of lions rampant with rubies for eyes, a gold-trimmed scarlet cloak on his back. Riding just behind Tywin, Gerion saw Kevan, and his cousin Lord Damon Marbrand, and further back Lords Jast, Banefort, Lefford, Falwell, Prester, Yarwyck and Algood, all looking as grand as they could manage. One would think this was the result of a grand campaign, Gerion thought. Instead of us simply asking for a bride, and getting her.

Shella Whent stepped forward. If this display daunted her, she did not show it. "Lord Tywin," she said, calmly, "I am honored to have you at my hall." She looked over the crowd following Tywin. "I was told my lord husband would accompany you…"

"I am here, dearest," said Walter Whent, riding forward on a dappled mare. Lord Whent was clad far more humbly than Tywin, in riding leathers and a fine shirt of yellow-and-black. He smiled kindly as he saw his wife. "And happy to be." He easily slid from his horse, and gestured for a groom to take it, then embraced his wife. The pair turned to regard Tywin. "Lord Lannister, the Knight of Harrentown grants you the freedom of it," said Walter.

"And the Lady of Harrenhal bids you welcome to her hall," said Shella with a wave of her hand.

Tywin gave a slight nod at that. "And I am grateful for your hospitality," he said, in the tone of a man reciting something from memory. He looked over the crowd. "But we have other matters to discuss."

Shella nodded at this, while Lord Walter looked pained. "Of course, Lord Tywin," said Lady Whent. "Alysanne, dear, come forward."

The girl stepped forwards, clad in a fine yellow and black samite gown. She eyed Tywin nervously. "L-lord Tywin," she said softly. "I hope that… I am pleasing in your sight."

Tywin managed a curt nod. "Things may proceed," he said.

"Excellent," said Shella. "We shall have the betrothal this very night, and the marriage…"

"As soon as possible," said Tywin, dismounting from his horse.

Walter looked startled at that. "Lord Lannister… Alysanne is… She…"

"Lord Whent," stated Tywin, handing his stallion to a Lannister groom, "I am going to war, and this has made me wish to have some certainty in this matter. How soon may I marry your daughter?"

Shella managed a smile. "I believe we can manage a wedding within a week, Lord Tywin."

Walter nodded weakly. "Yes, yes, I'll talk to Septon Colin on the… he should be ready soon." He gave a laugh that did as good a job as it could to sound genuine, then slapped his hands together. "I will get to work on the… celebrations." He coughed. "How… delightful."

"Indeed," said Hoster Tully, raising an eyebrow, and offering Tywin his hand. "We should speak, perhaps…"

"Later," stated Tywin, moving briskly past Hoster, ignoring his hand. Lord Tully's bright blue eyes glinted in the light, and Gerion wasn't sure if it was with annoyance or a sort of triumph. His smile gave nothing away, being the same pleasant affable thing that nearly always was plastered on his face.

Kevan approached the Lord of the Riverrun. "Perhaps I can be of service, Lord Hoster."

Hoster gave out a merry laugh. "Why of course, Ser Kevan. Goodness me, I always have time for you." Gerion watched the pair walk away with a growing sense of disquiet. He glanced around seeing the various lords who'd accompanied his brother were already dispersing among the crowd, chatting with old friends and acquaintances.

"Ahhh, Jayne," came a loud drunken honk of a voice. "Look at you, pretty as ever! Give your uncle a kiss, love!" Gerion turned to see Jayne Bracken awkwardly squirming away from a heavyset man with bleary eyes and unkempt brown hair. He pawed at the girl in a way that struck Gerion as overly familiar. And he did not think he was alone in this, for Barb Bracken appeared behind her sister and glared at the man.

"Nuncle Hollys," said Barbara sharply.

Hollys paused and gave a nervous gulp, then backed away from his niece. "Barb," he said nervously. "You… you look w…"

Barb gave an imperious wave of her hand. "There are some ale kegs over there. I recommend you crawl into one, nuncle, and not come out again."

Hollys fidgeted nervously. "Oh, Barb, don't be like…"

"Meself?" said Barb, her voice a whip. "Alas, I cannot help it. As I fear you cannot. Stay away from Jayne, and stay away from me, nuncle. Or there will be consequences. Sharp ones." She grinned at the man, and Gerion thought of an animal baring its teeth. "Oh, so very sharp, nuncle."

Hollys Bracken scuttled away. "So… rude. Your father will hear of this."

"No, he will not, nuncle, for you'll drink till you fall then forget," said Barbara watching him flee, cold contempt in her eyes. That was kinder than what was in Jayne's, for Gerion was certain that if looks could kill, then Holly would be not a dead man, but a scorched pile of ash.

"Th-thank you, Barb," said Jayne.

