THE KING NOBODY WANTED--(ASOIAF AU)

[bookwyrm]

I think Martin himself admitted that he kinda made the Wall a little too big to be the magic Hadrian Wall he had in mind, but yeah presumably there's patches of the Wall where it zigs and zags in the right ways at the conjunction of abandoned castles that the Free Folk are able to semi-regularly carve stairs and hidden coves into the Wall and make the risk of climbing it much less dramatic, and also there's just a bunch of coracles and canoes skimming through the waters in the Bay of Ice to avoid the Shadow Tower and having to go through the gauntlet of rangers at all. Additionally the Watch, for all its pretentions of a chivalric brotherhood holding back the wildling hordes, would be absolutely willing to be bribed by the right Free Folk known to them to trade with the Watch not just at Castle Black but also inside the Gift.

 

[Shane_357]

I think Martin himself admitted that he kinda made the Wall a little too big to be the magic Hadrian Wall he had in mind, but yeah presumably there's patches of the Wall where it zigs and zags in the right ways at the conjunction of abandoned castles that the Free Folk are able to semi-regularly carve stairs and hidden coves into the Wall and make the risk of climbing it much less dramatic, and also there's just a bunch of coracles and canoes skimming through the waters in the Bay of Ice to avoid the Shadow Tower and having to go through the gauntlet of rangers at all. Additionally the Watch, for all its pretentions of a chivalric brotherhood holding back the wildling hordes, would be absolutely willing to be bribed by the right Free Folk known to them to trade with the Watch not just at Castle Black but also inside the Gift.

Click to shrink...

My take on the Watch - Free Folk relationship is predicated on the sheer hate we see the wildlings address them with. After all, you send a rapist to a castle, give them a sword and say 'that's the enemy', what the fuck do you think they're going to do? I'd wager a decent chunk of wildling raids are conducted as a means of vengeance for actions of the Watch's rangers. I mean, the people south of the wall literally have a song where a girl pretends to be a boy and ends up raped to death by her 'brothers'. I don't think the wildlings would get better treatment.

 

[Space Oddity]

JAIME

"I hope you are enjoying your meal here, Ser Jaime," said Lord Stark's brother, looking at him anxiously from across the table.

Jonelle Cerwyn smiled nervously. "I know our Northern fare must seem simple, after King's Landing and the Rock before that," said the moon-faced girl. "But still I think it very fine, in its own way." She looked at Benjen, who nodded at her, then glanced away.

Jaime managed a smile, and glanced at the meal spread out before him, roast ox served with leeks, pease porridge flavored with honey, braised onions and bread flavored with rosemary. "It is very pleasant, Mistress Cerwyn." He shrugged. "Truth be told, I've never been much of one for feasting, so fare such as this… it is all I could ask for." Jonelle blushed at that, then looked hopefully at Benjen, who bit his lip and looked away. I wonder how long it took her to move to the seat next to him. When Jaime arrived, she'd apparently been serving as Winterfell's unofficial hostess for months. And it seems likely she'll be taking the post officially soon, Jaime thought to himself, as he watched Jonelle and Benjen share another shy glance. They seemed a badly-matched couple to Jaime's eyes, Benjen having his eldest brother's handsome looks with a boyish charm all his own while Jonelle was… Jaime looked at the plump girl and shook his head. Well, she's not ugly at least. He sighed and sipped his wine. Oh, who am I to judge? I'm a kingslayer and a sisterfucker. I am the last man to make a judgment on anyone's affairs.

Ethan Glover regarded him. "Is everything all right, Ser Jaime?" asked the young Northman, quietly.

"I'm fine, Ethan," said Jaime. "Merely tired." Ethan nodded and went back to nervously picking at his food. His brother Robett looked at him with concern.

Maege Mormont ended her chat with Donal Noye and turned to Ethan. Jaime was still startled at the fact that she was Lord Jeor's sister, not his daughter. "My Daecy and Alys asked after your health," she said. "And Lyra wonders if you saw any grand things in the South." One could hear the emphasis she put on that word. She talks like it is another country. But then, for her, I suppose it is.

"Tell her I saw many great things in King's Landing," answered Ethan gently. "And many more things that were terrible."

Maege nodded. "She is young," she said. "This is all an adventure to her, happening to people she either knows only by name, or can only picture doing great deeds of heroism."

"I can understand that," said Jaime suddenly. "When we fought the Kingswood Brotherhood, it was much the same for me, though most of the time, we but traveled over the woods and hills." Lord Thorne had kept them supplied with goods in those early days, albeit with a certain measure of resentment as their efforts continued. Ser Alliser had always made a certain show of going from the camp whenever his brother arrived so they would not meet. Such a dramatic man. Jaime smiled over those happier times and then sighed. "But there was no heroism in King's Landing in those last days of Aerys' reign. Just frightened, tired men and women, dancing to the whims of a madman and trying to survive." The whole table was looking at him. "Apologies. The subject… It is not one I enjoy thinking of, but… it comes to my head, unbidden…"

Donal Noye regarded him sharply. "It was probably easier for those serving Aerys than those who were his prisoners," he noted.

Jaime looked at the smith levelly. "Aerys exiled two Hands and burned the third one alive during that time. Lord Rosby got sent from King's Landing for coughing during a feast, and Lord Rykker was sent with him for objecting. And that probably saved their lives… Lord Staunton, who'd been loyal to Aerys for his entire reign, got torn apart by a mob, and then Aerys seized his personal funds, and gave them to the Alchemists as a gift." He shut his eyes. "As for me… when my father finally marched, I was with him when Aerys got the news. Most of the time, really. He liked to keep me close. Aerys turned to me, and he… stroked my face with his hands…" Jaime winced to recall those horrid long nails tracing over his flesh. "He murmured to me as he did so that he knew of course that my father was a good loyal man, same as his son."

Benjen Stark looked at him, clearly troubled. "When did…?"

"Three days before I drove my sword through that monster's throat," said Jaime softly.

There was another long silence. Robett Glover looked at him. "When the Prince died… how did the King…?"

"Aerys seemed happier that Rhaegar was dead than he was that Robert was," answered Jaime.

Maege stared at him. "That… Rhaegar was his son…"

"And he hated him," said Jaime, and he knew it was true as he said it. "He hated his son, who was smarter and stronger and braver than him. He hated his wife for the same reason. He hated my father because he served him well, and he hated Owen Merryweather because he served him ill. He hated the men who laughed at his jokes, because they were flatterers, and he hated the men who didn't laugh, because they wouldn't flatter." Jaime felt a bitter ache in his stomach and yet he spoke on. "He simply hated…"

They were all silent for a while. That's why you were going to become a dragon, wasn't it, Aerys? Silence everyone, the liars and the doubters, for once and all, with your terror and your might. And even if you didn't become one, well, you'd have killed a great many people, so you'd have still shown us all, wouldn't you?

It was Ethan who broke the silence. "Ser Jaime has the right of it. I remember, after they took us, we waited in the black cells, and at first, every night, they took one of us, and that was the end of it. And then only I was left." He took a deep breath. "At first, I was certain they would be coming for that very night. And then the next. And then the next. And then it all began to blend into one another, until I learned Lord Tywin had taken the city for the Rebellion, and I was safe." The man looked at him. "Was… did he ever speak of any… plans for me?"

Jaime shrugged. "I wish could give you an answer, Ethan. He might have had them at some point, but after a time… I think he simply forgot he held you."

"That's… almost a comfort," replied the Northerner. "To know that… there was no great design just… madness and cruelty." Jaime could not stop his surprise from showing. "I thought he did it to torment me," said Ethan. "To make me squirm before… he ended me."

Jaime nodded at that. There was a sudden echo of a great cry in the hall from some place further in Winterfell, followed by a second cry in a higher register. The company at the great table did their best to ignore them both.

"Some black brothers will be down soon," said Benjen, "to take the pair of you the rest of the way. They'd have come earlier, but the Thenns are raiding. And the recruiters are having problems on the road."

Jaime and Donal nodded at that, at which point the Dustins entered the hall. The pair looked flush and were busily adjusting their clothes. "Ahh, apologies," said Willam smoothly. "My lady wife and I would have been here sooner but we were looking at some tapestries."

Maege smirked at that. "If you'd been much longer the meal would have gone cold, so those must have been some fascinating tapestries indeed."

Barbrey Dustin took her seat. "Slightly intriguing," she said, a slight smile on her face.

Will sat down next to her. "Bah! I was utterly enthralled and I would swear so were you, Barb."

His wife raised an eyebrow. "Do you consider yourself a competent judge on such matters, my lord?" Much of the table burst out laughing, with Will laughing the loudest of all, though Ben Stark and Jonelle Cerwyn both seemed somewhat puzzled. I am glad to have had them with us on the way here, Jaime thought, instead of Roose Bolton. He recalled the Lord of Dreadfort telling his son, who was serving in Barrowton as a page, that he would be remarrying soon. 'To a cheerful young lady, who is all smiles and laughter,' he said. Well, that is roughly an accurate description of Barb Bracken. Jaime glanced at Lady Dustin and wondered if the two Barbs would get along. He suspected not.

Lady Dustin smiled at him. "So… our paths will separate shortly, Ser Jaime. I do hope you will remember me and my husband with kindness."

Jaime nodded at them. "You have little to fear in that regard, my lady."

"That is a comfort," said Will. "I will definitely think of it as I help young Benjen organize the next army. And when I lead it down to the Neck, so we can hopefully finish this bothersome war."

"With me along with you," said Barbrey.

Her husband frowned. "I… Barb, listen, war is no place for a woman."

"War isn't a place for anyone," snapped Lady Dustin, as Maege Mormont scowled. "If you don't want me to accompany you, then don't go. You've uncles…"

"Merrick's a good man when he is not drunk, but sadly he is always drunk," replied Willam. "Jon is good in a fight, but a lunatic. I watched him charge a bridge naked." He shrugged. "It worked, but only because men felt they had to go help him. Myself included."

"Alyck…" began Barbrey.

"Is a master of the axe," said Will. "But not much for thinking." He sighed. "And… nevermind. You will come with me."

She nodded at that. "Good. We've had six months, Will. Six months and these last few weeks…"

Will took her hand and sighed. "I know… I know… I… I have not been the husband I hoped to be. My entire reign as Lord of Barrowton has not been anything like I expected." He nodded. "But… that is all right. We will go on, and do as best we can." He glanced apologetically at the company. "I am sorry for bringing my marriage disputes to this table."

"You would do better to apologize for that comment on women and war," said Maege. "I've a brother to avenge, and a nephew to aid, and I will do so."

Jonelle rose suddenly. "Perhaps we should… move on to the dessert!" she said brightly. She glanced around the table. "The kitchens are preparing a delicious pastry stuffed with berries..."

Benjen nodded. "That does sound good," he said. He stood up. "I believe I will stretch my legs before it arrives."

Jonelle looked at him, her eyes damp. "Of course, Be… Master Stark. What… whatever you desire."

"Ser Jaime, if you would… accompany me…?" said Benjen awkwardly.

Jaime nodded at that, and rose. "I… very well." He followed Benjen to a side hall. Jonelle watched them go, with a forced smile on her face. He heard Barbrey muttered something about them not having any plan to look at tapestries to Will who chuckled to himself, and muttered something in reply that Jaime couldn't make out. Then they were out of earshot.

So long as we don't raise our voices at least, Jaime thought to himself. Benjen glanced at him, as if trying to put his words together. "I… Ethan tells me… when Brandon and Father… you were there."

Jaime managed a nod. "I was." He tried to think of something to say. "It was horrible."

"So I keep hearing," said Benjen. He glanced around nervously. "I wish… if I could just know… what happened…" Jaime's shock must have been obvious. "Ethan… will not tell me, and…"

"It would not bring you comfort, Stark," said Jaime quietly. "It… was one of the most horrific things I have ever seen."

Ben Stark's face was grim. "I don't want comfort, Ser Jaime," he said. "I want to know."

Jaime stared at the man and then shut his eyes. "Very well." He took a deep breath. "Your father had been arrested as soon as he arrived. It… probably would have gone badly, had it just gone on from there. But… he insisted on a trial by combat and that… that Aerys was quite offended by. Lord Rickard had dared to suggest that Aerys could not simply do as he wanted. He ranted and raved, and was originally going to have me fight the man. And then… Lord Rossart, the alchemist, made a suggestion." Jaime winced as he recalled the man's silky, insinuating voice. " 'What truer champion has the House Targaryen than fire?' he said. Aerys liked that idea. Oh, he thought it was grand. And soon, they were all nodding along, that Small Council of his."

He shook his head. "That is unfair. Four men on it spoke on behalf of your father, though none very hard. Ser Gerold wanted to be the royal champion to… well, kill your father in a more civilized manner. Grand Maester Pycelle suggested that it might not be seemly. Varys swore he could get information from Lord Stark if he was kept alive. And Lord Chelsted said… he could not advise the king to do this, and could only advise him not to." Jaime felt a sudden strange sense of pity for that man, who would be suffering the same fate he was advising against within a year. "The rest all agreed that this was a fit and proper course of action. And so your father was brought before the Iron Throne in armor and made to… fight fire. He was suspended from the rafters, so he could… not retreat, but had to do battle. That was how Aerys put it."

Benjen's face went pale. "The Gods' red eyes…" he muttered.

"Indeed," said Jaime. "And then your brother…" He paused and shook his head. "It is… too horrible…"

"He was strangled," said Benjen. "I know that."

"No, you do not," said Jaime. "It was worse than you might…"

Benjen narrowed his eyes. "Tell me," he said.

"He was brought in, as they began to burn your father… and he was put in a… Tyroshi device. Lord Wyshant's idea that, I'm almost certain…" The words were coming out of Jaime almost unbidden and he realized that he wanted to get them out as badly as Ben Stark wanted to hear them.

"Lord… Wyshant?" muttered Benjen confused. "Who is…?"

"One of Rossart's men," said Jaime. "An alchemist, from the Tyroshi guild. He was just Wisdom Wyshant when this happened. Aerys named him Master of Laws after Lord Staunton was torn to bits. From then on, it was Lord Wyshant." The Small Council had begun to fill with alchemists by the end. Lord Rossart, the Hand… Lord Wyshant, the Master of Laws… Lord Halsyn, the new Master of Alchemists to replace Rossart… and Wisdoms Garigius, Ossifer and Belis there to assist them. Dreadful, all of them, though Rossart and Wyshant had been the worst. With some of the Alchemists, you wondered if they were just humoring Aerys, but Rossart and Wyshant… they believed in him. Gods above, he'd rant about becoming a dragon and they'd nod along eagerly and then babble about the glory of his future wings. "As I said… I'm fairly certain he provided the device, or at least the plans for it. He had… a talent for making himself useful to Aerys." Jaime shuddered as he remembered that quiet voice with its slight accent, listing men out to die at Small Council meetings. He had always been told that Tyroshi were volatile and colorful, but Wyshant was always calm and collected, and he never wore anything but his drab alchemist's robes. And so very clever… Varys was becoming fearful of him, by the end…

"What happened to him?" asked Benjen.

