Shapeless Phobos
Filthy Casual
[X] Eddard Stark
[X] Garlan Tyrell
[X] Jaime Lannister
[X] Garlan Tyrell
[X] Jaime Lannister
The Three-Headed Dragon: A Viserys Targaryen Quest Continuation [abandoned]
- Thread starter Stardust&Scotch
- Start date
- Fantasy
- Pronouns
- She/Her
@Vocalist @stuckunderwater @Shapeless Phobos -- would you like to cast any votes for whether or not to tell anyone (and if so, who) about Jon's true parentage?
Vocalist
Verdant Maiden in Violet
- Location
- By a Cedar Tree
[X] Decide to share this secret. It's a leap of faith, but you don't want to spend your whole life mired in nothing but secrets and half-truths. You'll tell…
-[X] Jon Snow
-[X] Aegon Targaryen
-[X] Dany
-[X] Arianne
Awkward family reunion is a go! It's not just that I'd really like to see this scene...It's that, now that Bobby B is no longer in power and dragons are cool again, the main reason for keeping Jon's heritage a secret no longer applies. No one is going to kill him for being a secret Targaryen. Of course, being part of the royal family always comes with its attendant stresses and power struggles, but we know both IC and OOC that Jon's no Daemon Blackfyre.
Edit: Okay, trying to avoid vote glitches:
[X] Eddard Stark. Your Master of Laws is a bit put out that this escalated so quickly, and wants to start planning what will happen next, and how to handle any fallout. You could also spend some time with his wards while you work with him.
[X] Garlan Tyrell. The young lord seems uneasy, and it doesn't take much to gather he's worried that his family could be next. The word of the King himself should assuage his fears, if little else could.
[X] Jaime Lannister. The Hand of the King has put you in quite a fix. You want answers, and you want to know why this was done in your name.
-[X] Jon Snow
-[X] Aegon Targaryen
-[X] Dany
-[X] Arianne
Awkward family reunion is a go! It's not just that I'd really like to see this scene...It's that, now that Bobby B is no longer in power and dragons are cool again, the main reason for keeping Jon's heritage a secret no longer applies. No one is going to kill him for being a secret Targaryen. Of course, being part of the royal family always comes with its attendant stresses and power struggles, but we know both IC and OOC that Jon's no Daemon Blackfyre.
Edit: Okay, trying to avoid vote glitches:
[X] Eddard Stark. Your Master of Laws is a bit put out that this escalated so quickly, and wants to start planning what will happen next, and how to handle any fallout. You could also spend some time with his wards while you work with him.
[X] Garlan Tyrell. The young lord seems uneasy, and it doesn't take much to gather he's worried that his family could be next. The word of the King himself should assuage his fears, if little else could.
[X] Jaime Lannister. The Hand of the King has put you in quite a fix. You want answers, and you want to know why this was done in your name.
Last edited:
- Location
- USA
Shapeless Phobos
Filthy Casual
My reasoning is essentially the same as Stuckunderwater's though I do kind of disagree on telling Jon.
Calming the Tyrell's just seemed more important to me.
- Pronouns
- She/Her
To be clear, they're not mutually exclusive -- the "tell folks about Jon or not" doesn't impact who you talk to tonight; the conversation(s) about him will happen another night. But if you do disagree about telling him, don't feel like you can't or shouldn't vote for what you want.
KnightDisciple
Brotherhood. Unity. Peace.
- Location
- Midwest, USA
[X] Decide to share this secret. It's a leap of faith, but you don't want to spend your whole life mired in nothing but secrets and half-truths. You'll tell…
-[X] Jon Snow
-[X] Aegon Targaryen
-[X] Dany
-[X] Arianne
[X] Eddard Stark. Your Master of Laws is a bit put out that this escalated so quickly, and wants to start planning what will happen next, and how to handle any fallout. You could also spend some time with his wards while you work with him.
[X] Garlan Tyrell. The young lord seems uneasy, and it doesn't take much to gather he's worried that his family could be next. The word of the King himself should assuage his fears, if little else could.
[X] Jaime Lannister. The Hand of the King has put you in quite a fix. You want answers, and you want to know why this was done in your name.
-[X] Jon Snow
-[X] Aegon Targaryen
-[X] Dany
-[X] Arianne
[X] Eddard Stark. Your Master of Laws is a bit put out that this escalated so quickly, and wants to start planning what will happen next, and how to handle any fallout. You could also spend some time with his wards while you work with him.
[X] Garlan Tyrell. The young lord seems uneasy, and it doesn't take much to gather he's worried that his family could be next. The word of the King himself should assuage his fears, if little else could.
[X] Jaime Lannister. The Hand of the King has put you in quite a fix. You want answers, and you want to know why this was done in your name.
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Okay, vote closed: winners are Jaime Lannister (12 votes), Eddard Stark (11 votes), and Tywin Lannister (8 votes). Update will be completed no later than Sunday, hopefully up sooner than that, and we'll start getting into the quest proper!
The Great Work Begins, Part VI
- Pronouns
- She/Her
[X] Jaime Lannister
Your first meeting is, thankfully, alone. It's the most important one for you to take, and while it's going to look like you're sneaking off for scheming you can't bring yourself to care about that right now. Not when it's taking a certain level of focus to not bite your best friend's head off.
It's more than a bit out of your way, but you know no one else is going to be down in the crypts where the Usurper stashed your family's dragon skulls, and things will likely need to be said that need to not be heard by eavesdroppers. Jaime is waiting for you when you arrive, holding a torch in one hand, and the other tucked into a small satchel at his side.
"Ser Jaime, do you know what the role of the King's Hand is?"
Jaime seems caught off-guard by your casual tone, as though he expected a chewing-out or an immediate dismissal. He recovers quickly, though, and answers as nonchalantly as you asked. "The Hand is the King's principal advisor and actor, to offer his king his best counsel and then to fulfill whatever task his king commands." It seems like he really can't help himself but to be flippant, because he adds, "The Hand is meant to be the Crown's most trusted ally and friend in King's Landing, responding to problems as they come, and ensuring the King isn't troubled with things he needn't be."
You do your best to imitate Tywin Lannister's icy gaze and sardonic tone as you respond, "That's a fair if somewhat self-serving assessment. I've always been partial to the smallfolks' saying, that the King shits and the Hand cleans up." You frown slightly. "It's not supposed to be the other way around."
Jaime winces, but doesn't back down yet. "Is that how it's being seen?"
"It varies. Some seem to think I was taken by surprise by my Hand and his actions. Some believe I orchestrated the entire event, and I'm simply trying to cover my own ass. I would hope you understand," you glare, "that neither of these are good or even okay options." You pinch the bridge of your nose fiercely, then sigh. "Is the charge at least accurate? I could be less angry with you if I knew you didn't invent something to arrest your father."
Jaime cocks his head. "That would depend on your definition of 'accurate', I guess."
Your eyes narrow. "If the definition of 'accurate' needs to be in dispute for me to be less angry, this night is not going to go well for you."
That does cause him to look a little abashed, at last. "The charges are accurate. He conspired to murder Prince Aegon."
That is news to you. How had Prince Oberyn missed such a detail, especially as he's been hoping for the slightest pretense to drag Tywin before a court or to just drag him into the Black Cells? Maybe he isn't as well-suited to the job as you had initially thought—
Jaime continues. "…and Princess Rhaenys."
Seven Hells. You squeeze your eyes shut. "You arrested your father, a highborn man and one of the richest and most powerful people in the known world, based on Oberyn's five-and-ten years of conspiracy theories?"
He shakes his head. "I arrested my father based on his confirmation of Oberyn's conspiracy theories."
That, finally, is what brings you up short. "His what."
"He explained to me, in confidence," Jaime elaborates, "that he did order the death of Rhaegar's children, as a way to ingratiate himself and our House with Robert after feeling our House needed to buy in deep with the Usurper or die. For what it's worth," he adds, "he swore to me that Clegane and Lorch were not ordered to do what they did beyond the killing."
"Coming from him, it isn't worth much at all," you sigh. "Alright, so he confessed to this crime, having only succeeded against Rhaenys and by no obvious measurements was attempting to make good on his threats against young Egg today. So why today?"
Jaime looks at the floor, toes at a loose stone. "Something that Prince Aegon said to me. He said I should do what will help me sleep through the night, and worry about the rest later. Between my father's role in your family's deaths, and him openly threatening my uncle and brother today in full view of the Seven, I wasn't going to be able to sleep well knowing he could be free to plan against them and everyone else another day."
"Egg offered this idea to you."
"Not explicitly this," Jaime answers. "More that if I was in conflict, considering what decision would let me sleep through the night could help in making that decision. Everything else could be sorted out later."
"Like telling your king what you're up to?"