Barb glared at her sister. "Love o'me, Jayne, you act like I slew a snark." She gave a dismissive wave. "Hollys is more bark than bite. Growl loudly at him, and he scampers."

Jayne looked down at the ground. "He frights me, Barb. Because…"

"Never speak of it," spat out Barbra. "Never speak of it, never hint at it, never let it come to your mind." She placed a hand on her sister's shoulder and squeezed rather hard to Gerion's eyes. "Twas but a dream, Jayne. A bad dream. Nothing more."

Jayne sputtered, glanced at her feet, and forced out a nod. Gerion looked about for Tywin, and saw his brother approaching Tyrion. His little nephew stood, dressed in his Lannister finery, and looking desperately unhappy and out of place.

"Tyrion," said Tywin simply.

The boy looked away. "Father…" He bit his lip. "I… Genna said I should… should see Jaime off…"

Tywin did not even bother to glare or frown, he simply allowed his disapproval to emanate from himself in waves. "Hmmph. That does sound like my sister." Tywin gave a sigh. "I cannot say I approve, Tyrion."

"Lord Lannister," said Aeron Greyjoy, coming up behind Tyrion, "you should know your son… he's a clever lad, sir. Very clever and good." He reached over and lightly tousled Tyrion's hair, as if he were a beloved younger brother.

Tywin stared at the young ironman with something that wasn't even contempt. "Who are you?" he said.

"Aeron… Aeron Greyjoy," sputtered the young man, looking like a skittish animal. "One of Quellon's sons."

Tywin gave a nod. "Ahh. Your brother has raided my lands. As your father did, in his time."

"That… his father dragged him along, sir," said Aeron with a gulp. "He… he didn't want to. My grandfather died, and my father… he lost his little brother. Died in his arms…"

Tywin crossed his arms. "An interesting tale. Perhaps it is something we should consider in these present situations."

Aeron blinked at this, then blanched. "I'm… I… Balon doesn't like me very much, sir," he squeaked out.

Tywin gave a nod to this. Gerion felt an urge to say something, that was thankfully cut short by someone else saying something. "Ahh, Tyrion," said Alysanne Whent. "Speaking with your father, I see?" She clasped his nephew by the shoulders, and gave him a kiss on his forehead.

Tyrion shifted uneasily. "I… yes, Alys…"

Tywin raised an eyebrow. "You call your future mother that?"

Alysanne bit her lip. "Because I have asked him to," she said. "I do hope… Lord Tywin that… that I have not done anything…"

"It is fine," said Tywin with a sigh, and then he glanced back at his son. "I suppose it is for the best you are here, considering what has happened to the Rock…"

Tyrion gulped. "I hope aunt Genna is all right…"

"Your aunt will be fine," said Tywin flatly. "Casterly Rock has never been taken by force, and this present army will not be the one to do what greater armies have failed at."

"And it will take more than that to take on your aunt," stated Gerion. "All the devils in the Seven Hells would be hard-pressed against Genna."

Tywin glared at him, and seemed about to speak when Jayne Bracken approached them, glancing around the courtyard nervously. "P'rhaps we could go to the library?" she said quickly. "I think I found that book you were looking for, Tyrion, which we couldn't…" She seemed to suddenly notice Tywin and managed a bow. "Lord… Lannister. Apologies for…"

Tywin merely turned his glare on her. "You are… one of Lord Bracken's girls, are you not?"

She nodded. "Jayne. Yes. Jayne Bracken. That's me… I. Ser. Lord. Lord Ser."

"I considered marriage into your family," stated Tywin, ignoring her babble. "I decided against it, when certain reports about your eldest sister were made known to me."

"Good!" declared Jayne loudly, then winced. "That is to say… Lord… My Lord… I… Clearly it would have made no… It is best for all… I do not… There is no…"

Alysanne looked at her friend in growing concern. "Perhaps we should go to the library." She glanced at Tywin looking for some form of affirmation. She quickly settled for a lack of objection, and motioned for the group to go. They did so eagerly, Jayne wrapping an arm around Aeron, and Tyrion squeezing both their hands. Alysanne followed behind them, glancing back at Tywin from time to time.

Gerion watched her leave and then turned to his brother. "Such an affectionate courtship, Tywin."

"Come with me," snapped Tywin, walking briskly to an oversized hall. Gerion followed, not knowing why. Habit, I suppose. He waited for the inevitable dressing down. Tywin looked around the room, as if making certain they wouldn't be overheard, and then leaned towards him. "Are you sure that girl's had her blood?" his brother snarled.

"I've had fairly certain evidence," said Gerion, feeling filthy somehow. "Including a maester's examination."

Tywin looked away, frowning. "She's so… thin."