"Dead in the Sack," replied Jaime. Rossart, Wyshant, Halsyn and Ossifer to keep them from setting off the wildfire during it. Garigius, and Belis so that it couldn't be set off afterwards. Wyshant had been sitting at his desk when Jaime found him, drawing up another of his lists, in view of a window. Likely to watch the flames start and spread. He had thought Jaime was Ossifer at first, but as soon as Wyshant recognized him, he'd drawn his dagger, much as Rossart had. And with about as much effectiveness.

Benjen nodded. "And his… device?"

"It was… it would tighten around your brother's throat, if he pulled on it," said Jaime. "Wyshant put a sword before him, just out of reach. And… and so he died…" The scene was coming to Jaime's mind even when he tried to force it back, Wyshant talking amiably with Lord Staunton who was watching it all unfold with a sort of strange intensity, Rossart at Aerys' side along with the tittering Lord Velaryon, the king and the alchemist looking immensely satisfied, Lord Chelsted watching with tears in his eyes, expression livid, as that quiet son of his looked away, and when that would not work, shut his eyes tight and buried his face in his hands. Jaime took a deep breath to make the images go away, and then saw that Benjen had turned his face to the wall.

"His last words to me," said Ben Stark, "was that he had let me be a child and a fool for too long, and that after Lyanna's wedding, he would labor to make me a proper man." Stark made a noise that sounded like a sob. "He said that and then he left me here. My… my father." Benjen worked to compose himself. "It was for Harrenhal. The tourney, I mean. I… I'd done something he felt… dishonorable." Jaime wondered what conceivable thing a man like Benjen could have done to provoke such a response, but decided it was none of his business. "And so… I was to have been at the wedding, there was a cousin, cousin Artos, he was the steward before… he was to have been the Stark in Winterfell, but instead, it was me, and…" He looked at Jaime, who saw the anguish there. "Those were his last words to me. The last words my father ever said to me. That I was a failure that he needed to fix."

"I… I am certain he would not think so now," said Jaime. "He… he was likely angry, when he spoke." He searched desperately for words that would comfort. "A father… a father cannot help but love his son," he lied at last.

"Brandon said something like that, before he left," said Benjen softly. "Those were his last words to me." A sad smile touched his face. "I'd thought to enter the Night's Watch, as you do. Once Ned was back. But things have dragged on so, and there must be a Stark in Winterfell…"

"And you are a fine one," said Jaime. "You… Stay here. You have a life here. You have people who need you. I have…" The bodies, the bodies, the bodies, he draped them in red and gold, they were children, children, children… "There is nothing here for me but failure," said Jaime at last. "I must find a place to serve, or I will go mad."

Benjen nodded at that. "I… the dessert is… doubtless being served, Ser Jaime. Let us return."

Jaime shook his head. "After all that, those pastries had better be delicious, Ben."

"They should be," he replied. "We've the finest kitchens in the North here." Jaime laughed softly, as they went back to the dining hall.

 

[Shane_357]

Frankly, the way you write trauma is incredible and horrifyingly realistic. Kudos.

 

[Space Oddity]

Frankly, the way you write trauma is incredible and horrifyingly realistic. Kudos.

Click to shrink...

Thank you for that.

More trauma on the way in the next chapter, including some from the master of suppressing all the badness that happens to you behind a pleasant facade, Jon Arryn. Plus a Blackfyre family tree! (To repeat warnings I've posted elsewhere: Family tree might not be complete. The makers of the Blackfyre family tree make no guarantees as to its accuracy, its usefulness and the existence of malignant hidden Blackfyres plotting to gain the Iron Throne.)

 

[Temes1066]

"As I said… I'm fairly certain he provided the device, or at least the plans for it. He had… a talent for making himself useful to Aerys."

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I have to admit, I was always kind of curious about where Aerys got that device he used to strangle Brandon Stark. I suppose it would sense that he would replace a dead loyalist Councillor with a pyromancer, they where the people loyal to him in the capital by the end. I just have two questions:

• Why did Varys fear (or seemed to fear) Wyshant?
• If Aerys had lasted a bit longer, would he have given the position of Master of Coin to another pyromancer?

Plus a Blackfyre family tree! (To repeat warnings I've posted elsewhere: Family tree might not be complete. The makers of the Blackfyre family tree make no guarantees as to its accuracy, its usefulness and the existence of malignant hidden Blackfyres plotting to gain the Iron Throne.)

Click to shrink...

A Blackfyre family tree, does seem like it would be useful.

 

[Space Oddity]

• Why did Varys fear (or seemed to fear) Wyshant?
• If Aerys had lasted a bit longer, would he have given the position of Master of Coin to another pyromancer?

Click to shrink...

Both of these things will be coming up soon, but to answer them in the order given...

1) Many reasons. As I somewhat hinted, Wyshant ran the Master of Laws as State Sec, which created a natural institutional rivalry between him and Varys. And he was good at his job, which created more rivalry and a bit of healthy fear on Varys' part. Wyshant was, like all alchemists, something of a wizard and Varys doesn't like those. And finally there's a dash of Free City rivalry -- Wyshant is a Tyroshi, Varys is Lysene by birth, Myrish and Pentoshi by upbringing.

2) Oh, most definitely.

 

[Space Oddity]

THE OLD FALCON

Her hair had been a wonderful hue. It had not quite been black, and it had not quite been brown, and it had not quite been red. It was a shade all its own, and he'd marveled to look on it. Some mornings, when he awoke, Jon would take a great handful of her hair and hold it to his face, both for that and the smell of it. Jeyne bathed regularly, with rosewater, and the smell, it clung to her hair along with that smell that was simply hers.

I'd forgotten that smell, thought Jon to himself. Or I'd thought I'd had. Until that damn dream.

"...And that is all I've heard of this 'Golden Ram' since the last meeting," said Septon Balerion, as he fiddled with the orrery in the center of the chamber. He glanced at the young novice beside him. "What do you think, Melwyn? Have I gotten it on straight?" The younger septon looked for a while, then nodded.

"To think of the Lhazarene playing a role in the councils of the great," said Pycelle, shaking his head. "Indeed, to think of them victorious in war – it beggars belief."

"Many things do," said Balerion, making another adjustment, then nodding. He turned to look at Jon. "My Lord Hand, is all well? You seem oddly silent…"

"I…" Jon shook his head. "A bad night's sleep. Troubled by dreams."

"Nightmares can be terrible," said Pycelle.

"This dream was pleasant," replied Jon. "The waking from it… that was the terror."

"Still, it was only a dream," noted Pycelle. "Nothing to concern yourself with, my lord. If you wish, I have a draught I can prepare…"

"'And I looked and I saw'," said Balerion, still working on the orrery, "'and from the greater confines of the north, in those lands where it is always winter, a great black blast of wind came and the storm followed, and it covered all the world. And the snow fell, and the ices advanced, and all green and growing things did die, and the dead did live, and there was desolation everywhere.'" Pycelle and Jon both looked at him. "Septon Murmison wrote that. From a dream he had. It is certain, Grand Maester, that he did not share your opinion on dreams."

A slightly patronizing smile came to Pycelle's face. "And did his dreams warn him of his own terrible death, Septon?"

"Yes," replied Balerion. "'And they shall seize the dreamer in the square, these poor fellows of the faith, and they shall tear into his flesh, and pull his limbs from his body and so shall he die, in pain, and in agony, commending his souls to the Gods. And few shall mourn him, and few shall understand him, and few shall recognize his sacrifice. And yet he shall die in peace.'"

There was an awkward silence at that, thankfully ended by Ser Lomas and Lord Commander Brynden entering. The pair looked about the room. "So… this is the… grand orrery?" asked Ser Lomas, clearly somewhat at a loss for words.

"Built by King Aerys," said Balerion. "The First, not the Second. He, Bloodraven and Grand Maester Tomas hoped it might serve as a useful tool in calculating the seasons. Alas it was not but it was a thing of great beauty." The Most Devout regarded it all with a smile. "I feel most fortunate I am on hand to restore it. Another few years, and it might have been too late for me and most certainly would have been for it."

The Lord-Commander took the seat in the gallery next to Jon. "So what has this sliver of the Small Council been discussing in the King's absence?"

Jon frowned to himself. My dreaming about my dead wife. "A Lhazarene prophet named the Golden Ram is fighting a war against the Dothraki," said Pycelle. "And more remarkably, he is winning it."

"Interesting, but not particularly relevant," said Ser Lomas.

Septon Balerion smiled. "It is already affecting the spice trade, Ser Lomas. As the Shan and the Spicers war, Lhazar is sending forth its ginger to the markets and so eager is the demand for something to make up the loss of clove, mace and pepper that it is financing the Golden Ram's newly made army, and the walls and ramparts around Lhazosh, Hesh, and Kosrak they are building."

"I will remember that next time I buy a clove," said Brynden. "But I'd rather hear news of the Golden Company than this Golden Lamb."

"Ram," said Balerion. "As for the Company… little enough, yet with a strangely menacing air. They've refused a commission from Tyrosh, and are staying around Volantis. Likely the Old Blood is planning a better offer for some local matter and yet…" The Most Devout shook his head. "The Golden Company is not like other Free Companies, as we all know. It has a design and a purpose, and it has a way of returning to it."

Jon nodded to himself. "Any chance there might be a Blackfyre heir about?"

"Mmmm, I can offer an answer to this," said Pycelle, stroking his beard. "Archmaester Lothar drilled their family tree into every acolyte working for his electrum link, and swore that the future of the Seven Kingdoms would depend on knowing it." The Grand Maester gave a comical shrug. "Today would be the first time I've used the knowledge at the Small Council, so… well, it makes it feel worth the hours spent learning it." He coughed. "Daemon Blackfyre wed Rohanne of Tyrosh, daughter of the then Archon Remys Ragallio. They had twelve children, seven sons and five daughters. First the twin sons Aegon and Aemon, then the daughter Cella, then the twin daughters Daena and Elaena, then Daemon the Second, then Rhaena, then Haegon the First, then Aenys, then the last twins Gaemon and Gael, and finally, the youngest son Maelar."

Brynden Tully shook his head. "Gods be good, how did that woman not perish from exhaustion?"

"She died in her late seventies," noted Pycelle. "So, truly a marvel. Now, to continue. Aegon and Aemon died at Redgrass Field, alongside their father. No children from them. Cella married Bittersteel and their marriage was barren. Another potential bloodline ended. Daena died young, and Elaena Evenstar ran off with that notorious villain Xario Dagareon, the Black Prince of Pentos. Then she betrayed him to his enemies and ran off with the greater part of his wealth. One bloodline ended and the other…" He sighed. "Elaena almost certainly had children, but they would be bastards and to be frank, the Golden Company would never recognize them. Too much bad blood between them and the Evenstar."

"She sounds a terror," said Ser Lomas.

"She was," noted Septon Balerion, fiddling with another section of the orrery. "She spent the greater part of her life stirring up wars in Essos much as the Black Prince had. Out of sheer malice more than any other reason."

"So much for the Evenstar," said Pycelle, clearly somewhat annoyed at the digression. "Haegon the First wed his elder sister Rhaena. They had five children, a daughter, Rohanne, and four sons, Daemon the Third, Aegon, Aemon, and Haegon the Second. We will consider them shortly. Aenys was pledged to his mother's half-sister, but he held that wedding off and toyed with marrying into the Targaryen line. He had no legitimate offspring and no recorded bastards. Another bloodline ended. The twins Gaemon and Gael wed, and had two children, Daemon the Fourth… and Daena the Devil. And finally, Maelar wed his niece, Rohanne, and they had one son. You know his name."

"Maelys the Monstrous," said Brynden Tully, scowling.

Pycelle nodded. "The same. That finishes the second generation of Blackfyres and also starts the third. Haegon pursued grand designs with his children, pledging them to various Free City notables for their support. Rohanne Blackfyre was to marry a Norvosi nobleman, but then she fell in love with her uncle, and by this time, Haegon the First and Rhaena were dead, and Maelar was the Prince Who Saved the Sword. But Daemon the Third, Aegon, Aemon and Haegon the Second all wed their ladies on the eve of the Fourth Blackfyre Rebellion, taking Elara of Myr, Ylessa of Pentos, Refelli of Lys, and Sora of Tyrosh as their wives. Alas, Daemon, Aegon and Aemon all died in the Fourth Blackfyre Rebellion, alongside Prince Maelar. A great many bloodlines ended all at once. And so that left Haegon the Second, married to his cousin Sora to continue the line."

The old maester chuckled. "That was the one thing Haegon showed any aptitude at. He let Bittersteel and then his uncle Gaemon be Captain-General while he worked at producing heirs with his wife. They had two sons and three daughters. The twins Vaella and Viserya, Haegon the Third, Aegor and Baela. But then Gaemon died and Haegon became Captain-General. He ultimately led them into the Pentoshi Flatlands and died there in battle. Haegon the Third died in the same battle, leading a charge in a futile attempt to recover Blackfyre. He was eleven. Aegor, at the age of seven, was the recognized Blackfyre Pretender for a handful of months before the poor child died of a fever." Pycelle's face grew grave. "His sisters vanished mysteriously in all this, and Gaemon's son Daemon, who was already serving as Captain-General, became Daemon the Fourth. For one week. Maelys challenged him to a duel, and pulled his head off, as Daena the Devil laughed. And we all know what was born of that."

Jon considered things. "So where does that leave us?"

"There are no legitimate male Blackfyres as such left," said Pycelle. "It is conceivable that Haegon the Second – or indeed, any of his brothers – might have had a bastard son, but none have come forward. And Maelys would have certainly recognized such a son had that happened. The man had no desire to produce an heir of his body if he could avoid it. So it is probable there are none. That leaves the women. Vaella, Viserya and Baela have vanished from the world. They might have children, legitimate or otherwise, or not. We do not know. The Golden Company might, but they did not seem to during the War of the Ninepenny Kings. And Daena the Devil…" He shook his head. "She has vanished as well. Maelys made much of her prior to the War. She was his acknowledged heir, and she crowned each of the Band of Nine at the Tree of Crowns and afterwards the bond made was given into her keeping. But that is the last we have heard of her. The Company kept her hid during the war, and she has not reappeared since." He looked at the group gravely. "She is the one I worry about. Daena might have wed some Essosi noble or another and had a son. If so, that son could be preparing the Golden Company for an invasion as we speak, possibly with the aid of his family whoever so they might be. Imagine the Golden Company backed by the power of a triarch or the wealth of some merchant prince…"

"It seems rather improbable," noted Ser Lomas.