He meets your eye, then, and you notice just how rough Jaime really looks. To the casual observer, he would just seem a little tired and stressed, but to you (someone who knows him well, and is gifted with a second sight to boot) he looks like he's only just standing. "It's hard enough to sleep through the night already. I'll take whatever trouble is necessary during my waking hours for a chance at untroubled sleep." A fracture line almost lights up as it arcs out of him, upwards into the Red Keep and at an odd angle, and it doesn't take you much to realise it reflects his mind returning to a particular room, a room that isn't the Great Hall – the only other room he'd have reason to be thinking of in this moment dawns on you, and you also notice him fiddle with something in that satchel. A hint of wiry gold is visible within, and you realise what he has in his hand.
You don't lack for sympathy, but… "It would be nice," you say in a more conciliatory tone, "if that trouble didn't involve me and my nephew as well."
"Well, Your Grace, I'm not going to turn down help when it's offered to me, even when it's your nephew offering advice."
You raise an eyebrow. "Jaime, he's sixteen. Were you a font of wisdom, knowledge and insight at the age of sixteen?"
"I was a young idiot contemplating regicide at sixteen," he retorts. "I also wasn't a Targaryen raised to lead men or to be wise and insightful. Besides, you have been at least peripherally aware that Oberyn and I had designs on something like this. Having direct knowledge would have made you an accessory to it."
"A distinction that I'm sure your father and the lords of the realm will appreciate," you note dryly. Your temper is slowly bleeding off, as you can see he did at least somewhat think this through, and you ask, "Do you have some idea of how this is going to be explained? If we start arresting everyone who ever conspired against my family, we'll end up arresting almost every man of noble blood in the Seven Kingdoms, including you, most of the Small Council, Kingsguard and Lords Paramount. We don't have that many swords to take them or that many cells to hold them."
"If you meant to hold to the strictest possible definition," Jaime shrugs, "maybe. But how many men have conspired to murder a member of your family and seen success?"
"Historically? More than I'm comfortable acknowledging," you answer, but you can admit to yourself he's beginning to persuade you. "In living memory, though…"
-------------
[X] Eddard Stark
"…at the moment Lord Tywin is the only man who fits the bill," you finish.
Lord Stark leans back in his seat, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow and casting shadows over his eyes, his solar in his quarters lit only by candlelight as the sun has just begun to set. The explanation you and Ser Jaime worked out is not ideal, to be sure, but you hope your Master of Laws can help with fleshing out this notion.
"You don't believe that such a definition would include men like me, Your Grace?" He prods. "I raised arms against your family in a successful rebellion. Should I submit to imprisonment and trial, too?"
"If you insisted, and if it would ease your conscience," you say, "I wouldn't stop you. But I'd ask you not to: you didn't conspire to murder my father and brother, so you're innocent of the specific crime. Our court is going to be busy enough without trying an innocent man and declaring him to be so."
Ned looks unconvinced. "The moment Robert, Jon and I drew steel, we all knew it wasn't going to end with us making peace with Aerys. Or with Rhaegar. We planned and waged a war that would result in our deaths or theirs. That would fit the definition you've supplied, I think."
Beside you, Jaime shakes his head. "You planned campaigns and battles, yes. Did you say 'Robert will go here and kill Prince Rhaegar, I will march on the capital and kill the Mad King'?"
"…not in so many words," he answers. "But we planned for events and took actions that would lead to their deaths."
You lean in a bit, an arm on the table between you. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but when you planned for the First Battle of the Trident, you planned to engage your army with another. No one explicitly planned to locate the Crown Prince and kill him, with your knowledge or input."
His face darkens. "I had no doubt that was Robert's intent. I never stopped him, nor tried to plan for capturing the Prince instead of killing him."
"But you didn't plan the act." You tap the table to emphasise each syllable. "Besides, killing someone in combat isn't the same as murdering them."
He is silent for a long moment. "It's an awfully narrow distinction, Your Grace," Ned finally offers as he looks between you and Jaime.
"I don't agree," you say. "You had every reason to expect that Rhaegar would defend himself and be capable of doing it. That isn't murder." Your jaw tightens as you add, "A frail princess and children who could not defend themselves, that's murder." The events of that day had always set your heart alight, but it is different for you now that you're married and have children yourself. The monstrousness of the acts that were committed hits home in a far harsher way for you now. Inwardly, you wonder if you'd feel as strongly about prosecuting this three years ago, without the empathy for the situation you now possess, but dismiss the thought. "Rhaegar had a chance – slim as it may have been, he had as much a chance as I did against the Usurper. What chance did his wife and daughter have?" You sigh. "That's what makes it murder for me."
Ned truly understands now, it seems, for he no longer presses back against your arguments, and instead remarks, "We will need to find a succinct way of putting that argument, that it can be used to put the Great Families at ease."
You feel some surprise, considering the circumstances. "You think that the Lords of Westeros will fear retribution falling upon them, when his guilt is so much plainer and publicly known than any they are known to possess?"
"Garlan Tyrell and his retinue delivered their pleasantries as soon as you departed the celebrations this afternoon, and have almost certainly already made their way beyond the city walls," Ned informs you, "And if Yohn Royce hasn't yet sent a raven to the Eyrie with the news, I am certain that the other lords of the Vale will be. I think that particular knife has been pulled, Your Grace, and now we need to determine how much padding, dressing and stitching is necessary to minimise the damage."
You sigh, your mind already working at it. "If the Tyrells moved that quickly, I doubt young Garlan took the time to send a raven of his own." You look to Jaime. "The Oakhearts remain on good terms with the Tyrells, yes?" At his nod, "A raven will likely outpace them, if perhaps by a few days. We should send word to them via Ser Arys and have them speak to Lord Mace, try to prevent Garlan's words from seeding fear too deep in his father's heart." You think a bit more, before turning back to Ned. "I know things are strained between you and Jon Arryn, but I would have you do what you can to allay any fear of reprisal he might possess."
Stark bows his head. "As my king commands."
You ask, "Is there anything else you recommend?"
Ned offers a sigh of his own, leaning forward and rubbing his forehead in thought. "If you would permit me to give a task to the princess, Your Grace, I would send her to the lords of the Vale, let her words try to sway them to, at least, not flee the city. If they remain long enough to see that you are not your father or your predecessor, that you will not pursue any other men that stood against you, I believe that would take many arrows out of Jon's quiver, should he seek to isolate the Vale or actively resist you."
"Do so, with my blessing," you agree. "Is that what you think Lord Arryn may consider?"
"He will not raise arms against you, if that's what you're asking," Ned answers. "Not unless he had no other choice. No, I suspect he would try to turn the Vale into a new Dorne, part of the Seven Kingdoms in name more than deed, and he cannot achieve that if his lords are not suspicious or fearful of you. Without widespread support for such an isolationist stance, he will toe the line."
A question occurs to you then. "Do you believe this will cause him to change his mind about sending young Robert to us?"
Stark shakes his head. "As long as I remain the boy's named guardian, he won't change his course."
You relax a bit as you sigh out, "Good," choosing to take that as a measure of relief, even if your mind remains somewhat anxious.
Jaime rises, then, and says, "With your leave, Your Grace, I will go the White Tower and speak to Ser Arys." You nod, and he starts to leave, before he turns back. "Shall I meet you there, or in the Tower of the Hand later?"
"We'll meet in the White Tower," you command. "It seems more fitting." He nods back, and leaves your company for his task.
Silence sits around you both for a moment as Ned writes some more. You don't like it when events feel beyond your control, even as much as you're aware most things are. Being blindsided is an unfamiliar experience, and it has left you feeling rattled. Ned has become a close enough advisor, you've relied on him enough, that you feel you can be a bit more open with him than with most others. "Be direct with me, my lord: how badly do you think this is going to go?"
For several moments, Ned is quiet, but you recognise it as him thinking about the question rather than him trying to find ways to soften any potential blow. Eventually, he answers you. "I think we can manage this, my king. So long as we have no new surprises, and," he looks out the window with an unrestrained glower towards the Tower of the Hand, "if Lord Jaime remembers to communicate with us before acting. I won't pretend that this isn't a complication, but so long as things remain in our control and we keep things moving smoothly, it could be a benefit as well." At your look of bemusement, he elaborates, "There's few in the Seven Kingdoms, highborn or low, that don't know what Tywin Lannister did to your family. If a man as powerful as him is made to face the law, it may help see the law better respected than if it was perceived that justice upon the highborn is delivered differently, if at all, as compared to its delivery upon the smallfolk. It is a complex needle to thread, to send that message while also keeping the lords from being too fearful of what you may do to them with or without cause, but I believe we can do it."
You offer him a genuine smile. "Thank you, my lord. I hope to be worthy of such belief."
"That," he responds, "is why I have it."
As the moon begins to rise and night falls, you work with Lord Stark for several more hours, until you are both satisfied with what will be said to whom and how, and the manner in which you intend to proceed with this. The hour grows late, but before you allow him to retire for the evening, you ask him to accompany you to the White Tower. You'd like him to be the witness for the event that you and Jaime did plan with each other for this evening.