Gerion took a deep breath. That is what he says. Not 'young'. 'Thin'. "Dorna's about as thin, and she's given Kevan three fine sons," he said. "Now, come on, Tywin. Do you plan to spend this whole time glowering at children and making your bride-to-be hate you?" He heard the snort and knew the dressing down was now on its way. Somehow, he did not mind now.

"Gods, listen to you," muttered Tywin. "You are his son.I thought this wedding I'd at least be free of such carping, but no, it is as if Father were alive again." Tywin stepped forward, frowning, and jabbed a finger at Gerion. "Same reasons, no doubt. Wounded pride and sickening envy."

"Tywin, what…?" began Gerion, trying to make sense of what his brother was saying.

Tywin gave a nod. "Of course. I forget. You were not there. A child, playing at the Rock, with your precious wet-nurse watching over you." The way Tywin turned the mention of Nell into a curse made Gerion wish to slap him. "You weren't there for my wedding, didn't watch that fat, useless old man get into one of his moods and do what he could to spoil it for me…"

Tywin must have seen his puzzlement, because he made a bitter chuckle at his face. "Oh, of course, the darling babe doesn't know what I speak of. And why not, you were not there for most of it. All you ever knew was Father's worthless good cheer and merriment. Never the stabs and the barbs."

How long has this festered?, thought Gerion to himself. Best… best let him drain it.

"Oh, he was in a foul mood that day, angry that we'd forced him to leave his whore back at the Rock," snarled Tywin. Gerion suppressed his urge to tell him that Nell was no whore. "He was all cheer, for much of the feast, but I could see it, lurking in him, that urge to do some devilment. It was Genna's wedding all over again, save he should have been happy this time, and so it was all so much worse." His brother's voice had taken on a haunted edge that Gerion never knew it could. "He waited and waited for his chance, and then Aerys gave it to him. Aerys… well, you know how he could brag, especially when enough spirits were in him. He said he would be a king whose name echoed down history, an Aegon the Conqueror, a Daeron the Young Dragon, and Father… nodded blandly and added Aegon the Unworthy, and Maegor the Cruel to the list."

Goodness. Who knew the old man had it in him? Gerion suppressed an urge to chuckle, especially when he saw his brother's face settling into a fierce grimace. "There was total silence for a nonce, when he said that, and the old man just sat there, grinning inanely. And then Aerys laughed, praised my father's ready wit and called for another drink. Soon they were all laughing along, all the usual lot… Rykker and Velaryon and Merryweather, all thinking that Tywin's father was such an amusing sot." Tywin took a deep breath. "But I saw it in his eyes then, the gloating. They all laughed at him, and he… he laughed at them. As soon as I could, I took him from the table and I told him he was being a bitter old man. And he laughed at me. 'Of course I am bitter, son, you've kept me from my sweetness.'" Tywin shook his head. "At the blasted wedding feast, and he still wanted his whore with him. And then I told him he had made a fool of himself before my friend, the King… and then he laughed some more. Oh, long and hard did he laugh. And then he spoke. 'Tywin, Tywin, you and that preening jackanapes aren't friends. Neither you nor he truly want friends, so neither of you have any.' He grinned as he told me that, grinned ear to ear, my own father on the day of my wedding."

Gerion had a sudden urge to put a reassuring hand on Tywin's shoulder. He repressed it. He'd like view it as an insult. He stumbled for words. "So… that is what he did?" he asked, feeling like a man speaking of a rainstorm as it fell.

"Oh, that was simply the beginning of Lord Tytos Lannister's grand wit," snarled Tywin. "I yelled at him, saying that I had the king's favor, that I would use it accomplish great things, and he, he looked at me as if I was saying I had a grumkin in my pocket that granted wishes. 'Use your eyes, boy,' he said. 'Your precious king half hates you already, and he'll all hate you soon enough. And once that is done, well, he shall try to use you as he would an orange, suck out the juices and the pulp and throw the rind away.' And then, in mocking sympathy he told me that he didn't know if Aerys would succeed at that. 'There's so very much you to take, Tywin, and it is so hard to take a great deal of you. That I can say with assurance. But as you say, these Seven Kingdoms are in your hands now, yours and that king in there. May all the Gods help them, for the pair of you most certainly will not.' And then he waddled away, likely looking for a keg of ale to drink and a bed to sleep in." Tywin managed a shrug. "I assume he found them, for he missed the bedding, thank goodness."

Yes, even I know how that one went, thought Gerion to himself, Aerys jesting about First Night and taking liberties that even old lechers like Owen Merryweather preferred not to think of. "Still, it has been many years and you and Joanna…"

Tywin glared at him, his green-gold eyes flaming with anger. "Do not speak of her now," he seethed. He and Gerion stood there in awkward silence for a moment. "I… I assume you have been enjoying the local brothels."