"And perhaps it is," said Pycelle. "And yet many things in history are improbable. The conquest of these Seven Kingdoms by the last dragonlords of Valyria was improbable. And yet it happened."

The door to the chamber opened, and Ser Mark Ryswell and Ser Cortnay Penrose entered, followed by the King, Lords Chelsted and Seaworth, and a trio of the king's squires, Balon Swann, Lyonel Frey, and Andrew Estermont. "...uneasy about pirate queens arriving in this city," noted Rys Chelsted, his cane tapping on the floor. As usual, the Master of Coin was richly clad, wearing a great blue silk robe covered in silver frogs, while a flat red bonnet with golden frogs inlaid on it was on his head.

"We have pirate kings working for us," said Stannis. "I like it no more than you, Lord Chelsted, but… we have greater concerns." Lomas smiled at his son, who nodded back.

"The Widow is not like Salladhor or the Blue Lotus, or any of the other sellsails," said Lord Seaworth. "When I was a smuggler… men would rather be caught by thieftakers than her, because with them, there was a hope of coming to an accord. If the Widow catches you… her saying is 'dead men are surer than live ones'."

Ser Brynden looked at them with interest. "What's this?"

Rys Chelsted glanced at them. "The Widow-All-In-White was at King's Landing. And it appears we can name her husband. She is Samarro Saan's wife."

Septon Balerion looked up from the bit of the orrery he and Melwyn were working at. "The Last Valyrian had a wife? There was a little hellfire-spitter of a concubine, who caused a stir at the peace accords…"

"That is likely her," said Davos. "And Salladhor swears that she was his wife. And she has definitely born his children. Two daughters. The older, Samarra, is off somewhere, which I can't help but think sounds ominous. The younger was with her – little Sarli…"

Ser Lomas frowned at that. "That is an odd name, even for a Lysene…"

Balerion nodded at that. "Indeed. It is Lyseni… but generally not a name." He looked at Davos, his dark purple eyes filled with interest. "How… old was this Sarli Saan?"

"Seven, I would say," replied the Master of Ships. "Perhaps eight."

Balerion nodded. "I thought so. It will be seven. Born some months after Samarro took his swanship The Seven Seas of Rhye, and sailed it to the Doom of Valyria. 'Sarli', you see, is generally a Lyseni word. It is… a polite plea for one to return to the speaker." The septon frowned. "One often encounters it in… rather sad love ballads."

Brynden Tully shook his head. "What would possess a man to go to the Doom?" he asked.

"The Saans have long gone there, for reasons their own," said Balerion, returning to work on the orrery. "Sargoso Saan went there, after Maegor flushed him from the Stepstones, first naming his sister Salyssa the next Master of the Last, Lonely House. Saathos Saan went there after ruling over the Basilisk Isles for thirty years, passing both his crown and Mastership of the House to his grandson, Samedos. Samedos sold the former to Lys after five years, and was Master for another thirty, after which he sailed off to the Doom like his grandfather…" He shrugged. "And those are only a handful of the Masters who have gone. Plenty of Saan captains and princelings have gone there as well. Some fleeing failure, some capping careers of triumph and glory. But go they have." The septon shook his head. "Samarro went with a handpicked crew of seventy-two men loyal to him. They were last seen in Elyria, reportedly in excellent spirits. Samarro asked if any wished to sail with them, and look upon the lands of their ancestors. None took them up on their offer. And so they went on. Seventy-three men, sailing off to history."

Rys Chelsted sighed. "You make it sound almost grand."

"It is grand," replied Balerion. "And also terrible. As befits a family that were grand and terrible in the days of the Freehold. Did you hear Salladhor call them the First and Last Family of Valyria? That was no idle boast. It was a position granted to them, for the services of Sindar Saan and his kin in the Second Ghis War. The Saans were granted to open and close each meeting of the Assembly, speaking first and speaking last… They were the greatest of the forty families at that time, and long after. Now… one of two that survived the Doom. And they have had no dragons since it. A shadow of their glory, eclipsed by a family they considered not a rival, but so contemptible as to be beneath their notice…"

"The Targaryens haven't had dragons for a long time themselves," said Rys quietly. "And should we win, they will not have a throne, either." The Master of Coin seemed to smile at that. "So much for the Freehold, gentlemen. It is finished, and I would rather plan for a world where it is receding further and further into the past."

"The present is built on the past, Lord Chelsted," said Balerion, standing back to examine a large section of the orrery. "No matter how much we might wish to cut it off from our day."

"The Treasury is not paying for this monstrosity is it?" asked Lord Chelsted, staring at the orrery.

"This restoration is coming from my own funds," said Balerion.

Rys nodded at that, and looked at the King. "That spectacle there reminds me, Your Grace. Several… impresarios is how I think they prefer to be termed are offering us… performers to take the place of the late Hoppidance. They have a hunchback who does somersaults and whistles, a dwarf who juggles and sings, and… oh, yes, a seal girl from the Sisters, who… swims apparently."

Stannis frowned. "Why should I wish such individuals?"

"To dress in motley and amuse the court with witticisms and by being deformed and unfortunate, Your Grace," said Chelsted, and Jon swore he nearly snarled as he talked.

"A fool?" said Stannis. "I have a fool. Patchface serves me well enough."

Rys Chelsted raised an eyebrow. "The one who is at Storm's End, and who has never been here in King's Landing, Your Grace?"

"The same," said the king. "I would not bring him here. He is not well. It is like to upset him. Perhaps later."

Chelsted nodded. "A court fool who is elsewhere seems a great innovation to me, Your Grace." He sighed. "Aerys was quite keen on the search. He'd have likely taken all three. He so did love to watch dwarfs, hunchbacks, and similar individuals perform. He would wax rhapsodic on the subject, to Lord Tywin and my father. Tywin was always convinced it was spite, my father was just as sure the king merely forgot who he talked to." The man scowled. "I always leaned towards Lord Tywin's interpretation, I admit. One of the few things I agreed with the man about."

Pycelle nodded. "Your father always looked for the best interpretation of Aerys' nature…"

"Until the murder of the Starks, yes," replied Rys. "That broke him. He was vexed enough when that wretched fool Merryweather was named Hand before him, but what happened that day… that ended any illusion. He had stretched himself thin enough after Lady Emalyn and her kin… and that poor nurse as well. Thinner after Duskendale. But with the Starks… he could stretch no more. The veil was lifted. My father had spent much of his life serving not merely a lunatic, but a brute and a cur." He shook his head. "Of course the man still named him Hand in the end. After exhausting every other possibility." Chelsted rested his head on the gallery railing. "I still recall that day. My father and I after… it was over, went with most of the Small Council to the King's Small Hall. Pycelle was sent to notify the kingdom of Starks' death and issue more demands. Varys, Rossart and Wyshant stayed behind, to talk on matters." Rys snarled at that. "Wyshant was already showing his knack for finding men for Aerys to kill."

Pycelle winced. "Those lists…"

"It was worse when he became Master of Laws," said Chelsted. "Staunton may have been a bloody-minded fool, but he liked the show of a trial, even if it was a formality. But Wyshant… He took to posting the lists, here and at the Dragon Gate. The black list, of those who were to be arrested. The red list, of those who had been taken and killed." He shook his head. "But Staunton was still Master of Laws then. My father turned, and asked him what it was they had all witnessed. While Merryweather and Rykker both had the… decency to look ashamed, Staunton replied 'The King's Justice,' in exactly the manner you'd expect a man who'd been killed by a mob to. Velaryon spoke up then and said that in truth the Starks should be grateful, for this was the only novel thing the family had been involved in for a century."

Davos winced at that, and Stannis ground his teeth. "That… wretch," spat out Ser Brynden.

"Oh, I had never thought I could hate a man the way I hated Aerys," said Chelsted, "but in that moment, Lucerys Velaryon became that man. My father nodded, and then asked them all when precisely it was that they'd all gone as mad as the king. Velaryon and Staunton both became very indigent at that, and there was shouting and then the Lord Commander entered and beseeched us all to remain calm. The Iron Throne did not need its supporters quarreling in these dark times." A smile came to Rys Chelsted's face, one that was both proud and sad. "My father turned to the White Bull and shouted at him. 'Oh, shut your bloody useless mouth, you bloody useless man!'" He shut his eyes. "I think all children are prone to imagining their fathers as giants, great heroic men who can do the impossible. That… faded for me, quite early. But for just a moment, I was given it back then." He shrugged. "But of course, he had to go back to dancing the dance. As did I. I could even see the reason of it. If we'd left, he'd have let the alchemists get their hands on the Treasury, and Gods know what the vile fools would have done with it. Likely spent it on something that somehow managed to be ridiculous and awful at once." He shrugged. "Still… he had thought himself at the head of a party, before that. After that he realized that he was alone. That he had always been alone."

The king frowned at that. "Perhaps we should turn more to the future than the past." He glanced at Ser Cortnay. "You are ready to escort the queen in the Stormlands?"

"Myself and the Plumm brothers shall lead her guard," said the Kingsguard. "In addition the Fells, the Rogers, the Bucklers and Errols shall accompany us with their retinues." Ser Cortnay nodded. "The Queen will be safe, Your Grace. As will the child she carries."

Stannis seemed very grave at that. "Good. Good."

"Ahh, there we go," said Balerion. He nodded at Septon Melwyn, and the pair made their way to the gallery. "The orrery is… if not quite complete, then in working order. I would like Your Grace to be among the first to witness it in operation again."

Stannis shrugged. "Well, I agreed to hold this meeting here, did I not?"

Balerion went to a large lever, and glanced at the king. "The view, or so I have read, is best in the uppermost gallery."

Stannis sighed. "Very well." He walked to a set of stairs, followed by Lord Seaworth and his squires. Ser Lomas considered, and then followed as well. Jon glanced at Ser Brynden, and then with a shrug, the pair of them headed up to the upper gallery. The crowd was murmuring as they looked down, and Jon quickly saw why. There on the floor was painted a vast map of the Seven Kingdoms, with castles, cities and towns drawn and labeled. The king stared at all with surprising wonder. "It is as if… as if you were viewing the land from the clouds." He shook his head. "You should have mentioned this, Septon."

Balerion laughed. "Oh, that requires a further touchup. In truth it is not half so grand as Aerys and Tomas wished. They had a plan for moving models of the cities below, so that as the heavens moved, so did the earth. They even built a few of them, but it was all too impractical. They settled… for this." And then they heard him pull the lever.

All at once, with a slight grind of mechanisms being set off, the orrery began to move. A bronze sun passed over the earth, vanishing into the west. It was followed by a moon and a few spheres representing stars, moving on the thin brass wheel that it was all set on. The sun came again, followed by the moon and stars… but a different moon, half, not full, and surrounded by different stars.

There was a general gasp from the company. "I should…" began Stannis. "The Queen would enjoy this, I think." Jon was about to agree and say that his wife would as well, when he realized he was imagining Jeyne and not Lysa doing so. And so he said nothing, but simply nodded. Stannis glanced below. "Lord Chelsted, you must see this." Jon turned to see the Master of Coin standing near the stair to the upper gallery. He seemed to eye it with suspicion.

"Is that a royal request, Your Grace?" asked Chelsted.

"If that is what it takes to bring you up here," replied Stannis.

Rys nodded. "Very well." As they watched, he hitched up his robe, gathered it in his left hand along with his walking stick and then, grasping the railing tightly, began to climb the stairs. His legs… what is wrong with his legs?, thought Jon, as he stared at the slender, crooked things, clad in pale green hose. Chelsted's feet both seemed to be turned inwards and to the side, though the strange heavy black boots he wore made their shape hard to make out. He took each step up the stairs carefully, moving his entire body in a fashion that kept him from resting too much weight on one foot. Clubfeet, Jon realized. He has clubfeet… Suddenly those frogs he put on everything took a horrible significance to Lord Arryn's mind, even as he absently noted that the boots had silver buckles in the shapes of frogs.

"Lord Chelsted, I…" began Stannis awkwardly.

"I will be up there shortly, Your Grace," said the Master of Coin. "Be a shame to waste all this effort." He gave a vigorous nod as he made it up to the top of the stair, then turned and leaned on the gallery rail with both hands. "Ahh, there, you see? Stairs may be a challenge to me, Your Grace, but I handle them, I handle them well enow." He took a couple of deep breaths.

Stannis gave a nod, looking somewhat abashed. "I… would… is there a seat?"

"There is one right here, Your Grace," said Lyonel Frey courteously, pulling the chair out.

Stannis regarded Lord Chelsted gravely. "Lord Rys…" He struggled for words. "Please… sit."

Lord Chelsted considered that for a moment, and then nodded. "I thank Your Grace for his kindness." He began to make his way to the chair. Stannis grabbed his arm.

"I… my apologies… had I…" He shut his eyes and shook his head. "It was a heedless thing, I did."

Rys Chelsted looked at the king. "Think nothing of it, Your Grace. You gave a royal request, and I performed it, for as I said when we first met, I am your man." He clasped the king's hand. "Your man, and no one else's."

Stannis nodded at that. "And a very good, and loyal man, indeed. Now please, sit." Chelsted gave one of his awkward little half-bows, then turned to make his way to the chair. Lord Seaworth took Chelsted's hand as he stepped away from the King, and assisted him into the chair.

"Will…" began the Master of Ships, "would you like assistance getting down when…?"

"I… Gwyndolyn is quite helpful with these things," said Rys. "Long experience. It… is a touch more complicated than you might think." He glanced down at the orrery moving below. "My goodness. It really is quite a sight."

"I will go get your wife," said Jon. "And… perhaps the Queen and the rest of her ladies as well." He nodded. "Yes, yes, that is what I will do." He turned and headed down the stairs.

"Lord Arryn," came the king's voice. Jon looked back up at him. "Do hurry back," said Stannis. "We will need your council."

Jon Arryn nodded. "I will try, Your Grace."

"Perhaps…" Stannis paused and looked down at the orrery again. "Perhaps your wife could come as well."

"That…" Jon bit his lip. "That would not be a wise idea, Your Grace." Stannis gave a nod, and Jon headed out of the chamber, Pycelle and Balerion watching him go.

He headed on for a while, but then the images of Jeyne, his first wife, and Lysa, his present wife, swarmed about his head so he had to stop. Jon shook his head. It was that damned dream. It had put him out of sorts. Could any man be expected to think clearly when their sleeping mind bedeviled them so?