-------------
[X] Tywin Lannister
The hour has grown too late for you to approach your lords on anything less than the most grievous of events happening, and while Tywin Lannister likely feels otherwise, you don't think his arrest rises to the level that you can reasonably excuse intruding upon the other lords you might wish to speak to in this time of the night. They will have to wait until tomorrow. It's hours that will give ideas time to settle in their heads, hours that will leave them less malleable than when the iron was still hot, but the rules of decorum leave you trapped in this – if you broke with protocols to speak to any others tonight, it would suggest panic on your part, that you aren't in control and that you're desperate, rather than a king to which they all are meant to answer, a man sure of purpose and unquestionably the one in control. It frustrates you, but it's the world you live in, the paths you chose. But you find yourself still somewhat restless, feeling a need to move and act and do something.
So you decide to pay a visit to the newest guest of the Black Cells. Social decorum doesn't apply to his hours of the night.
When you approach, you find that Tywin is already standing, imperiously, near the bars of his cell. It is as if he knew you were coming. The Old Lion has an air to him that commands attention and respect. You have known this since your youth, but it's really quite something to see that being held in the Black Cells does nothing to dampen this effect. Of course, this is hardly the deepest and darkest of the cells – there are still rules and decorums to be minded, after all. So Tywin Lannister is in a dark and dank, but not lightless and lifeless cell, and he is carefully minded by the particularly odd pairing of Ser Warrek and Sandor Clegane. Wordlessly, you glance at the Westerlander, then back to Warrek and arch an eyebrow at him, leaning on the years of knowing each other to silently communicate, Are you sure about him?
Warrek gives you the tiniest of nods. Yes. He has no love for the Lannisters, and works for me now. I trust his self-interest.
Well, perhaps you're reading between the lines a bit. But you're satisfied nonetheless. You give him a nod in return, and he taps Clegane's pauldron before leading the scarred brute of a man further into the dungeons, allowing you some semblance of privacy.
"Lord Tywin."
"Your Grace." He still stands near the bars, hands clasped behind his back, unmoving.
"Are you unharmed?" Regardless of anything else, you don't really want him injured or tortured, but while you trust the people who took him in with your life, you don't necessarily trust them with his.
"For a given value of the word," his words are clipped and formal. You didn't hear it much, but you are nonetheless familiar with this tone of icy, barely-restrained fury – Tywin took it more and more with your father as their relationship soured, and it often set Aerys off that Tywin was so careful as to not give him an excuse to retaliate. You try very hard to not be your father, but some things slip through the cracks.
Like this tone being a reliable irritant. "If you have received no bodily injury, I would have you spare me your indignation and just answer the question," you hiss.
"Nothing beyond some holes poked in my tunic by your Dornish whores," he returns your tone, to your surprise. This must have set him off more than you'd expected, for his composure to slip even a little. He regains his grip very quickly, though, and asks of you as though he were enquiring after the weather, "Will it matter if I protest my innocence to the charges levied?"
You don't flinch from his gaze. "Not particularly; your son has been very thorough in detailing your guilt, and there isn't a man in the Red Keep who'd take your word over his."
He seems to sense the futility in playing the part of an innocent, and changes tack. "Conspiring against House Targaryen is practically a tradition in Westeros at this point. It's a poor reason to arrest me, and no others."
You nod your head a bit, acknowledging some of his point. "It isn't a tradition that often results in murder, though. And your personal conspiring with Lorch and Clegane rises to the level that few others have accomplished, and none who are living. Your conspiracy led to the murder of members of the Royal Family. I don't know of anyone else who might join you in these cells, unless you'd like the Usurper's remains to keep you company."
He sneers. "And you've tailored this in such a way that keeps you from having to arrest your Hand?"
You were prepared for this, though. "Jaime never conspired with anyone to murder the member of the Royal Family that he did. Unless you wish to allege otherwise?"
Tywin visibly chews his tongue. "You think you're so very clever, don't you. To have conspired against me with my son and my enemies and to think that you'll get away with it."
"You speak as though I had anything to do with this," you protest, "but I was just as surprised as you when you were taken in the Sept." Immediately after speaking, you curse internally. Never volunteer new details, you chastised yourself.
For his flaws, Tywin is not and has never been slow. He catches that small slip easily and processes it quickly enough to remark, "But you knew there would be a move against me at some point, it seems."
You mirror his stance, clasping your hands behind your back. "Any agreements your son made with other lords or houses regarding you are not my concern or my problem."
"Do you expect me to believe that this wasn't your doing, that this wasn't done with your blessing?"
"You'll believe whatever you want, my lord, whether it is the truth or not."
"The truth is that you betrayed an agreement with a Lord Paramount of the Seven Kingdoms, and the other Great Houses will not suffer lightly such an offense to their power."
"Our agreement has been upheld," you say, affronted. "Your son is Lord of Casterly Rock, and you are in King's Landing as a vital part of restoring the realm and upholding the peace. I can't be faulted for your supposition as to what part you would play. And," you add, "I think you'll find the Lords Paramount will be perfectly fine with whatever happens to you. If anything, some may grouse that I let you off too easy."
The hatred in Tywin's eyes could warm the frigid shores beyond the Wall. "You are an ungrateful, greedy, careless boy. I gave you the West, I gave you Clegane, I gave you your precious justice and still this does not sate your thirst."
You pull your stiletto dagger from your boot, and lunge at the bars. To his credit, the Old Lion doesn't retreat, doesn't flinch or even widen an eye. You stop at the bars, blade pointed squarely at his breast perhaps an inch away. "I could put this blade through your heart. Your death would be painful, but quick. Imagine then that your family, if any would still speak for you, sought justice for your murder, and I offered them this blade as recompense. Do you believe that if she lived, Joanna would accept the blade that killed you and not the man that used it?"
Internally, you're a little impressed as Tywin finds hidden reserves to hate you just a bit more at hearing her name. You finish, "You would offer me a blade, and pretend that it acted without your direction. If you think that such a transparent scheme would work on me, then we simply aren't operating on the level of mutual respect I assumed."
If the Old Lion had operated on that level, he does not enlighten you of it now. Instead, he sits on the wooden cot, somehow managing to look as imposing as he did when he sat upon the Iron Throne in your father's stead. "What now, then, Your Grace? Am I to rot away in these cells? Count my days until Prince Oberyn comes to take his revenge?"
"No. You will stand trial, and face judgment." He looks surprised at your answer, which only serves to confirm your suspicions that he's never really understood you. "The manner of this is something we will determine, but you will not disappear into the history books, nor will you be tortured by the avengers you so richly deserve to face. Your crimes will be aired before the gods and before the lords of the realm, and so shall your sentence."
The ice in his eye flashes in the dim light. "And what's to stop me from demanding trial by combat, as is my right?"
"Ser Jaime actually thought of that before I did," you confess. Sometimes, you wish you were a better man. Someone who didn't find pleasure in tearing others apart, take satisfaction in watching the walls close in on your prey, experience real glee in taking hope from them. It reminds you more than a bit of your father, and sometimes that scares you, sometimes you wish you were different.
This isn't one of those times.
"Should you demand a trial by combat, you will be granted one, be it by your own hand or by a champion. And when this trial commences, Ser Jaime will act as champion for the crown." True to form, a vicious part of you truly delights in watching Tywin realise his only means of escape is quite literally over his cherished son's dead body. "I tried to talk him out of it, you must understand, not least because Prince Oberyn would welcome the task. As would my nephew. And, if we're being honest, I suppose I would as well. But he insisted, and I can see his reasoning."
You watch Tywin struggle for a moment, before his mind catches on something to distract itself, move onto a different path to leave the present conflict for another time. "Why are you calling him Ser Jaime? His title is Lord."
"He is also a knight, and it's acceptable for me to call him such. I'm sure he doesn't take offence, and if he does it's far less than he takes to being called 'Kingslayer'. 'Lord Hand' is a possibility, certainly, but it's a bit formal given our closeness and the absence of a formal setting." You're being facetious, and both of you know it, judging by Tywin's increasingly apparent irritation. For a moment, you debate leaving the news to someone else to deliver, maybe one of his sons or his brother, or even Prince Oberyn, but then you dismiss the thought – you are the king, after all, and none of the men in question would deny you your petty pleasures. So you tell him, "There is also the minor detail that Ser Jaime has forsworn his Lordship and rejoined the Kingsguard. Lord Tyrion will be addressed by his inherited title, as he isn't a knight."
[Your Domain has been updated!]
You are unquestionably racking up the score in your 'Bad Person' column, as you don't even try to keep the smile off your face when his world falls away from under him. The totality of his defeat seems to take away something vital within him, and for a long moment you no longer see Tywin Lannister but a tired, isolated and friendless old man. You find your sympathy to be somewhat lacking, though. For all that he is sitting behind bars in your keep, the prison he finds himself in is one entirely of his own making. It is a staggering downfall for one who spent so much of his life either seated on high or clawing his way up there.