Gerion fidgeted at that. "In truth, no, Tywin, I haven't. I've been kept so busy keeping an eye on affairs here that…"

Tywin gave a snort at that. "Oh, of course," he said, the scorn obvious in his voice. "Well, you may relax now, for Kevan and I have come here and will take over for you. Go indulge yourself, if you care to." Tywin turned away and walked from the hall. "And we both know that you care to."

Gerion went back into the courtyard, aware that his brother wished for Gerion to find him a whore. He sighed. How many times have we been through this farce?, he thought. Looking outside, he saw that Lord Bracken and his brothers were talking with Ser Ronald and Ser Hugo Vance. The little cluster spent its time laughing manfully and occasionally glaring at Lord Addam of Wayfarer's Rest and his collection of Blackwood relatives.

Gerion sighed. Family. Such a bother. It entangles us in things we've no desire for, and we can never get free of it, no matter how hard we try. He walked from the courtyard to the stables, aware now that he was going to Harrentown now, whether he wished to or no.

 

[bookwyrm]

It's kinda sad how much of Tywin's soul is just still being that cold and lonely teenager seemingly holding up the entire Rock on his back and on the back of his lion's pride.

Even moreso when Tywin forgets how much it wasn't his just his own force of personality reforging House Lannister out of the ether, but a pretty direct continuation from the early years of Tytos being supported by the pillars of his wife Jeyne and his Marbrand good-family and his utterly fearless brother Ser Jason Lannister. In many respects the Lannister restoration under Tywin at first promised to be just the reset back to this status quo before Tytos lost his wife's counsel and exiled Jason to Kayce, as it was under the patronage and tutelage of Jason's command that Tywin truly earned his spurs in the War of Ninepenny Kings and built the force of young ambitious knights that would win him back the Westerlands. It was Jason's daughter and Tywin's wife Joanna and his brothers Kevan and Tygett that built the groundwork for Reyne and Tarbeck being provoked into mortal insult before Tywin's return, with their pressure actually holding the delinquent houses to account. It was Prester and Marbrand and Lannister of Lannisport answering the call as Tywin's men, even though they were supposed to be bannermen of Tytos, that allowed Tywin to crush Reyne and Tarbeck before they could gather a full baronial counter-muster and thus their actions that led to Tywin's grand personal victory annihilating Castamere.

In truth what gave Tywin his great realm of golden lions and his name etched into the stars was pride... the pride of Lannister cousins, in-laws, and close vassals that were just as much invested in Casterly Rock as Tywin was. It has been in forgetting this in favor of his own self-idealization as the hero and the Rains of Castamere playing on a loop that is ultimately Tywin's bane.

 

[Space Oddity]

It's kinda sad how much of Tywin's soul is just still being that cold and lonely teenager seemingly holding up the entire Rock on his back and on the back of his lion's pride.

Even moreso when Tywin forgets how much it wasn't his just his own force of personality reforging House Lannister out of the ether, but a pretty direct continuation from the early years of Tytos being supported by the pillars of his wife Jeyne and his Marbrand good-family and his utterly fearless brother Ser Jason Lannister. In many respects the Lannister restoration under Tywin at first promised to be just the reset back to this status quo before Tytos lost his wife's counsel and exiled Jason to Kayce, as it was under the patronage and tutelage of Jason's command that Tywin truly earned his spurs in the War of Ninepenny Kings and built the force of young ambitious knights that would win him back the Westerlands. It was Jason's daughter and Tywin's wife Joanna and his brothers Kevan and Tygett that built the groundwork for Reyne and Tarbeck being provoked into mortal insult before Tywin's return, with their pressure actually holding the delinquent houses to account. It was Prester and Marbrand and Lannister of Lannisport answering the call as Tywin's men, even though they were supposed to be bannermen of Tytos, that allowed Tywin to crush Reyne and Tarbeck before they could gather a full baronial counter-muster and thus their actions that led to Tywin's grand personal victory annihilating Castamere.

In truth what gave Tywin his great realm of golden lions and his name etched into the stars was pride... the pride of Lannister cousins, in-laws, and close vassals that were just as much invested in Casterly Rock as Tywin was. It has been in forgetting this in favor of his own self-idealization as the hero and the Rains of Castamere playing on a loop that is ultimately Tywin's bane.

Click to shrink...

There are other aspects too, of course. Tywin, in his own account, which he has more or less bludgeoned his siblings into following along with by now, has to have been perfectly right at every point in the return to greatness. Never mind his first move against the Reynes and Tarbecks ultimately turned into a debacle where he got bailed out by his father getting involved and getting everyone to agree to a reset. No, no, everything was going according to plan--ignore his cousin/brother-in-law being held captive--and Tytos spoiled it all with his usual softness.