He had woken up in his bed, and Jeyne was beside him, and he realized quickly that he was a young man, in the Eyrie. He stared at her in wonder, and then she awoke, and asked him what was wrong, and he told her that he had a strange dream, and then began to describe in parts and sometimes inaccurately, his entire life in the days since her passing. Jeyne had laughed sweetly throughout, then taken his hand in that way she had, and told him that all was right, that he was a young man with his entire life ahead of him, that all his dreams of being old, of having seen the world torn apart were just that… dreams…

And then he awoke. He was seated in a chair in his wife's chamber. He had gone in to check on her, and dozed off, watching her sleep. That is how he recalled it later. But when he awoke he had nothing but pain, and anguish and confusion. And then his wife awoke, and she… did not cry out, she simply stared at him, with such bottomless contempt. You would not have stared so, he found himself thinking, if you had awoken to find me here in the blossom of my youth, and he felt a fool for thinking it, for there was no way that would have ever happened, no way for this woman to have known him when he was young, and handsome. They were like that a moment, and then her angry astonishment turned to rage, and she snarled at him to get out, and Jon had been so uneasy that he had simply done so, thinking that Jeyne would not have yelled so, like a fool, like an old fool.

But then, Jeyne Royce and he had been young together. And in love. He still recalled the day of their betrothal – his father had taken him to Runestone mentioning some business, and old Lord Royce had feasted his liege and friend with his usual enthusiasm. Early at the celebrations, Jeyne had taken him off, to show him a game she had learned… 'forfeits and daring', that was the name, though they had not in truth played much of it. After the first few rounds it shifted into an excuse to kiss one another, and from there shifted into simply kissing. And suddenly there was a call from the hall for them, and so they had broken apart, and darted out of the little alcove they'd found so as to avoid being caught, and failed, and then… Then they found out the purpose of the feast was their betrothal. Oh, how their fathers had laughed to find them so. Old Lord Royce had noted to his father, with a chuckle, that Jon and Jeyne were in a great hurry to start giving them grandchildren.

Jon felt his eyes water. It had been a magical time, those years, for they were young, and in love. When there were tourneys in the Vale, Jon wore her favor, and when he won them, he named her the queen of love and beauty. He had won the tourney held right before their wedding and she had gone to the altar wearing the crown of flowers he'd placed on her head. Even when sorrows happened, such as the death of his father, he'd borne them, for he had her. They were to have a child. Roland if a boy, for the queen, Anyara if a girl, for the great Lady Royce they built the Runestone Sept for. But the child was born dead, and Jeyne soon followed.

He had fallen apart then, for a while, though his brother Ronnel, his sister Alys and his cousin Rowena had helped him gather himself. Indeed, after several years he had married Rowena, and they… they had been happy enough, though he had never loved her with the same burning intensity as he had Jeyne, something he could not help but regret. You were my friend and my companion and you gave me joy, and I, I never told you how thankful I was of that. Dead now. Her and Ronnel and Alys. They'd also tried for children, him and Rowena, but… more stillbirths. Still, they had raised his orphaned cousin Denys, and then his orphaned nephew Elbert together. And Robert and Eddard had been like sons.

No daughters, but he had offered to take in two of his nieces, the pair that the Waynwoods were having trouble with, wild and carefree Artessa and grave and strange Elyn. Their guardian Lord Waynwood had resisted, politely, but still resisted. "The girls are unruly," he'd said. "Undisciplined and rebellious. They need a hard, sure hand, and you, Lord Jon, you are a soft touch. The rod of correction will sort them out." Jon had agreed, but felt abashed as he did so. Now he wondered if he should have pressed further. If it ended poorly, well, would it have ended as poorly as it did? He thought of Artessa, in the silent sisters, and Elyn, the Seven knew where. Dead if she's lucky. The Burned Men were notorious among the mountain clans. He thought of that pleading letter she had sent him, begging him to force the Waynwoods to end her upcoming marriage. Jon had tried to see her, but the Waynwoods had held him off. She'd said they were keeping her from food and company to wear her down. She said she'd had to bribe a man to get the letter to me. And I… did next to nothing, and they sent her off in the middle of the night and the Burned Men snatched her away on the road. My dear sister's daughter, and I did nothing for her.

Jon took a deep breath. Thoughts like these would steal on him, at times, always, always beginning with thoughts of his dear, dear Jeyne. They would press on him, his failures and his dead, press on him until he could not see how he could go on. But he would in the end, find something to busy himself and carry on.

And he would do so now. He straightened himself, and started back on his way to the Queen's Chambers. The king had need of him, as did the Seven Kingdoms. That was enough to keep him going. It had always been enough in the end. And that would always be the case, until the Stranger took him.

Whenever that might be.

 

[Shane_357]

"To think of the Lhazarene playing a role in the councils of the great," said Pycelle, shaking his head. "Indeed, to think of them victorious in war – it beggars belief."

Click to shrink...

The Lhazarene always get ignored and honestly I like that they're getting some luck.

 

[Netos]

The Lhazareen seem like the Hobbits in the above quote

 

[Shane_357]

Well I see Godwinson decided to binge this.

 

[Space Oddity]

THE LOYAL KNIGHT

The mercer stood before the Lords Shawney and Frey, arms crossed as the pair looked over the contract. Ser Alliser stood in the corner of the solar, among the other guests, and hoped the man did not recognize him. It seemed unlikely – Alliser was probably one household knight among many to the man. But then, I recall him. Janos Slynt, coming with his father Olyvar to deliver the chops and vittles. Olyvar had always had a little extra for the household knights and palace guard. And such quality. When he delivered to the Red Keep we ate as good as the king. It was surprising to see the son working as a mercer now, but Janos seemed to suit the role. Alliser wondered what had happened to Olyvar, but of course, he could not ask.

"Heh," said Walder, "yes, yes, this looks acceptable…"

Clydas nodded. "Yes. Hah! You've not skinned these rabbits, Slynt! Hah!"

Janos managed a dull nod at that. "I am happy you are both satisfied with the terms. Let us seal the agreement then." One of Frey's younger bastards, a thin man with a pinched face, came forward with the sealing wax and a candle. The wax dripped onto the paper and the Lords pressed their seals into it. Janos regarded it, then punched the cooling wax twice with his Master's Ring in a rather firm manner.

Walder put a hand to his chin. "Can't wait to see the back of us, can you, Slynt? Heh."

"Cannot wait to be home," replied Slynt, watching the wax cool. "The Prentice Matches are being held." He nodded, and rolled the contract up carefully. "I hear the Butcher Boys are doing well this year. I would like to see that."

Clydas snorted at this. "Hah! That is who you played as a lad for, is it not, Slynt?"

"Who I played and won for, Lords," said Janos mildly. "The Butcher Boys won the Matches for five years running with me. I was thrice awarded the Ashes as the player whose skill was most valuable in the victory. My name is wrote in the Scribes' Crimson Book, next to other champions of note."

The pair chuckled at first, then guffawed. "Do-ho-ho-ho!" they laughed together. "Oh, Gods, the man is proud of being a butcher's son," said Walder Frey, wiping a tear from his eye.

Janos was utterly impassive. "A butcher's son, and a butcher's grandson," he said simply.

Clydas' face twisted into a scowl. "Don't bandy words with us, Slynt. You are proud of them both, are you not?"

Janos crossed his arms at that. "My grandfather was judged by many the finest butcher in Volantis, and then, when he came here, the finest butcher in King's Landing. That means there is an excellent chance he was for much of his life perhaps the finest butcher in the world. His son, my father, was viewed as his equal in skill. Should I not feel pride to be of the blood of two men who excelled at their craft?"

"No!" shouted Walder, pointing emphatically. "You should not! Heh! It is debasing work, done by the debased! Any fool can do it! Any fool! Heh."

"Could you do it?" asked Janos mildly.

Walder stared at him, then pouted and glared at the floor. Clydas snickered. "Hah! My cousin's meaning is there's no pride in it, Slynt. Any man or woman nobly born, they view themselves diminished to deal with such as you. Hah! You should take no pride in it, butcher's son. None!"

Janos nodded at that, his eyes narrowed. "I will take your lordships' words on this subject with the same gravity as I take them on any subject," he said, then bowed and turned, leaving the solar with a stony dignity.

There was silence afterwards for a moment. "Heh. A cheeky bastard that one," said Walder at last.

Clydas nodded in agreement. "Hah! They grow too proud, too proud by far, those Masters of King's Landing. Hah! Masters of what? Of two dozen or so trades no one should take pride in! Hah! They've a guild of musicians, you know that? Musicians! Hah!"

Lord Sunderland gave a loud, anxious laugh at Lord Shawney's witticism. "Well said, grandfather! Well said!"

Clydas glared at his grandson. "Something I know without your fool mouth telling me, Triston." He shook his head. "I swear, you remind me of your mother. And I hated your mother. Hah! Married her to your father because it meant she'd go to the damned Sisters and be miserable there. Worked to. Hah!"

Sunderland blinked at that, and then managed a laugh. "Oh, grandfather, you are such a wit."

Clydas smiled at that. It was not a pleasant smile. Alliser wished suddenly that some of the others were here, the Crabb brothers, or Jaremy Rykker or Jarman Buckwell. But they all had kin here and had gone to see them. Of course, Alliser had kin here as well, but he had no wish to see them. Not now. "Hah!" snorted Clydas. "Yes, that is me. The soul of humor. Now, why don't you go off and find that wife of yours. Doubtless she misses your… edifying company. Hah!"

Sunderland nodded at that. "Oh, you are right, grandfather. My dear Lyra is doubtless… eager to have me about…" He coughed awkwardly, then darted from the room. Clydas and Walder watched him leave. At last Walder turned to his cousin.

"Heh. He truly is a simpleton, is he not?" said Lord Frey.

Clydas nodded. "Hah! I'd say he's lucky he's a lord, but… it's of the Three Sisters. Hah hah!"

He seemed about to say more when the doors to the chamber opened, and three women entered. Lady Stokeworth, thought Alliser. And her daughters. He was wondering what had brought them here, when the old woman bowed. "Grandfather," Lady Stokeworth mewled.

"Tanda," said Clydas. "Hah! What… a pleasant surprise to see you here." He fidgeted idly. "Where's your husband?"

"Manly is needed back in King's Landing," said Tanda with a sniffle. "He sends his apologies."

"And you and your daughters," said Clydas frowning.

The woman simpered like a young girl and her oldest daughter imitated her, though the youngest just looked around the room, puzzled. "We simply want to make you happy, grandfather," cooed Lady Tanda.

The oldest daughter – Falyse, that was her name – nodded eagerly. "We came as soon as we heard of this great family gathering," she said, trying very desperately to beam. "Though we… do not seem to have been told. Doubtless an oversight."

"Hah! It was not," said Lord Clydas. The women stared at him in shock. "You will recall how badly my last visit went."

"Manly is sorry, grandfather," moaned Tanda. "His temper was short. You know how things in the goldcloaks weigh on him! We're here to make amends!"

Falyse nodded eagerly. "We would never, ever do anything to offend you! Ever!" She glanced at her sister who blinked in confusion. Falyse frowned and gave her a quick, painful-looking slap on the side. The girl blinked, and then began to bawl. "See? Even Lollys is sorry!" Falyse said.

"And so your apology involves showing up uninvited and at short notice," drawled Clydas. "Hah!"

Falyse and Tanda both looked rather startled as they considered that, while Lollys just kept bawling. "Oh, grandfather," whimpered Lady Stokeworth. "I… we didn't think… we… we are…"

Clydas raised a shaggy eyebrow. "Sorry. Hah! Yes, I gathered," said Lord Shawney. "Hmmmph, well as you're here, it'd be a shame to turn you away. You do remind me of your mother, after all. Hah!" He glanced at Walder. "Lord Frey, have one of your boys find a place for my granddaughter and her family."

Walder nodded at the bastard who'd handled the sealing wax. "Ryger, you heard Lord Shawney." The man nodded, and took Lady Stokeworth by the hand.

"Oh, thank, thank you, grandfather," said Tanda, as she was escorted from the room.

"You are always generous and kind, Lord Clydas," said Falyse leading her sister out, as Lollys whimpered.

Walder watched them leave and then regarded his cousin. "Reminds you of her mother, eh?"

"Oh, yes," said Clydas with a nod. "She was just as repulsive and imbecilic. Hah!" He shook his head. "They say the youngest is a halfwit. Assuming her mother and sister to be what full-witted Stokeworth look like, it is a sad state of affairs for the girl." He grinned at Lord Walder, and the pair burst into laughter. "Do-ho-ho-ho!"

Walder frowned as they calmed down. "Heh. Bit of a bother, having her around…"

"Oh, I don't know, I don't know," said Clydas. "Her husband's captain of the Mud Gate. And he is, for some strange reason, fond of her and the repulsive children he's gotten off her." He shrugged. "Hah! I do not understand it. I never have. I still remember when the maester handed me Clyden. 'You've had a son,' that chain-bedecked fool said, as if that was an accomplishment. Hah! I looked at that squirming little lump, and wondered how it was everyone else saw the little beasts as precious." The old man shook his head. "Ahh, well, never stopped me from having them. Hah! Have that part down quite well. Same as you, Walder." Frey grinned at this, and the pair began to laugh again. "Do-ho-ho-ho!"

"You handle them so well," said Walder, wiping a tear from his eye. "Heh. I swear that fool Sunderland and those fool Stokeworths all but thanked you for your scorn."

"The joy of being old, Walder," said Clydas. "Hah! Well, old and rich. I'd not be old and poor. The fools are so eager for your favor they tell themselves that when you are vexed with them, it must be a fit of some sorts. Hah! I do so love to make them dance about. Makes all the hours I spent annoyed by their bawling – or their parents' or grandparents'' bawling some of them – worth it." The old man gave a long contented sigh.

Two girls with long chestnut hair, twins by the look of them, entered the solar. "...rude, rude man," said one.

"They forget themselves!" snapped the other.

Clydas turned to leer at the girls. "My, my, what a pretty pair! Tell me, would one of you… or perhaps both of you… be willing to bring a smile to an old man's face?"

The two girls stared at him in disbelief before giggling. "Grandfather, do you not recognize us?" said one.

"It's Haighley," said the other, first pointing at her sister, then pointing at herself, "and Halyse. Hossifer's girls!" The pair tittered, as Walder grinned at his cousin.

"Heh heh, that is a novelty, Clydas," said Walder. "I don't think I've ever chatted up a granddaughter. Heh."

Lord Shawney didn't seem at all abashed by this turn of events."Hah! Only because you've no granddaughters pretty enow to swive, Walder. Hah hah!"

Walder chuckled at that. "True enough, Clydas, true enough!" The pair threw their heads back and laughed. "Do-ho-ho-ho!"