So it rocks you back on your heels (mentally; you're far too disciplined to react physically) when he looks up at you, a calculating and icy rage in his eye lending an edge to the inexplicable and predatory smile on his face, such that your instinct begs to flee despite him being the one behind bars.
"You think that you've won, that you've taken my power in taking my freedom. That I cannot speak and have my words be heard, that I cannot reach beyond these walls and enact my will." He rises then, walks to the bars and rests his hands against the cross-braces as casually as he might if he were overlooking a parapet. "You're as stupid as your father," he growls, low and deep, "but at least he had the excuse of being mad. And you will wish that you had that refuge to defend yourself before the end."
"Bold words for a man so completely in my clutches," you retort, but it's a hollow one and he knows it as well as you. You have no further need of this, and you make to leave.
"A lion still has claws," Tywin Lannister reminds you as you walk away, exiting his sight. "And mine are long and sharp, my lord, as long and sharp as yours," his voice echoes in the Black Cells behind you as you go up the spiralling stairs, up and into the cold night that you choose to believe is responsible for the chill that runs down your spine.
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[X] Decide to share this secret. It's a leap of faith, but you don't want to spend your whole life mired in nothing but secrets and half-truths. You'll tell…
-[X] Jon Snow
-[X] Aegon Targaryen
-[X] Dany
-[X] Arianne
A few weeks go by, and things settle as much as you can reasonably hope for.
The Oakhearts have reported back that Lord Mace understands the actions that were taken to be unique and is publicly saying he supports seeing a killer of children brought to justice. But they also report that he is more ambivalent in private and in casual conversation, that Lady Olenna has spent more time with him than she usually can stand to, and that there's been a great deal of whispering occurring between them. Time will tell on that front, you suppose. Meanwhile, according to Lord Stark, Jon Arryn is openly pleased that Tywin Lannister was arrested and wrote back to Ned that he wished he had remained in the capital to see it happen. Reading between the lines though, you can tell, and Ned concurs, that Lord Arryn doesn't trust that you'll stop with the three highborn lords held in your cells now, and you wonder just how many knights of the Vale you'll have to endure accompanying young Robert when he comes.
Dany's time with the Valemen, however, is an unqualified success. She doesn't sing her own praises, and probably couldn't bring herself to even if you tried to get her to do it, but it does get back to you that she had approached a group of restive and suspicious lords, and left behind her a group of men convinced that justice had triumphed before anyone spent an hour being on trial. When most of the Valemen depart, they do so individually and at their own leisure rather than as a nervous contingent feeling under threat, and several houses leave behind first and second sons who quickly start making plays for Dany's hand. She handles it with grace in public, but behind closed doors and in close company, she often gets very flustered and more than once expresses a frustration with men so eager to gain her attention but incapable of maintaining theirs when she wants to talk with them rather than coo and swoon like a lovestruck girl in a tale.
If you didn't know better, you'd almost think she delights in telling some of the Valemen, while you watch over your small luncheon together, that she cannot sup with them this evening, as the King has called for her presence in a private family dinner with your nephew and your wife. You can read her well enough, though, to recognise her mood as one of relief, one that becomes more palpable when the Valemen depart.
That evening, you enjoy a quiet meal with your family in Maegor's Holdfast, in a room that you are as certain as possible cannot be eavesdropped upon. It's a pleasant break from life as a king, with people you don't have to put on airs for, people you can trust completely, and you talk easily with them, telling them about your week and listening to them talk about theirs. You're fairly good at keeping your nerves and anticipation to yourself, though you find yourself occasionally fiddling with your fingernails and digging into your thumb under the table, trying to burn off a bit of nervous energy. At one point, you go to start doing it again and find yourself unable to, because Arianne has slipped her hand into yours. You glance over to her for a moment, and she offers you a soft smile before she turns back to Aegon and asks him questions about the City Watch as if nothing had happened. The rest of the dinner, she regularly squeezes your hand gently and strokes her thumb against the back of your hand. It still takes you aback sometimes that she's able to read you as well as she can, but these days it doesn't excite you or make you nervous as much as it makes you feel safe and seen. You think that might actually feel better.
It's just what you needed to get through the rest of dinner without nervousness bleeding off of you, and when the last of the servants depart, you nod to Ser Asher, who departs to fulfill the task you assigned him, and closes the door behind him. You smile at your family, an honest and heartfelt one. "This was nice," you say simply. "I'd like to do this at least once or twice a week, a meal that's just us, just our family."
"As my king commands me," Aegon says, with a smile just on the safe side of cheeky. "I've spent so long without a family outside Ser Jon, and now to have this, to have you all and my cousins? I'd take every night of the week for this if you wanted, nuncle."
"I'd like to ask about that, if you don't mind, Egg," you respond, grateful for the opening. "How much did you know about our family, about us, when you were raised by Lord Connington?"
His smile twitches, but he still keeps it. "It's easier now, having all of this. Jon told me a little, about you," he nods to you, "but he didn't know if you were still alive, and he didn't know at all about Dany. And he's…" The smile fades now. "He's never told me much of anything about my father, or my sister." His eyes widen a little, and he speaks quickly. "It's not really his fault, I stopped asking rather early and didn't pry too much. It always … it always seems to hurt too much to talk about them, or think about them. He drank a lot, in the early days, but if my father came up …" he trails off.
"What would happen?" Arianne gently prods.
"… when I was old enough to understand," Egg manages, "I was afraid he might die from how much he drank to try and stop hurting in those times that someone asked or talked about him. So," his voice warbles just a little as he goes for a long and deep drink of his own. After a gulp and long sigh, he closes his eyes, "I never learned much from him about Father, and I never trusted much of what other men would tell me."
"That was very reasonable and very wise of you," Arianne consoles him. "It's hard to find people who are honest about them – people either hated them all and couldn't see anything straight, or didn't really know anything about them. And people who knew them, who loved them, well … when they can bear to talk about it, they rarely can bear to think ill or speak informatively of them."
To your left, Dany nods. "It took a long time to really learn why the Rebellion happened, what Aerys and Rhaegar did. Even then, it took longer for me to believe it."
At that point, you speak up. "And you weren't helped in that almost no one knew the whole truth. I learned everything only very recently." The three of them turn to you at that, and you explain. "Everything about Father, about the Mad King is true – but I just came to learn some things about Rhaegar, about your father," you meet Aegon's eyes. "What have you been told about the Rebellion? Exactly?"
You can feel the eyes of Arianne and Dany on you, but you keep your focus on Aegon. He finishes his wine and says, "I know that something happened with Lyanna Stark, that Brandon Stark and the Usurper blamed my father for whatever it was. That Aerys took Brandon after he came looking for the Prince and summoned the boy's father, and then murdered them both. That Jon Arryn rose up rather than hand over the Usurper and Lord Eddard to die, too. The war happened, we lost, they won, Ser Jaime killed Aerys, and Lord Eddard took a dead Lyanna Stark back to Winterfell."
You nod slowly. "In the broad strokes, that's accurate. Most people believe that your father abducted and raped Lyanna—"
"Usurper lies," Egg spits heatedly, and you're glad this is private because otherwise you'd have to reprimand him for interrupting you, as justified as he is.
"Did Lord Connington tell you that?" Arianne asks softly. You know that she doesn't believe it either, and as the only other person at the table old enough to have known Rhaegar, she's right to think so.
But she does have a point, and Aegon seems to know this, too, because he visibly deflates and carefully studies his plate. "He did."
"I doubt that he knew for certain," you say, "but he was right." Your nephew looks to you sharply, as does your wife and sister. And with their attention firmly affixed onto you, you relate the story that Lords Eddard and Stannis told you – the lost letter containing the truth of Lyanna and Rhaegar, the reason for her death, and the promise Stark made to his dying sister.
The reactions you receive are mostly unsurprising. Dany and Arianne seem taken aback and confused, though Dany is less so than your wife, and that stands to reason you suppose – she never knew any of the people involved and has already experienced her understanding of your family being turned upside down with an unknown nephew, and Arianne has neither of those advantages. Indeed, she seems rocked to her core, and you want to offer some comfort when Aegon's reaction takes over the room. The young prince is elated, and unshed tears of joy make his eyes glitter like precious stones as he laughs aloud and almost leaps out of his chair to pace in the room. When he gains enough self-control, he asks, "Can we meet him? Can we tell him? Is he here?"
Dany reaches out to touch his arm. "Egg, we should talk about this a bit more."
Her counsel falls on deaf ears. "What's there to talk about? I have a brother! I want to meet him, I want to know him, find out what he's like, what he wants—"
You cut in then, "Yes, we should find those out, Egg, but perhaps we should before we completely upend his entire world."
"Or endanger our own," Dany adds.
Aegon looks at her askance. "I don't understand. Why are the rest of you so hesitant, so unsure?"
It is now that Arianne speaks. "Does the name Daemon Blackfyre mean anything to you, Prince Aegon?"
By the way his bright mood dims, you think the answer is 'yes'. "But he's not a Blackfyre." He pauses, then looks to you. "Right? He's not a Blackfyre? Their line is extinct?"
"To my knowledge," you hedge. As best you know, House Blackfyre died with Maelys the Monstrous almost 40 years ago, but you would not be the first Targaryen king to believe them extinguished only to then be surprised that the bastard house endured.
Aegon gives you a sheepish smile. "In my defence, uncle, crazy things have a habit of becoming true in your company," and you begin to open your mouth before Arianne gives you an amused glance, and you're forced to concede his point. "But," he continues, "we should meet him, we should tell him. He deserves to know who he is. He deserves to know he has a family."
"He does have one," Dany says not unkindly. "He's been well-treated by the Starks and raised as Lord Eddard's own."
That seems to shake Aegon a bit, and you wonder at that for a moment before speaking up again. "Nonetheless, I agree with Aegon that he deserves the truth. What he does with it is his decision."
Arianne gives you a long look. "You are certain? House Targaryen has rather a checkered history with its bastards, after all."
You nod. "We're going to be haunted by the ghosts of our family's past no matter what we do – a young prince commands the City Watch, a princess rides dragons and holds prominent position, a Dornish princess gives her husband a boy and a girl," and as you look to each of them you see them recognise the comparisons you're drawing. "We can either run from our history, repeat it, or learn from it. Legitimising or recognising him aren't options on the table yet, if they ever will be. But we can at least meet the boy, be honest with him. Trust has to begin somewhere, and we may yet break the cycle of our family's history. Are we in agreement?" As you look to each of them again, you see acceptance from the women and unbridled eagerness from your nephew.
"When would we do this?" Arianne asks of you, and with timing you couldn't have planned even if you wanted to, there is a knock at the door.
"How's right now strike you?" Before the others can answer, you stand and open the door, finding Ser Asher has delivered Lord Eddard for an alleged meeting as requested. And in their company is a young man trying desperately to not be seen. "Thank you, Ser Asher. If you could now locate Ser Jaime and bring him here as well?" The white cloaked Northerner nods, bows, and departs immediately.
As soon as the Kingsguard has left earshot, Lord Stark looks to you with some alarm. "Ser Jaime is being brought into this?"
You shake your head. "Not yet, at least. That's just a clever ruse to buy us plenty of time alone. I'll bet any amount you want that Ser Asher doesn't know where Jaime is, and won't find him for at least two hours or more." You're especially confident of this, because you do know – Ser Jaime has been standing just beyond the Black Cells every night for the past few weeks, for hours, thinking about going in to see his father as the night grows old before deciding it is too late and to try another night. You don't lack for sympathy for your best friend, but you know that it's one of the last places Asher Forrester will look, and that in itself provides you some small amusement.
Your amusement fades as you finally catch the eye of the boy with Stark. He looks back with fearful grey eyes for but a moment before averting his gaze. "Hello, young man. You're called Jon, yes?"
It takes a moment for him to force out, "Yes, Your Grace," his eyes firmly fixed on the floor.
You restrain a sigh, and try to empathise a little. "Jon, can I ask you something?"
"…yes, Your Grace?" He looks up now, but no higher than your waistline.
Okay, maybe you need to jostle him a bit, shake him out of it. "Is Lord Eddard a good man?"
Yep, that's the ticket, you think as the boy's eyes shoot up to yours and he answers, "Yes, Your Grace," as sure in his assessment as though you'd asked him if the air here smelled of shit, or if the North is chilly.
"Do you trust him?" Lord Stark looks somewhat uncomfortable, but you think this is working to reach the boy, and you have the obnoxious habit of being right a lot.
"Yes, Your Grace," Jon answers with as much certainty as before.
You smile at the boy, "Good," and lean in slightly, "me, too. So do you think you can trust him when he's brought you here to meet me?"
The boy looks to be chagrined, and it makes your heart hurt for a moment because Seven Hells, that expression is so familiar -- it makes him look like Rhaegar. "Yes, Your Grace," he answers you once more.
"Good lad," you respond. "There's people inside here who'd like to meet you, things we'd like to speak about with you. So please trust him, and me, and please step in with us."
It takes a long moment, but Jon nods in agreement. You escort him and Lord Stark inside before you check the hall once more, and upon seeing it empty, you close the door behind you.
Your first meeting is, thankfully, alone. It's the most important one for you to take, and while it's going to look like you're sneaking off for scheming you can't bring yourself to care about that right now. Not when it's taking a certain level of focus to not bite your best friend's head off.
It's more than a bit out of your way, but you know no one else is going to be down in the crypts where the Usurper stashed your family's dragon skulls, and things will likely need to be said that need to not be heard by eavesdroppers. Jaime is waiting for you when you arrive, holding a torch in one hand, and the other tucked into a small satchel at his side.
"Ser Jaime, do you know what the role of the King's Hand is?"
Jaime seems caught off-guard by your casual tone, as though he expected a chewing-out or an immediate dismissal. He recovers quickly, though, and answers as nonchalantly as you asked. "The Hand is the King's principal advisor and actor, to offer his king his best counsel and then to fulfill whatever task his king commands." It seems like he really can't help himself but to be flippant, because he adds, "The Hand is meant to be the Crown's most trusted ally and friend in King's Landing, responding to problems as they come, and ensuring the King isn't troubled with things he needn't be."
You do your best to imitate Tywin Lannister's icy gaze and sardonic tone as you respond, "That's a fair if somewhat self-serving assessment. I've always been partial to the smallfolks' saying, that the King shits and the Hand cleans up." You frown slightly. "It's not supposed to be the other way around."
Jaime winces, but doesn't back down yet. "Is that how it's being seen?"
"It varies. Some seem to think I was taken by surprise by my Hand and his actions. Some believe I orchestrated the entire event, and I'm simply trying to cover my own ass. I would hope you understand," you glare, "that neither of these are good or even okay options." You pinch the bridge of your nose fiercely, then sigh. "Is the charge at least accurate? I could be less angry with you if I knew you didn't invent something to arrest your father."
Jaime cocks his head. "That would depend on your definition of 'accurate', I guess."
Your eyes narrow. "If the definition of 'accurate' needs to be in dispute for me to be less angry, this night is not going to go well for you."
That does cause him to look a little abashed, at last. "The charges are accurate. He conspired to murder Prince Aegon."
That is news to you. How had Prince Oberyn missed such a detail, especially as he's been hoping for the slightest pretense to drag Tywin before a court or to just drag him into the Black Cells? Maybe he isn't as well-suited to the job as you had initially thought—
Jaime continues. "…and Princess Rhaenys."
Seven Hells. You squeeze your eyes shut. "You arrested your father, a highborn man and one of the richest and most powerful people in the known world, based on Oberyn's five-and-ten years of conspiracy theories?"
He shakes his head. "I arrested my father based on his confirmation of Oberyn's conspiracy theories."
That, finally, is what brings you up short. "His what."
"He explained to me, in confidence," Jaime elaborates, "that he did order the death of Rhaegar's children, as a way to ingratiate himself and our House with Robert after feeling our House needed to buy in deep with the Usurper or die. For what it's worth," he adds, "he swore to me that Clegane and Lorch were not ordered to do what they did beyond the killing."
"Coming from him, it isn't worth much at all," you sigh. "Alright, so he confessed to this crime, having only succeeded against Rhaenys and by no obvious measurements was attempting to make good on his threats against young Egg today. So why today?"
Jaime looks at the floor, toes at a loose stone. "Something that Prince Aegon said to me. He said I should do what will help me sleep through the night, and worry about the rest later. Between my father's role in your family's deaths, and him openly threatening my uncle and brother today in full view of the Seven, I wasn't going to be able to sleep well knowing he could be free to plan against them and everyone else another day."
"Egg offered this idea to you."
"Not explicitly this," Jaime answers. "More that if I was in conflict, considering what decision would let me sleep through the night could help in making that decision. Everything else could be sorted out later."
"Like telling your king what you're up to?"
He meets your eye, then, and you notice just how rough Jaime really looks. To the casual observer, he would just seem a little tired and stressed, but to you (someone who knows him well, and is gifted with a second sight to boot) he looks like he's only just standing. "It's hard enough to sleep through the night already. I'll take whatever trouble is necessary during my waking hours for a chance at untroubled sleep." A fracture line almost lights up as it arcs out of him, upwards into the Red Keep and at an odd angle, and it doesn't take you much to realise it reflects his mind returning to a particular room, a room that isn't the Great Hall – the only other room he'd have reason to be thinking of in this moment dawns on you, and you also notice him fiddle with something in that satchel. A hint of wiry gold is visible within, and you realise what he has in his hand.
You don't lack for sympathy, but… "It would be nice," you say in a more conciliatory tone, "if that trouble didn't involve me and my nephew as well."
"Well, Your Grace, I'm not going to turn down help when it's offered to me, even when it's your nephew offering advice."