Clydas smiled at the girls. "Haighley! Halyse! Hah! You have grown into such fine, fine girls! Come, give your grandfather a hug." The pair gave a happy squeal, and rushed to the old man, who wrapped his wiry arms around their slender waists. The twins each placed a kiss on his forehead, while Ser Alliser noted the man's hands dipped rather lower than they should. "Oh, it is such a joy to see you two! Hah! Now, perhaps, as your wicked aunt Alara has left her tired old father alone, you would be dears and rub his aching shoulders and sore legs for him, hmmm?" The pair immediately got to work at just that, Haighley rubbing his legs, while Halyse massaged the old man's shoulders. Clydas gave a contented sigh. "Hah! That is it! Now my dears, how have you been? There were a couple of knights you were to marry, were there not?"

"Oh, Myles got himself killed like an idiot," snapped Haighley. "And Halyse's is in exile, or maybe dead, so that's over as well!"

Halyse pouted as she worked over her grandfather's shoulders. "I tell you it was so awful of the king to call for poor Gregor's head! He did him a favor! He killed the princess and her son, the little prince! The king should have been grateful! Cleared the way, didn't it? But no, no, he was all offended!" She shook her head. "Some people!"

"I know," agreed her sister, "I am always being told about how noble it was how Myles died. It's not like they won the battle! He just died! At Stoney Sept of all places!" Alliser's breath caught in his throat. Ser Myles Mooton and Ser Gregor Clegane. That is who these awful girls are talking of, and they see no difference between the pair.

"Hmmm, well my dears, it might be best to keep these thoughts to yourselves," said Clydas. "Some of our present company might be offended. Hah!"

Walder stroked his chin and looked surprisingly thoughtful. "Indeed. They're a touchy bunch. Heh." He glanced at his cousin."I'll not lie, I am… unsure of this."

"You are a cautious man," noted Clydas. "It is to your credit, even if men mock you for it. Ahh, a bit to the left, Halyse." The girl adjusted her massage and the man gave a satisfied nod. "Hah! That's it! But, yes, you and I, we've danced the dance, and watched our fathers dance it before. Hah hah! Oh, we've danced it. Younger men do not even know it, and think they do. Hah!" He turned to Walder. "Do you know what Lord Tully is calling you now?"

Walder scowled. "Heh. Of course I do, he's been saying it for twenty years now. Lord Rat, or Lord Weasel, as it suits him." The man sat back further in his chair, glowering. "Lord Stoat, a few times. Heh. Thinks that's clever. It isn't. But he thinks it is."

"Oh, no, not that old saw," said Clydas, a grin on his face. "He has a new one."

Walder blinked. "What is it?"

Clydas' grin only grew deeper. "Oh, I should not tell you, cousin. It will upset you so. Hah! It is such a wicked thing to say, to such a great old man as yourself…" Halyse and Haighley were both grinning as well, Alliser noted, as if they were sharing in some great joke.

"Tell me," snapped Walder.

"Hah! Very well, very well," said Shawney, his grin looking devilish. "He is calling you the Late Lord Frey." The twins snickered at that.

Walder stared ahead, eyes wide. "That… that…" He feebly stomped his feet. "I am not dead! Heh! I'm more alive than his father! Than his father's father! Heh!"

"Hah! Don't forget his uncle," noted Clydas, his eyes glittering.

"Yes, yes," said Frey. "His damn fool uncle! Not much older than I, but I buried him! His father was younger, but I outlived him too! Heh heh. I have been outliving Tullys for my whole life, and I plan to continue it."

Clydas nodded. "Hah! That is the spirit, Walder! He only mocks you because he thinks you're harmless. But we both know that's not true, don't we?"

Walder smiled at that."Heh. Indeed. Indeed, cousin." He and Clydas started to chuckle, and then both burst out laughing. "Do-ho-ho-ho!" They were still laughing when the solar doors opened. The next group of guests were a gathering of younger nobles, eight men and four women. Alliser recognized the frontmost man, Lord William Mooton, and realized the woman next to him was his wife, Lady Edyth. Edyth Lonmouth, she used to be. William had a handsome face, though it seemed a trifle plump and weak to Alliser's eyes. One couldn't say the same about his wife. A hard woman. Beautiful, in her way, but hard.

William stepped forward and bowed. "Great-grandfather, it is good to be here, among friends." He said the last with especial emphasis.

Clydas yawned at this. "Yes, yes, so pleasant to see you… Waylan, I believe it is?"

"William, great-grandfather," replied the younger lord. "Lord Mooton."

"Oh, yes, yes," said Clydas, smiling. "How forgetful I am in my old age. Mmm… Lord Mooton, now? Your father's dead. Hah!" He clicked his tongue. "What a shame, what a shame…"

"With me is my wife," he said, gesturing to Lady Edyth.

"We are thankful for this invitation to this… grand and noble gathering," the woman said.

"Yes, yes, it is very grand," noted Clydas, yawning again.

William took a deep breath. "And of course, the others… Lord and Lady Hayford, Lord and Lady Edgerton, Lord and Lady Keath, and some of Lady Keath's brothers, Lambford, Lothor, Lewys and Larys Lolliston."

One of a quartet of nearly-identical looking men nodded. "Our father wishes he could come, grandfather," he noted, "but his gout…"

"Hah! Yes, I saw the man at Harrenhal all those years ago," said Shawney. "His feet looked like melons. I'll thank the Gods they've spared me that, even if they've heaped other troubles on my head." He peered at the Lolliston brothers. "Are you Celia's boys, or Ayenna's?"

"Two of each, grandfather," said Lady Keath, smiling.

Clydas shook his head. "Hah! I will never understand what compelled a man, having had one of my daughters, to go immediately back for a second helping. Hah hah! A sign of poor taste, to my mind."

"Heh," said Walder. "More dames for us, eh, Clydas?"

Shawney smiled. "Hah! True, very true, Walder," he said. The pair let out another great laugh. "Do-ho-ho-ho!" One of the guests, a rather frail looking man with pale, straw-colored hair began to cough, slightly at first, and then violently.

"Jon!," shouted the woman next to him. She was tall, with dark hair, and Alliser realized, with some surprise, quite pregnant. She quickly grabbed him by the shoulders and loosened his shirt. "Breathe, Jon. Breathe." The man took a few rattling breaths and managed to get some control of himself. "Lords Shawney, Frey, my apologies, but my husband… his health is often poorly. We must cut this meeting short."

One of the other women, a short, slender redhead, spoke up. "And I would like to go with my sister and goodbrother to assist them." She looked at a man who Alliser realized must be her husband. "Unless you need me here, Everett?"

"Nay, nay," he said. "Though I would feel more comfortable if you had a stronger arm accompanying you." He looked at his goodbrother, still gasping for breath. "No offense, Lord Hayford." Jon Hayford gave a slight, understanding nod.

"Very well," said the redhead. She glanced over the group, and then to Alliser's surprise, pointed right at him. "You, ser. You are Alliser Thorne, are you not?"

Alliser blinked. "That is my name, yes."

"Good," she said. "We have long heard of your deeds. Would you accompany us?"

"I cannot refuse such a request," muttered Alliser, as he wondered what deeds they could possibly be talking about. Squired against the Ninepenny Kings, but so did hundreds of other men. I was at the Defiance, and I helped chase down the Kingswood Brotherhood, but even more did that. And in this rebellion… He shook his head as he followed the trio out. My greatest act is escaping the dungeons, and that was Connington's doing, not mine. As they left, he heard Lord Mooton asking Haighley how she was bearing up with the loss of his brother, and the girl immediately began weeping lizard-lion tears.

"We are staying with my family," said Lady Hayford. "They will have his medicine."

"Me and Everett as well," said the redhead. "I am… Lady Edgerton."

"Indeed," said Alliser. The two stared at him for a moment, as if expecting some sort of recognition, then were silent, helping Lord Hayford walk along. Alliser was following along when he heard the voice.

"Ser Alliser," said the thin voice. He turned to see a slender man with bright red hair, smiling at him. "I have heard of you."

It took him a moment, but he realized swiftly who it was. Aegon Frey. The Crabbs spoke of him. Said he'd murdered a serving man in the Twins on a pretext. And boasted of it, as if it were some deed of renown. "And I you, Aegon."

The man – the boy, really – smiled in a way that Alliser found insufferable. "Bloodborn, ser. That is what I am called. I've a cousin with the same name, a halfwit, but only I am known as Bloodborn." He licked his lips. "For it was a bloody birth, and I… I was born holding a clot."

"And if you'd been born with a tooth, would you have insisted we call you 'Nipper', lad?" spat out Ser Alliser. The ladies chuckled at that, and he thought he saw a smile come to Lord Hayford's face. "Now, begone. I've no time to bandy words with you."

"I will not be insulted." The boy spread his cloak, which Alliser noted without a bit of surprise was scarlet, revealing his blades, a sword and a dirk. "I came to speak of great matters with you, for I have heard you squired for a Kingsguard."

"I did," said Alliser. "And was knighted by him. Be off with you, boy." No man held Ser Harlan Grandison a great knight, but he'd been a Kingsguard all the same. Alliser recalled his last meeting with his old master, only a few days before his death. "If my service ends soon," the old man had said, "then let it be said that if it was a service without distinction, it was also a service without shame." You wronged yourself, Ser. You were a true knight, a workhorse among show ponies who did vital work, while others got the glory. The world is poorer without you, and I… I miss you. Terribly.

"I may be no knight, but I am handy with a blade," said Aegon Frey. "Few can match my draw." His hand was hovering over his blade. "Care to see it, ser?"

"No," answered Alliser. "But you are going to show it to me. Well, show it, you poxy little bastard." Aegon grinned at that, and pulled the blade out in one fluid motion, stabbing at where Alliser had been. But Alliser had already moved from that spot and was grabbing him by the shoulders. Just like you said, Ser Harlan. Just like you said. Speed means nothing if you know not how to hit. He slammed the lad against the wall, and listened to him yelp with a certain satisfaction. The blade fell from Aegon's now nerveless fingers. Ser Alliser didn't wait for him to recover but threw him to the floor and then gave him a kick on the way down. "Well, now I've seen it," said Alliser. "I'm not impressed, even if you did outdraw me, lad." He leaned over the boy. "Do not trouble me or mine again, boy." Aegon whimpered, then scurried away, blubbering like a child. A coward at the bottom of him, thought Alliser. And a buggerer, I'd wager. He has the look.

"He's left his sword," said Lady Edgerton.

"Leave it," said Alliser. "I suspect our mighty warrior will be back for his bauble soon enow. Let's be off." They nodded and continued on their way.

It did not take long before they were greeted by a matronly voice. "Alys, Helyn what is… Oh, Jon had one of his…" And then Alliser was staring at shock at the woman who was staring back at him.

"Jessamy?" he muttered.

"Alliser?" said his sister, and then suddenly he was wrapped in her arms. "By the old gods and new! Alliser! You are fine! I heard… they'd said you'd gotten away, but… I didn't dare…"

"It is true," he said softly. "I made it away. Jon Connington… It is true." He pulled away. "You look very well, sister."

"And you look like you've been through all the Seven Hells," said Jessamy, cradling his face in her hands. "And likely have."

Alliser looked at Lady Hayford and Lady Edgerton. "And you are… Alys. Helyn. Oeun's girls."

"We hoped you'd recognize us, nuncle," said Alys, a hand on her belly.

"I…" Alliser gave a shrug. "You've grown, lasses. You've grown a great deal." And gods, they had. The last time he'd seen them… it was at court… Alys had seemed mostly interested in her poppet, and Helyn was all scraped knees and dirty clothes. Twelve… no, fifteen years ago.

Jessamy took his arm. "Come on, Alliser. The family is here, and it's waiting for you." She shrugged. "Well, most of it. My Jennifyr and Desimone are with their husbands. But my Lymond is here, and Garse and Rickard as well. And of course Madelyne."

As he entered the apartments he saw that a slender, dark young man was spooning medicine to Lord Hayford. "There you go, Jon," he said. "Let's try and not make the Stranger's job too easy, ehh?"

Jon took a deep breath, his relief obvious. "Much thanks, Lymond. Gods, the thought of dying listening to Lord Clydas…" He glanced over to a pair of young women sitting nearby, one of whom was holding a child on her lap. "Apologies, Cornyla, Jaena. I know…"

"Nothing to apologize for," said the woman with the child on her lap as the other rolled her eyes. "We're Shawneys, not fools." The child – a little girl, Alliser saw – gestured for Jessamy, who quickly scooped her out of the other woman's arms and began to cuddle her.

"I'm the man's daughter, so I know what he's like more than most," said the other woman. "I had to grow up listening to all his wickedness, and his 'Hahs'." She shuddered. "Usually while massaging his awful old bones. I'm glad to be done with that. Though I'm sorry for poor Alara, stuck with that duty."

"She's made herself scarce," said Alliser.

The woman nodded. "Good for her." She coughed. "I'm Jaena. Rupert's wife." She gestured to the other. "This is…"

"Cornylla," said Alliser. He gestured to the slender man. "Lymond's wife. I'm not wholly ignorant of what's happened amongst my kin." At least, not Jessamy's part of it. He looked at his daughter's son. "I am sorry about what happened to your father…"

"Thank you, uncle," said Lymond. "It is…" He shut his eyes. "It is what he would have wanted. He died fighting the good fight. 'Let me not become one of those worn out old men, talking of past glories,' he used to tell me. 'Let me go joyous into the darkness, a sword in my hand and a song at my lips'."

Alliser nodded at that. "Aye, that sounds like Hendryk." He'd always rather liked his goodbrother. "Should I call you Lord Goodbrook now?"

"Lymond, nuncle," said the man, smiling. "To the man who gave me my first sword, it will always be Lymond."

"I… thank you, Lymond," said Alliser. He glanced at Jaena."Where is your husband?"

"With his father and Lymond's brothers, at the moment," said Jaena. "So, Ser Alliser, how does my father strike you?"

Ser Alliser considered a pleasant lie, but from what this woman said, she'd no fear of the truth. "Suspect. I do not sense a great deal of loyalty to the cause from Lord Shawney. And Frey… is what he is." He shrugged. "Still, they've given us shelter and Ser Raymun has put his faith in them, so what have I but vague suspicions?"

"They're more than that," said Jaena. "My father has never helped anyone save where he sees some advantage to himself. Even if it is only a moment's merriment. He's apparently been telling all who will listen that he was among the first to rally to the Targaryens when this started. He's left off that he was also one of the first to surrender."

"As for my cousin Raymun," noted Lord Hayford, "well, he has three dead brothers to cloud his judgment, along with a dead uncle and another sent into exile. Which I understand – they are my uncles as well, and his brothers are my cousins. But… I do fear he loses his judgment."

"In times such as these," said Alliser, "what man keeps it?" There was a general nod from the company.

"Still bad to lose it when dealing with Clydas Shawney and Walder Frey," said Jessamy, as her little daughter peeked shyly at Alliser. She petted her daughter. "Come now Maddy. Your little betrothed should be here soon. Won't that be nice? He's to be a lord in the future."