You raise an eyebrow. "Jaime, he's sixteen. Were you a font of wisdom, knowledge and insight at the age of sixteen?"
"I was a young idiot contemplating regicide at sixteen," he retorts. "I also wasn't a Targaryen raised to lead men or to be wise and insightful. Besides, you have been at least peripherally aware that Oberyn and I had designs on something like this. Having direct knowledge would have made you an accessory to it."
"A distinction that I'm sure your father and the lords of the realm will appreciate," you note dryly. Your temper is slowly bleeding off, as you can see he did at least somewhat think this through, and you ask, "Do you have some idea of how this is going to be explained? If we start arresting everyone who ever conspired against my family, we'll end up arresting almost every man of noble blood in the Seven Kingdoms, including you, most of the Small Council, Kingsguard and Lords Paramount. We don't have that many swords to take them or that many cells to hold them."
"If you meant to hold to the strictest possible definition," Jaime shrugs, "maybe. But how many men have conspired to murder a member of your family and seen success?"
"Historically? More than I'm comfortable acknowledging," you answer, but you can admit to yourself he's beginning to persuade you. "In living memory, though…"
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[X] Eddard Stark
"…at the moment Lord Tywin is the only man who fits the bill," you finish.
Lord Stark leans back in his seat, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow and casting shadows over his eyes, his solar in his quarters lit only by candlelight as the sun has just begun to set. The explanation you and Ser Jaime worked out is not ideal, to be sure, but you hope your Master of Laws can help with fleshing out this notion.
"You don't believe that such a definition would include men like me, Your Grace?" He prods. "I raised arms against your family in a successful rebellion. Should I submit to imprisonment and trial, too?"
"If you insisted, and if it would ease your conscience," you say, "I wouldn't stop you. But I'd ask you not to: you didn't conspire to murder my father and brother, so you're innocent of the specific crime. Our court is going to be busy enough without trying an innocent man and declaring him to be so."
Ned looks unconvinced. "The moment Robert, Jon and I drew steel, we all knew it wasn't going to end with us making peace with Aerys. Or with Rhaegar. We planned and waged a war that would result in our deaths or theirs. That would fit the definition you've supplied, I think."
Beside you, Jaime shakes his head. "You planned campaigns and battles, yes. Did you say 'Robert will go here and kill Prince Rhaegar, I will march on the capital and kill the Mad King'?"
"…not in so many words," he answers. "But we planned for events and took actions that would lead to their deaths."
You lean in a bit, an arm on the table between you. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but when you planned for the First Battle of the Trident, you planned to engage your army with another. No one explicitly planned to locate the Crown Prince and kill him, with your knowledge or input."
His face darkens. "I had no doubt that was Robert's intent. I never stopped him, nor tried to plan for capturing the Prince instead of killing him."
"But you didn't plan the act." You tap the table to emphasise each syllable. "Besides, killing someone in combat isn't the same as murdering them."
He is silent for a long moment. "It's an awfully narrow distinction, Your Grace," Ned finally offers as he looks between you and Jaime.
"I don't agree," you say. "You had every reason to expect that Rhaegar would defend himself and be capable of doing it. That isn't murder." Your jaw tightens as you add, "A frail princess and children who could not defend themselves, that's murder." The events of that day had always set your heart alight, but it is different for you now that you're married and have children yourself. The monstrousness of the acts that were committed hits home in a far harsher way for you now. Inwardly, you wonder if you'd feel as strongly about prosecuting this three years ago, without the empathy for the situation you now possess, but dismiss the thought. "Rhaegar had a chance – slim as it may have been, he had as much a chance as I did against the Usurper. What chance did his wife and daughter have?" You sigh. "That's what makes it murder for me."
Ned truly understands now, it seems, for he no longer presses back against your arguments, and instead remarks, "We will need to find a succinct way of putting that argument, that it can be used to put the Great Families at ease."
You feel some surprise, considering the circumstances. "You think that the Lords of Westeros will fear retribution falling upon them, when his guilt is so much plainer and publicly known than any they are known to possess?"
"Garlan Tyrell and his retinue delivered their pleasantries as soon as you departed the celebrations this afternoon, and have almost certainly already made their way beyond the city walls," Ned informs you, "And if Yohn Royce hasn't yet sent a raven to the Eyrie with the news, I am certain that the other lords of the Vale will be. I think that particular knife has been pulled, Your Grace, and now we need to determine how much padding, dressing and stitching is necessary to minimise the damage."
You sigh, your mind already working at it. "If the Tyrells moved that quickly, I doubt young Garlan took the time to send a raven of his own." You look to Jaime. "The Oakhearts remain on good terms with the Tyrells, yes?" At his nod, "A raven will likely outpace them, if perhaps by a few days. We should send word to them via Ser Arys and have them speak to Lord Mace, try to prevent Garlan's words from seeding fear too deep in his father's heart." You think a bit more, before turning back to Ned. "I know things are strained between you and Jon Arryn, but I would have you do what you can to allay any fear of reprisal he might possess."
Stark bows his head. "As my king commands."
You ask, "Is there anything else you recommend?"
Ned offers a sigh of his own, leaning forward and rubbing his forehead in thought. "If you would permit me to give a task to the princess, Your Grace, I would send her to the lords of the Vale, let her words try to sway them to, at least, not flee the city. If they remain long enough to see that you are not your father or your predecessor, that you will not pursue any other men that stood against you, I believe that would take many arrows out of Jon's quiver, should he seek to isolate the Vale or actively resist you."
"Do so, with my blessing," you agree. "Is that what you think Lord Arryn may consider?"
"He will not raise arms against you, if that's what you're asking," Ned answers. "Not unless he had no other choice. No, I suspect he would try to turn the Vale into a new Dorne, part of the Seven Kingdoms in name more than deed, and he cannot achieve that if his lords are not suspicious or fearful of you. Without widespread support for such an isolationist stance, he will toe the line."
A question occurs to you then. "Do you believe this will cause him to change his mind about sending young Robert to us?"
Stark shakes his head. "As long as I remain the boy's named guardian, he won't change his course."
You relax a bit as you sigh out, "Good," choosing to take that as a measure of relief, even if your mind remains somewhat anxious.
Jaime rises, then, and says, "With your leave, Your Grace, I will go the White Tower and speak to Ser Arys." You nod, and he starts to leave, before he turns back. "Shall I meet you there, or in the Tower of the Hand later?"
"We'll meet in the White Tower," you command. "It seems more fitting." He nods back, and leaves your company for his task.
Silence sits around you both for a moment as Ned writes some more. You don't like it when events feel beyond your control, even as much as you're aware most things are. Being blindsided is an unfamiliar experience, and it has left you feeling rattled. Ned has become a close enough advisor, you've relied on him enough, that you feel you can be a bit more open with him than with most others. "Be direct with me, my lord: how badly do you think this is going to go?"
For several moments, Ned is quiet, but you recognise it as him thinking about the question rather than him trying to find ways to soften any potential blow. Eventually, he answers you. "I think we can manage this, my king. So long as we have no new surprises, and," he looks out the window with an unrestrained glower towards the Tower of the Hand, "if Lord Jaime remembers to communicate with us before acting. I won't pretend that this isn't a complication, but so long as things remain in our control and we keep things moving smoothly, it could be a benefit as well." At your look of bemusement, he elaborates, "There's few in the Seven Kingdoms, highborn or low, that don't know what Tywin Lannister did to your family. If a man as powerful as him is made to face the law, it may help see the law better respected than if it was perceived that justice upon the highborn is delivered differently, if at all, as compared to its delivery upon the smallfolk. It is a complex needle to thread, to send that message while also keeping the lords from being too fearful of what you may do to them with or without cause, but I believe we can do it."
You offer him a genuine smile. "Thank you, my lord. I hope to be worthy of such belief."
"That," he responds, "is why I have it."
As the moon begins to rise and night falls, you work with Lord Stark for several more hours, until you are both satisfied with what will be said to whom and how, and the manner in which you intend to proceed with this. The hour grows late, but before you allow him to retire for the evening, you ask him to accompany you to the White Tower. You'd like him to be the witness for the event that you and Jaime did plan with each other for this evening.
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[X] Tywin Lannister
The hour has grown too late for you to approach your lords on anything less than the most grievous of events happening, and while Tywin Lannister likely feels otherwise, you don't think his arrest rises to the level that you can reasonably excuse intruding upon the other lords you might wish to speak to in this time of the night. They will have to wait until tomorrow. It's hours that will give ideas time to settle in their heads, hours that will leave them less malleable than when the iron was still hot, but the rules of decorum leave you trapped in this – if you broke with protocols to speak to any others tonight, it would suggest panic on your part, that you aren't in control and that you're desperate, rather than a king to which they all are meant to answer, a man sure of purpose and unquestionably the one in control. It frustrates you, but it's the world you live in, the paths you chose. But you find yourself still somewhat restless, feeling a need to move and act and do something.