Alliser glanced at her. "Who…?"

"Little Marc Grafton," she answered. "Though he's like to take his mother's name now. Marc Staunton then."

"Ahh. Evremonde's boy," said Alliser with a nod. He frowned. Her father had been a loyal enough man to the king, even if he was a bloody stupid fool, but Evremonde… She is not her father's daughter, that one. Too spoiled and wild. Showed that with the accident. And now she is the Lady of Rook's Rest, Gods help us all.

The doors to the chamber opened, and Alliser saw his sister's younger sons enter "...worst part of this is so many Frey girls about," said the young Rickard. "All of them looking for a husband." He shuddered.

"Oh, I don't know," said Garse, chuckling. "Some of them are quite nice."

His nephew Rupert smiled at the pair. "I think both of you will find marriage has a certain charm that can't be described, only experienced."

Jaena flashed him a crooked grin. "Mmmm, it sounds like you are starting to appreciate your stunningly perfect wife, Ser Rupert."

His nephew stepped forward and took his wife's hand. "More every day," he said. He placed a kiss on it, and Jaena gave a throaty laugh.

"I swear," said Ouen Thorne, stepping into the room, "the pair of you oft forget the rest of us are around…" He stopped and stared awkwardly at Alliser, who stared awkwardly back. After a moment, he managed a nod. "Alliser."

Alliser nodded back. "Ouen." He coughed. "I should be on my way."

"Oh, no," said Jessamy. "This ridiculous feud has gone on long enough. I know the pair of you are as prickly and proud as any Thornes that ever lived but I am as well, and I say the pair of you will go out onto the balcony, and you will mend matters betwixt you, and then you will come back out and be sociable with your family." She raised one dark eyebrow. "Your family, which loves you. Both of you." Ouen and Alliser stared at her for a moment, and then turned and made their way to the balcony.

They stood there in silence for a long moment. Alliser spent his time noting the banners assembled below. There were a surprising number of them, really. It seemed that Lord Clydas and Lord Walder's oversized broods were finally proving of use, though whether that use was for good or ill, Alliser could not tell. And they are not all his kin, Alliser realized, spotting the red crab on gold of the Crabbs among the throng. What did Luthor say their words were…? He saw the sword the crab held and chuckled. Ahh, yes, 'Our grip is sure'.

Ouen took a deep breath. "It is good to see you are… well."

Alliser glanced at Ouen. "I am a fugitive in hiding, who has seen firsthand the ruin of the house we Thornes have served since it came to these shores." He scowled and shook his head. "That's an odd definition of 'well'."

Ouen frowned at that, his shaggy salt-and-pepper beard making his face seem somewhat savage. "By the old gods and new, Alliser," said Ouen, "must you always be like this? You are not dead, and you've scaped your imprisonment. Yes, I count that well! As well as anything can be in these dreadful times." He shut his eyes. "Faith, do you think me unmoved by what's happened? I served the Iron Throne, same as you, was the Targaryens' man and proud to say so. And now…" He took one deep breath. "Now, I still am. I would not be here, if it were not so."

Alliser nodded. "I… I understand that, Ouen. It… it has…" He shrugged. "You know my nature. I am not an easy man at the best of times. And these… these are the worst."

Ouen seemed to consider things for a moment, and then looked at him closely. "You saw it firsthand, as you say. What was it like, in the Red Keep, as it all fell down?"

"Awful," said Alliser. "The great stroke men had feared fell at once, and harder than they'd imagined, and in this moment, all those parasites who thought themselves so wise, were shown for fools." He gave a bitter laugh. "They had no idea what to do. The king… Aerys was the only one of them who saw what they faced, and what was needed, but… only when his wits were about him. And they were so seldom about him then. Merryweather and Staunton sputtered about while Varys, Lord Velaryon and the alchemists found more excuses to pour poison in Aerys' ear. Connington was a brief ray of light, but they asked the impossible of him, and then destroyed him when he did not perform it." Thinking about poor Lord Jon made Alliser's heart ache. "And then there was Lord Chelsted!" He snorted at that man's name. "Bitter and useless. Years of plotting to be the great man and he folded like paper when he was needed. It got worse when he was Hand. He went about telling any who listened that we were all but lost. When the Prince came, he was willing to wager it all on one good throw, but he still felt that even if all went well, we'd have just won room to come to the table."

"I heard he was burnt for bad counsel," said Ouen.

"And justly so, for that was all he'd given," muttered Alliser. He shook his head. "I swear… after years of speaking of Rhaegar being used as the puppet of the ambitious, what did he do when he was Hand? Try to do just that!" He turned to his brother. "They were alone for hours when the Prince returned. As I understand it, Chelsted swore to serve him in any and all undertakings should he carry the day, which…" He sighed. "Well, we both know what that means."

Ouen nodded. "You remind me why I avoid court, if I can help it."

"And I wish I could have," said Alliser, with a snarl.

Ouen stared at him in surprise. "Gods be good, are you still mad that I named Bosola master-of-arms at the Brambles?"

"Should I not be?" said Alliser.

"You were one of the Red Keep's own swords!" said Ouen. "You squired for a white cloak! I thought one lay in your future! What was the Brambles to that?"

"It was home, Ouen," answered Alliser softly. "The Brambles was home."

His brother was silent for a moment. "Well then," he said at last, "I am sorry if I hurt you, Alliser. But it was not from disdain, but faith in you."

"Misplaced faith, brother," said Alliser, shaking his head. "I am an old done man. There is no white cloak waiting for me."

Ouen scowled. "You've been robbed. When Ser Harlan died, I said as much…"

"Nay, nay," said Alliser. "Ser Jaime was a hundred times the sword I was." He recalled the boy at practice and winced. It was painful to watch such beauty. Whenever he had seen Ser Jaime with a sword, he had a desperate wish that he could do something, anything to help that terrible beauty become greater. Another Arthur Dayne, if he'd gotten the chance. All done now.

"That may be so," said his brother, "but if Aerys had chosen you, he would be living still."

"Most like," agreed Alliser. "But… he could not know that. No one could. No, for all that he became, there was no shame in choosing Ser Jaime for the white. The shame is on him for failing it. All on him." He chuckled. "In truth, brother, it was losing to Ser Oswell that hurt. I ranted about it, to Ser Harlan. I was a finer blade than him, a finer rider, a better commander. Ser Harlan told me that the Kingsguard had many fine blades, fine riders and good commanders. What was needed to fill Gwayne Gaunt's seat was a man who knew how to obey."

Ouen gave a fond nod. "A great man, in his way, Ser Harlan. The world knows not what it misses with him gone."

"No," agreed Alliser. "But I do." He glanced at his brother. "Do you trust Lord Shawney and Lord Frey?"

"I've kept my wife and my youngest children… along with the children of my eldest son… far from this," answered Ouen. "Does this answer you?"

Alliser nodded. "How is Adrianna?"

"Ask her when you see her at the Brambles," said Ouen. "Come, let's head inside. If things aren't all mended, well, we can at least stand each other's company." Alliser nodded, and the pair went back into the room.

Lord Edgerton had joined the group inside and was regaling them all with his audience with Frey and Shawney. "...And then… I kid you not… Haighley, who had been all tears at Miles' death, started to enquire if any of the Lolliston brothers' were unwed."

Jaena shook her head. "I see the twins are dealing with tragedy and loss in their favorite fashion. They are father's favorites for all the reasons you think and a few you wouldn't."

Jessamy chuckled and then saw her brothers enter. "You are back! Is all mended?"

Alliser shrugged. "Likely not, but… it is better than what it was. Is that not a start." His sister gave a nod, when some familiar boisterous voices came at the door.

"Ahh, you must meet Ser Alliser," said Curgen Crabb. "He's a grand man, a grand man!" The door opened, and Curgen entered, followed by Luthor and a skinny little fellow. The company stared at them in surprise. Curgen showed no shock, but simply looked about the room till he found Alliser. "Ahh, Ser Alliser. I heard you were with your kin. Well, Luthor and me been with some of mine!" He wrapped his arm around the little fellow. "My cousin, Dickon! Dickon Crabb! Nimble Dick, we call him! My father's sister's boy!"

Alliser couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at that. "And yet you're both Crabbs?"

Dick smiled and shrugged. When he smiled, you saw that he was kin to the brothers. "My father was a Whispers Cove Crabb, my mother a Red House Crabb. There's all sorts of Crabbs. We're a large family."

"Red House?" asked Helyn.

"Our holdfast," said Curgen. "It's not much of a holdfast. More of a house. Which is why we call it the House. And it's all red brick, which is why it's the Red House."

"We're a large family," noted Luthor. "Not an imaginative one." Dick chuckled at that.

"They are good men," said Alliser, "who were of great help to me in my escape."

"Well, my brother's friends are my friends," said Ouen. "Ouen Thorne, Lord of Thornvale, Master of the Brambles, First of the Friends, Keeper of the Crown, and Bearer of the White Rose, at your service."

"Curgen Crabb, Master of the Red House, at yours," said Curgen. He gestured to his brother. "As is Luthor, my brother and steward." He glanced at Luthor. "You are my steward, right?"

"Steward, gamekeeper, master of horse," noted Luthor. "And a few other duties." Luthor shrugged. "Our family is large. The Red House ain't."

"I'm almost surprised you came for the mustering," said Lord Edgerton.

Curgen glared at him. "We Crabbs have called only one house our master, and that is House Targaryens. Any else may go piss, as far as we're concerned, but when the Iron Throne calls, we come." He blinked as he recalled there were women and children present. "Apologies for the language, ma'am," he said to Jessamy sheepishly, nodding at little Maddy.

Jessamy smiled. "It's all right, Master Curgen."

Ouen nodded. "Indeed. We Thornes are much the same. That crown I mentioned sits in its chambers in the Brambles. It has the blood of countless Briar Kings upon it. And the blood of Aegon the Conqueror, from when he was given it by my ancestor, and placed it on his head." His brother's face seemed grim and thoughtful. "There are bonds made in blood. Those you keep, above all else. We made such a bond with the Targaryens. We have kept it. We will keep it, so long as we have the power." Alliser looked at his kin, and the Crabbs, and he felt in that moment, a sense of belonging that had eluded him for years.

Triumph or failure, life or death, it is worth it to stand together with your blood and men of honor for a cause you hold dear, he thought, and he smiled.

 

[matureraven]

Wait, so you made stannis king? So that's explains the title.

I've just skimmed the earlier chapters and havent read the story yet. Still Stannis first appearance made me dislike him from the get go. God he's to fucking dislikable.

I wonder how did the trainwreck go? Is it worth giving it a go?

 

[Estro]

The pair chuckled at first, then guffawed. "Do-ho-ho-ho!" they laughed together.

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He grinned at Lord Walder, and the pair burst into laughter. "Do-ho-ho-ho!"

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and the pair began to laugh again. "Do-ho-ho-ho!"

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Walder chuckled at that. "True enough, Clydas, true enough!" The pair threw their heads back and laughed. "Do-ho-ho-ho!

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He and Clydas started to chuckle, and then both burst out laughing. "Do-ho-ho-ho!"

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Shawney smiled. "Hah! True, very true, Walder," he said. The pair let out another great laugh. "Do-ho-ho-ho!"

Click to shrink...

Good lord, its Waldorf and Statler.

 

[Shane_357]

Wait, so you made stannis king? So that's explains the title.

I've just skimmed the earlier chapters and havent read the story yet. Still Stannis first appearance made me dislike him from the get go. God he's to fucking dislikable.

I wonder how did the trainwreck go? Is it worth giving it a go?

Click to shrink...

This is one of the best ASOIAF fics I've ever read, and this Stannis will grow on you.

 

[Space Oddity]

Good lord, its Waldorf and Statler.

Click to shrink...

If you read Clydas' description back in the last Janos chapter, you'll realize that the pair even look like Waldorf and Statler.

 

[bookwyrm]

Really I can't see this going off like they envisioned, as not only are there Freys like Genna's house husband Emmon all over but more than that there's plenty of ladies of the Crossing and Goodfamilies that have much more cause than just Stokeworth to get their due out of Walder or Clydas as uninvited guests and have been much grieved by their foul behavior. And when you have such luminaries as Aegon Bloodborn or Merrett running around, word is bound to spread beyond the circles it's intended for.

They're helped of course, by Stannis refusing to name a Master of Whispers and run an organized office for espionage, and by the general focus of the Stag court being placed firmly on the thrust into the Reach and countering Tarly's invasion of the Westerlands, but even then Hoster still has the reigns of the Riverlands well in hand from Bracken and Blackwood to the two Vances to beyond.

Like I just don't see how a bunch of honorless opportunists and third-stingers lead by the vengeful kin of those already straightforwardly defeated would make as big a splash as their plain numbers would seem to indicate, and even that would have been chancey in the first place.

 

[Temes1066]

This whole Blue Wedding matter might cause Stannis to reconsider the High Septons peace proposal (after all there is a whole bunch of Crownlanders at this event and the High Septon is a Crownlander himself) and the abolition of the Master of Whispers post.

Wait, so you made Stannis king? So that's explains the title.

I've just skimmed the earlier chapters and haven't read the story yet. Still Stannis first appearance made me dislike him from the get go. God he's to fucking dis-likable.

Click to shrink...

What have you got against Stannis?

 

[Space Oddity]

THE TRUE AND HONORABLE MASTER

Janos looked at the paper he was carrying with a certain satisfaction. I am rid of this place, rid of those awful men, and have made some profit by doing so. It had felt good to seal this contract with his Master's Ring. He had imagined he was punching Lords Clydas and Walder as he did so, and that had cheered him immensely.

Still, there was more business here that needed doing. Lady Stokeworth and her daughters, he thought, as they walked past him. He was wondering what brought them here, when Lady Tanda looked at her eldest. "Now, remember, Falyse, grandfather can be a bit ill-tempered, so allow me to handle him…"

"Are you sure you can?" asked Falyse. "Remember what happened during the False Spring?"

"Your father, Seven bless him, does not keep his temper as he should," replied Tanda. "Listen, I am grandfather's oldest grandchild now! The eldest daughter of his eldest daughter! He is always in good cheer when I am around, laughing and laughing."

Falyse gave a nod and then turned to see her sister cowering in a corner. "Lollys! What's wrong with you?"

"Ba' place," said Lollys, eyes roaming the hall in terror. "Ba' place."

Falyse scowled. "Oh, really, you stupid goose." She grabbed her sister by the wrist and pulled her along, Lollys wailing all the way. Eventually, she quieted after her mother told her to shush. Are they sure she's the simple one?, Janos thought to himself. He shook his head and walked on. A simple meeting with the wedding's steward, then to the musicians' tent to pick up Morros and he was gone, back to King's Landing, and happy to be there. Outsiders and nobles complain about the stink of it, but I will say I've found plenty of foul odors beyond its walls.