So you decide to pay a visit to the newest guest of the Black Cells. Social decorum doesn't apply to his hours of the night.
When you approach, you find that Tywin is already standing, imperiously, near the bars of his cell. It is as if he knew you were coming. The Old Lion has an air to him that commands attention and respect. You have known this since your youth, but it's really quite something to see that being held in the Black Cells does nothing to dampen this effect. Of course, this is hardly the deepest and darkest of the cells – there are still rules and decorums to be minded, after all. So Tywin Lannister is in a dark and dank, but not lightless and lifeless cell, and he is carefully minded by the particularly odd pairing of Ser Warrek and Sandor Clegane. Wordlessly, you glance at the Westerlander, then back to Warrek and arch an eyebrow at him, leaning on the years of knowing each other to silently communicate, Are you sure about him?
Warrek gives you the tiniest of nods. Yes. He has no love for the Lannisters, and works for me now. I trust his self-interest.
Well, perhaps you're reading between the lines a bit. But you're satisfied nonetheless. You give him a nod in return, and he taps Clegane's pauldron before leading the scarred brute of a man further into the dungeons, allowing you some semblance of privacy.
"Lord Tywin."
"Your Grace." He still stands near the bars, hands clasped behind his back, unmoving.
"Are you unharmed?" Regardless of anything else, you don't really want him injured or tortured, but while you trust the people who took him in with your life, you don't necessarily trust them with his.
"For a given value of the word," his words are clipped and formal. You didn't hear it much, but you are nonetheless familiar with this tone of icy, barely-restrained fury – Tywin took it more and more with your father as their relationship soured, and it often set Aerys off that Tywin was so careful as to not give him an excuse to retaliate. You try very hard to not be your father, but some things slip through the cracks.
Like this tone being a reliable irritant. "If you have received no bodily injury, I would have you spare me your indignation and just answer the question," you hiss.
"Nothing beyond some holes poked in my tunic by your Dornish whores," he returns your tone, to your surprise. This must have set him off more than you'd expected, for his composure to slip even a little. He regains his grip very quickly, though, and asks of you as though he were enquiring after the weather, "Will it matter if I protest my innocence to the charges levied?"
You don't flinch from his gaze. "Not particularly; your son has been very thorough in detailing your guilt, and there isn't a man in the Red Keep who'd take your word over his."
He seems to sense the futility in playing the part of an innocent, and changes tack. "Conspiring against House Targaryen is practically a tradition in Westeros at this point. It's a poor reason to arrest me, and no others."
You nod your head a bit, acknowledging some of his point. "It isn't a tradition that often results in murder, though. And your personal conspiring with Lorch and Clegane rises to the level that few others have accomplished, and none who are living. Your conspiracy led to the murder of members of the Royal Family. I don't know of anyone else who might join you in these cells, unless you'd like the Usurper's remains to keep you company."
He sneers. "And you've tailored this in such a way that keeps you from having to arrest your Hand?"
You were prepared for this, though. "Jaime never conspired with anyone to murder the member of the Royal Family that he did. Unless you wish to allege otherwise?"
Tywin visibly chews his tongue. "You think you're so very clever, don't you. To have conspired against me with my son and my enemies and to think that you'll get away with it."
"You speak as though I had anything to do with this," you protest, "but I was just as surprised as you when you were taken in the Sept." Immediately after speaking, you curse internally. Never volunteer new details, you chastised yourself.
For his flaws, Tywin is not and has never been slow. He catches that small slip easily and processes it quickly enough to remark, "But you knew there would be a move against me at some point, it seems."
You mirror his stance, clasping your hands behind your back. "Any agreements your son made with other lords or houses regarding you are not my concern or my problem."
"Do you expect me to believe that this wasn't your doing, that this wasn't done with your blessing?"
"You'll believe whatever you want, my lord, whether it is the truth or not."
"The truth is that you betrayed an agreement with a Lord Paramount of the Seven Kingdoms, and the other Great Houses will not suffer lightly such an offense to their power."
"Our agreement has been upheld," you say, affronted. "Your son is Lord of Casterly Rock, and you are in King's Landing as a vital part of restoring the realm and upholding the peace. I can't be faulted for your supposition as to what part you would play. And," you add, "I think you'll find the Lords Paramount will be perfectly fine with whatever happens to you. If anything, some may grouse that I let you off too easy."
The hatred in Tywin's eyes could warm the frigid shores beyond the Wall. "You are an ungrateful, greedy, careless boy. I gave you the West, I gave you Clegane, I gave you your precious justice and still this does not sate your thirst."
You pull your stiletto dagger from your boot, and lunge at the bars. To his credit, the Old Lion doesn't retreat, doesn't flinch or even widen an eye. You stop at the bars, blade pointed squarely at his breast perhaps an inch away. "I could put this blade through your heart. Your death would be painful, but quick. Imagine then that your family, if any would still speak for you, sought justice for your murder, and I offered them this blade as recompense. Do you believe that if she lived, Joanna would accept the blade that killed you and not the man that used it?"
Internally, you're a little impressed as Tywin finds hidden reserves to hate you just a bit more at hearing her name. You finish, "You would offer me a blade, and pretend that it acted without your direction. If you think that such a transparent scheme would work on me, then we simply aren't operating on the level of mutual respect I assumed."
If the Old Lion had operated on that level, he does not enlighten you of it now. Instead, he sits on the wooden cot, somehow managing to look as imposing as he did when he sat upon the Iron Throne in your father's stead. "What now, then, Your Grace? Am I to rot away in these cells? Count my days until Prince Oberyn comes to take his revenge?"
"No. You will stand trial, and face judgment." He looks surprised at your answer, which only serves to confirm your suspicions that he's never really understood you. "The manner of this is something we will determine, but you will not disappear into the history books, nor will you be tortured by the avengers you so richly deserve to face. Your crimes will be aired before the gods and before the lords of the realm, and so shall your sentence."
The ice in his eye flashes in the dim light. "And what's to stop me from demanding trial by combat, as is my right?"
"Ser Jaime actually thought of that before I did," you confess. Sometimes, you wish you were a better man. Someone who didn't find pleasure in tearing others apart, take satisfaction in watching the walls close in on your prey, experience real glee in taking hope from them. It reminds you more than a bit of your father, and sometimes that scares you, sometimes you wish you were different.
This isn't one of those times.
"Should you demand a trial by combat, you will be granted one, be it by your own hand or by a champion. And when this trial commences, Ser Jaime will act as champion for the crown." True to form, a vicious part of you truly delights in watching Tywin realise his only means of escape is quite literally over his cherished son's dead body. "I tried to talk him out of it, you must understand, not least because Prince Oberyn would welcome the task. As would my nephew. And, if we're being honest, I suppose I would as well. But he insisted, and I can see his reasoning."
You watch Tywin struggle for a moment, before his mind catches on something to distract itself, move onto a different path to leave the present conflict for another time. "Why are you calling him Ser Jaime? His title is Lord."
"He is also a knight, and it's acceptable for me to call him such. I'm sure he doesn't take offence, and if he does it's far less than he takes to being called 'Kingslayer'. 'Lord Hand' is a possibility, certainly, but it's a bit formal given our closeness and the absence of a formal setting." You're being facetious, and both of you know it, judging by Tywin's increasingly apparent irritation. For a moment, you debate leaving the news to someone else to deliver, maybe one of his sons or his brother, or even Prince Oberyn, but then you dismiss the thought – you are the king, after all, and none of the men in question would deny you your petty pleasures. So you tell him, "There is also the minor detail that Ser Jaime has forsworn his Lordship and rejoined the Kingsguard. Lord Tyrion will be addressed by his inherited title, as he isn't a knight."
[Your Domain has been updated!]
You are unquestionably racking up the score in your 'Bad Person' column, as you don't even try to keep the smile off your face when his world falls away from under him. The totality of his defeat seems to take away something vital within him, and for a long moment you no longer see Tywin Lannister but a tired, isolated and friendless old man. You find your sympathy to be somewhat lacking, though. For all that he is sitting behind bars in your keep, the prison he finds himself in is one entirely of his own making. It is a staggering downfall for one who spent so much of his life either seated on high or clawing his way up there.
So it rocks you back on your heels (mentally; you're far too disciplined to react physically) when he looks up at you, a calculating and icy rage in his eye lending an edge to the inexplicable and predatory smile on his face, such that your instinct begs to flee despite him being the one behind bars.
"You think that you've won, that you've taken my power in taking my freedom. That I cannot speak and have my words be heard, that I cannot reach beyond these walls and enact my will." He rises then, walks to the bars and rests his hands against the cross-braces as casually as he might if he were overlooking a parapet. "You're as stupid as your father," he growls, low and deep, "but at least he had the excuse of being mad. And you will wish that you had that refuge to defend yourself before the end."
"Bold words for a man so completely in my clutches," you retort, but it's a hollow one and he knows it as well as you. You have no further need of this, and you make to leave.