"...a companion to the Prince," came a female voice up ahead.

"With no hall to call his own, Haighly!" came a reply. "Mine was a great knight of the Westerlands with a keep near Lannisport!"

Two young women stood there glaring at each other, which was quite odd to look at, for their faces were near identical. Their chestnut hair went down to their thin waists, clad in their fine gowns… finer than what Ryce Rollingford generally wore, it seemed to Janos.

"A keep of his father's, Halyse," said the one called Haighly with a laugh.

"An old, done man!" sneered Halyse. "It'd have been Gregor's if the new king hadn't…! Ohhhh!" She stomped her foot. She turned suddenly and glared at Janos. "You! Merchant! What are you looking at?"

"Nothing, m'lady," said Janos levelly. "My business is done here, and I am heading away."

The twin sisters – or so he assumed they were – glared at Janos. "Then head away faster. This company does not wish you among it," declared Haighly grandly. "And my sister and myself do not wish it either."

"Then we are in agreement, for I have no wish to be here," said Janos mildly, walking on.

The twins pouted and then began to follow on his heels. "It is so intolerable when smallfolk do not know their place!," said Haighly.

"Indeed," said Halyse pointing at him. "You are hired help, merchant! Just like the potboys and stablehands!"

"Quite, quite," hotted Haighly. "And our chambermaids!"

"No, I am not. For a start, I am richer," replied Janos flatly, and immediately regretted it.

As he suspected, the sisters took this poorly. "Look at the little merchant," snarled Haighly. "Giving himself airs! Grandfather is right! The Throne should grind 'em down!

Halyse laughed at that. "Yes! Press 'em 'til the gold oozes out! That will show 'em!" The pair glared at him a bit longer, then turned and started walking to the solar. He shook his head and felt a sudden wave of pity to the girl's betrotheds, whoever they were. Still, that isn't my concern. He passed another knot of people. Ser William Mooton – no, no, it is Lord Mooton now. His father passed from the wound he got at Blackwater Bridge a few months ago. And his wife, Lady Edyth. Ser Richard Lonmouth's sister. Died at the Bridge. He shook his head. None of it felt right. This wedding…

Janos took a deep breath. I've no doubt every wedding with Freys and Shawneys about is wrong. They were that sort of people. And yet… With all that had happened… He shook his head and walked into the buttery that was serving as the steward's office. Old Florian Frey sat there, looking blankly into space. Lord Frey's cousin, older than him, though far less lively. A short distance away, his assistant, Lame Lothar, was chatting with an alchemist. One of Walder's sons, he seemed to do most of the work. To be fair, I think he enjoys this state of affairs, thought Janos, looking at the man's rich clothes. He enjoys all the perks of office, and if funds go missing, well, old Florian, his mind ain't what it once was, is that not so? So no need to look into things, is there?

"...stored carefully," the alchemist said with emphasis.

"And it will be," said Lothar. "You've my word on that."

"Very carefully," repeated the alchemist.

"Again, it will be," said Lothar, looking to the door. "Ahh, Master Slynt. Some business with the steward?"

Janos nodded. Lothar was one of the few Freys who was not openly rude to him. His courtesies don't reach his eyes, but then so long as his insults don't reach his lips, I'll be satisfied. "I've the bond with your father and Lord Shawney. I simply need Steward Florian to verify it."

Lothar turned to Florian and shook the old man's shoulder. "Florian. The Mercer is here with a contract."

The old man started and Janos realized that he had been sleeping with his eyes opened "What?" shouted Florian, in a voice that was too loud. "Where am I?"

"Rollingford," said Lothar.

Florian blinked. "Rollingford? Why am I at Rollingford?"

"There is a wedding, Florian," replied Lothar patiently.

"A wedding? Oh, I adore weddings!" The old man blinked and looked around the room. "Can I sing 'The Bear and the Maiden Fair'?"

"Not now, Florian," said Lothar with a sigh.

"Oh, I do love that song," said Florian. "A bear there was, a bear, a bear!" He smiled. "And so forth. I sang that at my cousin's wedding to Lord Butterwell." He stroked his chin. "Something happened there. Something important." The old man considered it for a moment, then shrugged. "Ahh, well, it will doubtless come back to me."

Janos, Lothar and the alchemist all nodded at this. "Yes," said Janos, puting the bond on the table. "I've bond here…" Florian nodded. "For you to stamp, sir."

Florian's mouth went round in delight. "Oh, yes! For I am the steward! Yes!" He pulled out a stamp with a childish glee.

Lothar raised his hand. "Let me look at it first, sir." He glanced at the bond, noted the seals and nodded. "Yes, that is all in order. We shall stamp it, I will write up a draught and Florian shall stamp that, and then our business will be concluded." He pulled a small vial of ink out from his belt, and opened it. Florian smiled, dipped the stamp in the ink, and then put it to the paper with a look of glee. As he did so, Lothar quickly jotted down his draught, signed what appeared to be Florian's name, and then gestured for the old man to stamp that as well. He did so while chuckling and humming 'The Bear and the Maiden Fair'.

Janos took the draught, and nodded, feeling vaguely filthy. Lothar nodded at him and the alchemist. "Well, I believe my business with the pair of you is done. Be on your way." Janos and the alchemist both nodded and headed out the door. Janos hoped they would each go their separate ways, but the alchemist kept walking beside him.

"I must say," said the alchemist at length, "it is good to see a brother of King's Landing here. Master Slynt I believe?"

We are not brothers, thought Janos. "I am Master Slynt, yes. But Great Guildhall and the Guild of Alchemists have no affiliation," he said.

"Well, no, no, not formally," said the alchemist. "Still… we share a home." The man smiled at him. His face had a strange pallor, typical of his trade. "I am Hallyne. Wisdom Hallyne now. I was an acolyte until recently but… there's a great need for wisdoms at the moment. So many are dead."

My what a pity, thought Janos. All those people executed, and now you're the ones dying. My heart bleeds for you all. "Congratulations on your advancement," he said.

"My father was among the dead," said Hallyne. "In the Sack. Like… like yours."

Your father killed men and women for Aerys. So no, not like mine. "A shame about your loss," said Janos.

"Aerys and Lord Rossart had just named him to the Small Council," continued Hallyne. "Halsyn. Lord Halsyn. Did you hear of him?"

"Halsyn of the Alchemists," said Janos. "Yes, I heard of him." Horrid Halsyn, they'd called him in Guildhall. He'd been trying to get Aerys to agree to a project of his, a great beacon on the city's sea wall that would burn wildfire continuously, prior to his death. Thought it would be a marvel. And useful. He swore the king would find many uses for it. Janos shuddered.

"They were interested in having me perform at the wedding. I can't help but wonder what father would think, his son going about like a trained seal," said Hallyne. "Not happening now. Still, Lothar has ordered some of the Substance for the Twins."

Janos started at that. "What does the Twins need with wildfire?"

"It has many practical uses," replied Hallyne, "and so long as it is handled with care, it is safe. Come Winter, many may envy the Twins the warmth it shall enjoy."

"I am somewhat surprised you sold it," said Janos softly.

"We have a need of funds, and a glut of the substance," replied Hallyne. "Even with what is missing." He turned to Janos. "We produced a great deal for Aerys. And some… seems to have been misplaced. My father was looking into it, with Wisdom Ossifer's help, when he was killed. He worried that unscrupulous individuals were taking advantage of the guild."

Janos nodded. "Still… nothing to be too worried about," he said softly. "After all, without alchemists to light it, it will rest in a basement somewhere and eventually… cease to light."

"The substance does not work like that, Master Slynt," stated Hallyne. "It only grows more potent with age. And more… unstable. My father was quite worried about a mishap occurring. Either now, or later. Possibly years later." The man glanced at him pointedly. "So, if you could tell Great Guildhall that they should be on the lookout for… caches of the substance, it would be appreciated."

"I will do so," said Janos.

Hallyne turned. "Take care, Master Slynt. May the light shine upon you in dark times." Janos watched him go and shuddered.

Something else to tell Guildhall of, he thought, as he headed out and made his way to the musicians' tent. A familiar tune was playing as he walked in.

"Tell her to find me an acre of land," sang Fyn the Fiddler. "Every rose grows fair with time! Between the salt water and the sea-sand. Then she'll be a true love of mine." Janos saw Morros sitting there, listening to Fyn play, along with a young woman with dark hair. Her clothing was bright, and her arms were covered in bracelets. The woman was staring with Fyn with what Janos could only call adoration.

Fyn scraped his fiddle, producing clear high notes on it. "Tell her to plow it with a lamb's horn. Every rose grows fair with time! And to sow it all over with one peppercorn. Then she'll be a true love of mine." Janos sat beside his son to listen. "Tell her to reap it with a sickle of leather," sang Fyn. "Every rose grows fair with time! And gather it up with a rope made of heather. Then she'll be a true love of mine!" He ended with a flourish and gave a bow.

The woman, Morros and Janos all clapped "I'm not sure 'Tumbleton Fair' is a good song for a wedding," said Janos.

"This is practice," said Fyn. "And let us be honest, it suits this wedding better than say 'The Queen Took Off Her Sandal, the King Took Off His Crown', or 'The Whirly Whorl'."

"Old Florian seems quite keen on singing 'The Bear and the Maiden Fair'," noted Janos with a smile.

Fyn winced. "Gods save us all."

"And I've seen the bridegroom," Janos continued. "I'd say 'The Whirly Whorl' is quite appropriate." Fyn and the woman both chuckled at that. Janos stood. "Well, I am off. Thank you for watching my son."

Fyn nodded. "It is no problem, Janos." He grinned at Morros. "Morros is a good lad, and a pleasure to have around."

"Bye, Fyn," said Morros, rising to join his father. "Bye, Alara."

Janos blinked and turned to the woman. "Your father keeps asking for you."

"Let him," said Alara. "When I am at his side, he either demands massages, or tells me to scurry away so he may discuss men's business." She shrugged. "I'm saving him the latter, and myself the former."

Fyn chuckled. "Don't grudge the lady her father. He's a burden enough for her, and besides, she takes after her mother."

"One of the few fortunate things in my life as regards family," said Alara.

Janos nodded. Somehow this made the next part easier, not harder, as he'd feared. "There is… another service I would have of you," he said.

Fyn gave a bow. "Name it, Master Slynt."

"This… wedding worries me," said Janos. "It does not… add up as it should. I look at it, and I look at it, and the parts… belie the whole." He took a deep breath. "I am going. You are staying. I ask you… to keep your eyes and your ears open. I do not think I have anything… solid enough, but you might…"

Fyn looked at him gravely. "These are lords, Janos. Lords and knights and masters. And we are not."

"You've noble blood," noted Janos hopefully. "On both sides."

"Yes, my mother's an Arryn, same as the Hand," said Fyn softly. "But of the wrong Arryns, so, not the same. And there's some of my Gulltown kin say that nuncle Rogar was a fool marrying his sister to a King's Landing man, no matter what boon companions they were across the Narrow Sea. Not that Ser Rogar listens, bless him." He sighed. "As for the Brightflowers. We've arms. The head of a silver fox, on a field of vair, with red and gold flowers around it. And words, bold words. 'Have we not the right?'. I quite like those words. But we have no titles and no lands." The fiddler chuckled at that. "Well, actually we have quite a bit of land but not the way proper nobles have it."

"You are… of bastard stock?" asked Alara quietly.

Fyn frowned. "Four centuries ago, and in… a manner of speaking." He chuckled darkly. "A third son of the Florents fell in love with a merchant's daughter. Her family was wealthy, and he was a third son with two brothers and their children before him, and so they wed, even if the Lord of Brightwater Keep grumbled. But then his brothers and their children died, and he was the heir. An heir, with three children of a merchant's daughter, and another on the way. His parents had the Faith annul the marriage, the children of it named bastards, and then wed him to a Hightower." He shrugged. "From that second marriage, the present house of Florents. From the first, the Brightflowers, who went east and then further east to escape the spite and envy of their kin, and were at the Blackwater to greet Aegon the Conqueror. And that's where we've stayed." He turned to Janos. "There's a lesson there, Master Slynt. Be wary of the lords. Their wrath is an unpleasant thing for those under them."

"That is one lesson in your tale," replied Janos. "I think I see others."

Fyn shook his head. "All my nuncle Tommen's talk of the Merchant's Eye. It teaches men to think, and I swear that's a dangerous, dangerous thing."

"Will you do this for me?" asked Janos. "I know it is a risky thing. For both of us, but for you perhaps more."

The fiddler hesitated, and then Alara coughed. "I think you should," she said. "I do not know what it is my father is aiming at but…" She shut her eyes. "He is not a good man, and he does not plan good things. And right now, the sisters and goodbrothers I like go about uneasy, while the ones I dislike, they are all chuckling and gloating." She shook her head. "That is never a good sign."

"Very well," said Fyn. "For you, my love." He turned to Janos. "I will be your eyes and ears here, Janos."

"I thank you," he said. He was about to speak further when the sound of riders reached his ears. He looked out of the tent, and then blinked as he saw the arms displayed by the guards. He took Morros firmly by the arm, and made certain that he stood between his boy and that rider.

She was clad in black and white and grey, and her face was a pretty white mask that showed no emotion and her eyes were black dots upon it. "You there," she said to him in a commanding flat voice. "Is this a place where my men and I may set up our pavilion?"

Janos gulped. "Alas, no, Lady Staunton," he said. "This is the musicians' tent, so they may practice."

Evremonde Staunton's thin pale lips creased in a frown, and her deep set black eyes narrowed. Her lids were heavy, and gave them a hooded look when she did this. Her father's eyes, Janos thought. That's how he used to look at the world whenever he had the King's Justice strike a man's head off. Indeed, there was far too much of her father in Evremonde Staunton for Janos' comfort. He remembered how his father, one of the kindest men he knew, had brought out a bottle of wine when he'd heard of Symond Staunton's death. "There are many shameful vows I could make on this occasion," Olyvar had said, "so I will instead simply praise the wisdom of the Seven."

I keep meeting awful people with awful fathers as dead as mine own sweet one today, Janos realized. Perhaps the Seven mean a message in that.

At long last, Evremonde sighed. "It is bothersome, but we should move on. The music might disturb our rest." She raised her hand and waved her retinue on. "Come." And then they went thundering past.

After a while, Fyn spoke. "Evremonde Staunton. Gods be good."

"She is Lady Ryse's cousin, I believe," said Alara. "Is… is it true she murdered a young girl?"

"I wouldn't call it murder," said Fyn. "That would require intent, and Evremonde would need to regard a tradesman's daughter as a fellow human being to actively want to snuff her life out." The man's frown deepened. "She wished to race her horse down the street, and the girl just happened to be in the way."

"She sat still on her horse, after it happened, watching the girl writhe in pain," said Janos. "And then she rode off, with no effort to assist."

"That she did," said Fyn, "and were she not a noble, she would have gone to the block, and were she not the Master of Laws' daughter, she would have paid a dearer price than she did."

"She complained of what she did pay," said Janos. "Said she wished she'd struck a beggar's brat. It'd have been cheaper, she said."

Alara's face was only growing more horrified, while Fyn's was growing harder. "That she did, Janos," said the fiddler. "Well, I shall keep an eye on things here for you. Oh, yes, I definitely shall."

Janos nodded, and lead Morros away. If they hurried, they'd be back at King's Landing tomorrow. And I want that, he thought. I want that very much right now.

 

[Shane_357]

God petty nobles are somehow the worst of the bunch.

 

[Space Oddity]

God petty nobles are somehow the worst of the bunch.

Click to shrink...

For many nobles, a prosperous merchant is just somebody you do business with. For houses like the Freys, the Shawneys, and the Florents, whose prestige isn't quite so great as they'd like, they are an existential threat. (It's especially bad for the Freys who many of the snobbier Riverlands houses -- the Blackwoods wave hello -- see as practically being in trade themselves.) And so while a Stark, a Tyrell, a Hightower or even a Thorne will be courteous, so long as the proprieties are followed, for many of the more insecure nobles, every interaction with a guildsman becomes a unilaterally declared war to prove you are better than them.

 

[bookwyrm]

And also from the other direction- for extremely cash-poor minor landed knights and cadet branches of cadet branches that are like lords in name only of the five feet outside their manorhouses and so on who are just like country squires, proper guild masters and urban artisans and merchants are almost in another world compared to their own lives of crofters and Septry brothers and the village mill. It takes a certain level of ambitious power precariously stuck between high and low to get as Frey-brained about the place of all non-nobles under your heel.

 

[Space Oddity]

And also from the other direction- for extremely cash-poor minor landed knights and cadet branches of cadet branches that are like lords in name only of the five feet outside their manorhouses and so on who are just like country squires, proper guild masters and urban artisans and merchants are almost in another world compared to their own lives of crofters and Septry brothers and the village mill. It takes a certain level of ambitious power precariously stuck between high and low to get as Frey-brained about the place of all non-nobles under your heel.

Click to shrink...

With that group you mentioned, there's the occasional flare-up of resentment -- the guildsmen are cheats, they have too much money, they do not mind their place -- and it can get quite ugly, but as you say, usually, they're something they barely deal with, strange dwellers in an alien world. Just as from the more secure at the top, the reaction to merchants rising is more quiet or even loud snobbery -- the Gulltown Arryns being sneered at by the rest of the family as vulgar, for example.

 

[K von Carstein]

I just binged read the whole story, it was very good🙂

So Walder is planning a Green Wedding? But why would he do that?

 

[Space Oddity]

THE WOMAN IN THE HOUSE WITH A RED DOOR

Lyanna stared at the lemon tree that stood in the yard outside their window. It was apparently something of a miracle the thing could grow in Braavos. But miracles are easy to come by in Braavos, if you are rich. The grounds of this house were extensive… walking them, Lyanna could sometimes imagine she was in a field, somewhere wild and cheerful.

But not for long. You could see the walls if you looked for them. And Lyanna always wound up looking for them. She would try not to, but the knowledge of them would rankle at her. It is like I am back at Winterfell. Without being back. She had loved her home, and her brothers, and her mother, when she was still… her mother, and… and her father, when he was in a good mood. But sometimes, the walls, the rules, it all weighed on her. Sometimes, she had needed to escape.

Mother had understood that. That's why she used to take me out riding with her and Brandon. Lyanna had loved that. Riding out in the woods around Winterfell, she had felt free. But in the end, no matter how much you rode out, you went back home, back to the walls. She felt her son's little hand take hers, and turned down to smile at him. He smiled back, with that sad, serious face of his, so like hers, and yet with so many little pieces of his father in it, if you knew where to look. I wanted you to have the freedom I never did. And what have I gotten you? More walls, higher walls, and somewhere beyond them… She shuddered.

Little Rhaegar sniffled at her frown. He was a sensitive lad, her little son. Just like his father, Lyanna thought, giving him a hug. The urge to take him up, and rush from this place, as she had before, occurred to her, but she pushed it down. What would happen? I would go out in the great city, feel lost, get frighted, and then come back here, and be scolded. Perhaps they would send her to more of the Poetess' parties again. That would not be pleasant, even if she liked the courtesan. The woman had even come here a few times, sharing gossip and cooing over her son. Most of her tales made little sense to Lyanna – discussions of the politics and scandals of Braavos, involving people she knew nothing about – but some of them were exciting. Lyanna had loved to hear talk of this Golden Ram of Lhazar, fighting so valiantly to save his people, of the Ivory King's war against the Spicers, of the three Emperors battling in Yi Ti, of Zor Alexi and Lok of Far Ib's search for allies against Khal Zekko's horde.

To think, I met them, and had no idea who they were, she thought with a smile. Well, good fortune to them. Their cause is just, and they were kind to me. "Is my lady in good spirits then?" came a kind voice from the corner. She turned to see a rather plump serving woman cleaning in the corner.

Lyanna felt a sudden case of nerves, and clutched her son's hand tightly. I did not hear her come in, she said. And I do not recognize her. She blinked and looked closely at the woman, something her long, curly black hair often made difficult. No, no, that isn't quite true. There is something familiar about her. She is someone I have seen before… "Merely thinking on the fortune of friends," she said smoothly.

"Oh, that is good," said the woman. "It is a fine thing, to think of those who have been kind to us, and smile upon it." She tittered, and then Lyanna knew. She stared for a moment, and took a deep breath, while putting herself between Rhaegar and her visitor.

"Take off that silly wig, Varys," said Lyanna, with authority, "and talk to me in your own voice not… whatever it is that is."

The eunuch raised one black eyebrow at that, and took off his wig. "My goodness," he said, in a voice that, while higher than a normal man's, was still far deeper than the one she'd heard him use at Harrenhal. "I have to say, Lady Lyanna, you are far cleverer than I'd imagined you were."

"I will pretend that was a compliment, eunuch," said Lyanna, "and use it as a reason to not call the guards right now, and have them take your treacherous, scheming head off. Now, give me another by answering this honestly. Why are you here? Is it for me and my son?"

Varys shrugged. "Yes. That is it. Precisely." He peered past her at the boy. "That is him, isn't it? Little… Rodrik, I think you've named him?"

"Rhaegar," she answered. "Rodrik is what he's called among strangers."

"I find it cheering that you don't think of me as a stranger," said Varys.

Lyanna gave him her coldest smile. "That is because you'll likely be dead soon," she replied. "Now, come, that wasn't much of answer you gave me."

Varys nodded. "I suppose you're right." He coughed and cleared his throat. "Very well, Lady Lyanna. I believe you and your son should come with me. If you want to live."

Lyanna stared at him a second, and then chuckled. "By the Gods' red eyes, a threat. A threat, here." She shook her head. "You've grown sloppy, eunuch. You forget that I'm the one with guards to call here, not you."

"Not a threat," said Varys, his voice calm. "A truth. You are in danger. Greater danger than you know. If you do not leave with me, you and your son will likely die. Perhaps not today. Perhaps not in a week. Perhaps not in a year. But one day…"

"Ahh, how convenient for you," said Lyanna. "A vague death sentence hanging over me and mine. Is that what you fed Aerys for all those years?" She struck a pose. " 'I swear to you, Your Grace, Lord Stark is not your friend, and if you do not act swiftly, he may do something. I cannot say what, and I cannot say when, but it will most assuredly happen'."

Varys stared at her. "That is… rather a good imitation," he muttered at last. "But in this case…" He sighed. "Garth Tyrell knows about you and your son."

Lyanna blinked at that. "Garth Tyrell. The seneschal? The fat seneschal? Who farts all the time?" She'd seen him briefly at Harrenhal, waddling about. It was hard to think of a less intimidating man.

"The very same," said Varys. "I know of few men more dangerous in the Seven Kingdoms."

"His wind is bad, but not that bad," said Lyanna, with a smile.

"I'm not talking about his wind," he replied. "Yes, he's a fat, flatulent old man, who prefers to stay secure in his own little corner, making sure his family is doing well. But he can be stirred from it, and when he stirs, he is a dangerous man." Varys sighed. "You've stirred him from it, Lyanna, and now his eye is on you and your son. He will likely not act now, but one day, he will decide that the pair of you are a loose end that needs to be taken care of. And on that day, you will both die if you remain here."

Lyanna frowned to herself. "It all seems rather convenient," she said, turning to pick up Rhaegar. "Garth Tyrell finding out, and being this massive threat you, the great Lord Spider, must help poor little me and my fatherless boy with."

Varys took a deep breath. "You do not believe me, then?"

"My husband told me about you," said Lyanna.

The eunuch blinked at that. "So… it is true. He took you as a wife."

"He did," Lyanna snarled. "And he told me every lie, every half-truth, every piece of poison that you uttered to turn his father's mind against him and against every great lord in the realm." She pointed at him. "My father and brother are dead because of you."

"I believe it was in your name that Brandon came riding to the Red Keep shouting for your dear Rhaegar to come out and die," said Varys.

Lyanna flinched at that. "Maybe so," she said. "But if you hadn't gotten Aerys seeing daggers behind everything, the matter would have like blown over. It had for worse things."

Varys crossed his arms. "Not with that king, Lady Lyanna. And I did not need to lie. Rhaegar had a talent for making himself into what men wanted to see, and it gathered ambitious folk to him. And your father…" He shook his head. "I watched his maneuverings, his alliances, and became convinced I was seeing perhaps one of the most dangerous men of this age, a man planning a great act against the Iron Throne. That web, so skillfully woven, covering the Riverlands, the Stormlands, the Vale… the efforts to get the Westerlands, Dorne and the Reach in it…" He chuckled. "I was genuinely in awe. And then of course, Aerys called him down to King's Landing and the man came. And then I saw that I was dealing with nothing more than a prideful fool who wanted nothing more than for the Seven Kingdoms to remember that the Starks existed and were very great. A dull, self-satisfied fellow who thought he could march into the Red Keep and back out again, because he was Rickard Stark and things went the way he wanted…"

Lyanna stared at him in shock and then tried to hold back her tears. "You should not… Do not say…" The tears came then. "He was a good man! You killed him! You killed him! He's dead because of you!" That last talk was coming to her mind now, her father at his iciest, declaring to her how things would be, and issuing great edicts that he doubtless thought were as final as death, but were so easy to slip around. She had begun shouting, and Rickard, he answered as he always did when she shouted, by seething in that way which he thought was dignified, but was actually infuriating. He'd told her he was ashamed to have such a hellion of a daughter, and she'd…

I'd screamed that I was ashamed to have such a fool for a father, she thought. That argument had hurt. It still hurt, thinking about it. She looked out the window, at that silly wasteful lemon tree, and thought about how scared she'd been after it, how terrified of the walls coming up, forever, and ever, and ever. And so she'd run. To what? More walls.

The Tower of Joy had been different at first – it was such a change to be putting walls up to keep things out instead of having them put up around you to keep you in – but by the end… We were both mad to go out and do things by the end, she realized. Rhaegar fairly leapt at the chance to go out and right what had gone wrong, and let's be honest, if you'd not had a child on the way, you'd have gone with him. Lyanna wondered how that might have gone. She had a sudden vision of herself at the Trident, at some great meeting of the forces of the Stags and Dragons, screaming at Robert who was shouting back, as Rhaegar and Ned tried to restrain them. Her stomach twisted and she felt like a fool, a fool, a silly, silly fool.

She felt a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I… am sorry," said Varys. "He was your father. I… I should not…" She turned to look at him. "I should not have…" He took a deep breath. "I tried to save him. He made it… very difficult for me. I think I still… resent him for that."

"It… it is all right," said Lyanna. She turned to him. "How did Garth Tyrell find out?"

"You've been to the Poetess," said Varys. "She's his daughter." He chuckled. "She and the Black Pearl both. It gives him quite the sources on what's happening in Braavos and beyond."

Lyanna started at that. "Garth Tyrell had a daughter… no, two daughters… with the Black Pearl?"

"He was a very comely man in his youth," said Varys. "An acquaintance of mine used to swear to me he was the very god and genius of love in those days… both in appearance and between the sheets. He stayed on her barge for nearly two years and was her constant companion. They tell me he even sent a rich gift to her funeral, roses wrought in gold and carved ruby to serve as a bouquet for her tomb, a sign of his unending devotion…"

"Which didn't stop him from sleeping with your acquaintance," she said acidly. "Any bastards from that?"

"They did not have a relationship which called for fidelity, only for love," said Varys. "And to your question… of course not. My acquaintance was one such as myself." Her shock must have been evident to him. "Garth Tyrell did not, in his younger days, limit his affections. He sampled liberally from every platter." A strangely wistful look stole over the eunuch's face. "My acquaintance swore he was a sensitive and generous lover which… we do not often get the chance to enjoy." He looked at her, and seemed to realize how far he was straying from the subject. "The important part is, they are his daughters, and they keep in touch. As I understand it, he used to arrange quiet meetings in Oldtown, when they were girls, and visit them in Braavos as he could."

"What a loving father," said Lyanna and as she said it realized that she truly felt in her heart of hearts what she had tried to make a jest of.

"He seems to be a pleasant one, as your Westerosi nobles run," agreed Varys, with a sad nod. "And he is still a man who will make you and your son quite dead. It is something he is very, very good at, finding threats to his family, and eliminating them." He looked at her, brown eyes showing signs of tears. "Please. Come with me. I can take you… to a safe place. A place where you will not be found. Or at least, not found so swiftly as you will be here."

Lyanna stared at him. "Where? Where will I be safe? I've Garth Tyrell to worry about here, him and the Red Serpent in Highgarden, and Lord Tywin in all the rest of Westeros."

"As I said, I've a place," said Varys desperately.

"Which requires me to trust you, Varys," said Lyanna. "And that I'll not do. So begone. You've just about managed to convince me to let you slip out of here without alerting the guards. But you've still enough time to make me reconsider things. I'd cut my losses, eunuch."

Varys nodded. "May I at least… get a decent look at the boy?" Lyanna turned Rhaegar to look at the eunuch, who regarded the little babe sadly. "He does not greatly resemble his father," said Varys. He peered closer. "Still… yes, there's something of him, if one knows where to look."

"Well, that's enough," said Lyanna. "Now…" And then suddenly, Varys was blowing some sort of dust in her face. She coughed, as the world went black, and cursed herself for a fool, a fool, a silly fool.