"A lion still has claws," Tywin Lannister reminds you as you walk away, exiting his sight. "And mine are long and sharp, my lord, as long and sharp as yours," his voice echoes in the Black Cells behind you as you go up the spiralling stairs, up and into the cold night that you choose to believe is responsible for the chill that runs down your spine.
-------------
[X] Decide to share this secret. It's a leap of faith, but you don't want to spend your whole life mired in nothing but secrets and half-truths. You'll tell…
-[X] Jon Snow
-[X] Aegon Targaryen
-[X] Dany
-[X] Arianne
A few weeks go by, and things settle as much as you can reasonably hope for.
The Oakhearts have reported back that Lord Mace understands the actions that were taken to be unique and is publicly saying he supports seeing a killer of children brought to justice. But they also report that he is more ambivalent in private and in casual conversation, that Lady Olenna has spent more time with him than she usually can stand to, and that there's been a great deal of whispering occurring between them. Time will tell on that front, you suppose. Meanwhile, according to Lord Stark, Jon Arryn is openly pleased that Tywin Lannister was arrested and wrote back to Ned that he wished he had remained in the capital to see it happen. Reading between the lines though, you can tell, and Ned concurs, that Lord Arryn doesn't trust that you'll stop with the three highborn lords held in your cells now, and you wonder just how many knights of the Vale you'll have to endure accompanying young Robert when he comes.
Dany's time with the Valemen, however, is an unqualified success. She doesn't sing her own praises, and probably couldn't bring herself to even if you tried to get her to do it, but it does get back to you that she had approached a group of restive and suspicious lords, and left behind her a group of men convinced that justice had triumphed before anyone spent an hour being on trial. When most of the Valemen depart, they do so individually and at their own leisure rather than as a nervous contingent feeling under threat, and several houses leave behind first and second sons who quickly start making plays for Dany's hand. She handles it with grace in public, but behind closed doors and in close company, she often gets very flustered and more than once expresses a frustration with men so eager to gain her attention but incapable of maintaining theirs when she wants to talk with them rather than coo and swoon like a lovestruck girl in a tale.
If you didn't know better, you'd almost think she delights in telling some of the Valemen, while you watch over your small luncheon together, that she cannot sup with them this evening, as the King has called for her presence in a private family dinner with your nephew and your wife. You can read her well enough, though, to recognise her mood as one of relief, one that becomes more palpable when the Valemen depart.
That evening, you enjoy a quiet meal with your family in Maegor's Holdfast, in a room that you are as certain as possible cannot be eavesdropped upon. It's a pleasant break from life as a king, with people you don't have to put on airs for, people you can trust completely, and you talk easily with them, telling them about your week and listening to them talk about theirs. You're fairly good at keeping your nerves and anticipation to yourself, though you find yourself occasionally fiddling with your fingernails and digging into your thumb under the table, trying to burn off a bit of nervous energy. At one point, you go to start doing it again and find yourself unable to, because Arianne has slipped her hand into yours. You glance over to her for a moment, and she offers you a soft smile before she turns back to Aegon and asks him questions about the City Watch as if nothing had happened. The rest of the dinner, she regularly squeezes your hand gently and strokes her thumb against the back of your hand. It still takes you aback sometimes that she's able to read you as well as she can, but these days it doesn't excite you or make you nervous as much as it makes you feel safe and seen. You think that might actually feel better.
It's just what you needed to get through the rest of dinner without nervousness bleeding off of you, and when the last of the servants depart, you nod to Ser Asher, who departs to fulfill the task you assigned him, and closes the door behind him. You smile at your family, an honest and heartfelt one. "This was nice," you say simply. "I'd like to do this at least once or twice a week, a meal that's just us, just our family."
"As my king commands me," Aegon says, with a smile just on the safe side of cheeky. "I've spent so long without a family outside Ser Jon, and now to have this, to have you all and my cousins? I'd take every night of the week for this if you wanted, nuncle."
"I'd like to ask about that, if you don't mind, Egg," you respond, grateful for the opening. "How much did you know about our family, about us, when you were raised by Lord Connington?"
His smile twitches, but he still keeps it. "It's easier now, having all of this. Jon told me a little, about you," he nods to you, "but he didn't know if you were still alive, and he didn't know at all about Dany. And he's…" The smile fades now. "He's never told me much of anything about my father, or my sister." His eyes widen a little, and he speaks quickly. "It's not really his fault, I stopped asking rather early and didn't pry too much. It always … it always seems to hurt too much to talk about them, or think about them. He drank a lot, in the early days, but if my father came up …" he trails off.
"What would happen?" Arianne gently prods.
"… when I was old enough to understand," Egg manages, "I was afraid he might die from how much he drank to try and stop hurting in those times that someone asked or talked about him. So," his voice warbles just a little as he goes for a long and deep drink of his own. After a gulp and long sigh, he closes his eyes, "I never learned much from him about Father, and I never trusted much of what other men would tell me."
"That was very reasonable and very wise of you," Arianne consoles him. "It's hard to find people who are honest about them – people either hated them all and couldn't see anything straight, or didn't really know anything about them. And people who knew them, who loved them, well … when they can bear to talk about it, they rarely can bear to think ill or speak informatively of them."
To your left, Dany nods. "It took a long time to really learn why the Rebellion happened, what Aerys and Rhaegar did. Even then, it took longer for me to believe it."
At that point, you speak up. "And you weren't helped in that almost no one knew the whole truth. I learned everything only very recently." The three of them turn to you at that, and you explain. "Everything about Father, about the Mad King is true – but I just came to learn some things about Rhaegar, about your father," you meet Aegon's eyes. "What have you been told about the Rebellion? Exactly?"
You can feel the eyes of Arianne and Dany on you, but you keep your focus on Aegon. He finishes his wine and says, "I know that something happened with Lyanna Stark, that Brandon Stark and the Usurper blamed my father for whatever it was. That Aerys took Brandon after he came looking for the Prince and summoned the boy's father, and then murdered them both. That Jon Arryn rose up rather than hand over the Usurper and Lord Eddard to die, too. The war happened, we lost, they won, Ser Jaime killed Aerys, and Lord Eddard took a dead Lyanna Stark back to Winterfell."
You nod slowly. "In the broad strokes, that's accurate. Most people believe that your father abducted and raped Lyanna—"
"Usurper lies," Egg spits heatedly, and you're glad this is private because otherwise you'd have to reprimand him for interrupting you, as justified as he is.
"Did Lord Connington tell you that?" Arianne asks softly. You know that she doesn't believe it either, and as the only other person at the table old enough to have known Rhaegar, she's right to think so.
But she does have a point, and Aegon seems to know this, too, because he visibly deflates and carefully studies his plate. "He did."
"I doubt that he knew for certain," you say, "but he was right." Your nephew looks to you sharply, as does your wife and sister. And with their attention firmly affixed onto you, you relate the story that Lords Eddard and Stannis told you – the lost letter containing the truth of Lyanna and Rhaegar, the reason for her death, and the promise Stark made to his dying sister.
The reactions you receive are mostly unsurprising. Dany and Arianne seem taken aback and confused, though Dany is less so than your wife, and that stands to reason you suppose – she never knew any of the people involved and has already experienced her understanding of your family being turned upside down with an unknown nephew, and Arianne has neither of those advantages. Indeed, she seems rocked to her core, and you want to offer some comfort when Aegon's reaction takes over the room. The young prince is elated, and unshed tears of joy make his eyes glitter like precious stones as he laughs aloud and almost leaps out of his chair to pace in the room. When he gains enough self-control, he asks, "Can we meet him? Can we tell him? Is he here?"
Dany reaches out to touch his arm. "Egg, we should talk about this a bit more."
Her counsel falls on deaf ears. "What's there to talk about? I have a brother! I want to meet him, I want to know him, find out what he's like, what he wants—"
You cut in then, "Yes, we should find those out, Egg, but perhaps we should before we completely upend his entire world."
"Or endanger our own," Dany adds.
Aegon looks at her askance. "I don't understand. Why are the rest of you so hesitant, so unsure?"
It is now that Arianne speaks. "Does the name Daemon Blackfyre mean anything to you, Prince Aegon?"
By the way his bright mood dims, you think the answer is 'yes'. "But he's not a Blackfyre." He pauses, then looks to you. "Right? He's not a Blackfyre? Their line is extinct?"
"To my knowledge," you hedge. As best you know, House Blackfyre died with Maelys the Monstrous almost 40 years ago, but you would not be the first Targaryen king to believe them extinguished only to then be surprised that the bastard house endured.
Aegon gives you a sheepish smile. "In my defence, uncle, crazy things have a habit of becoming true in your company," and you begin to open your mouth before Arianne gives you an amused glance, and you're forced to concede his point. "But," he continues, "we should meet him, we should tell him. He deserves to know who he is. He deserves to know he has a family."
"He does have one," Dany says not unkindly. "He's been well-treated by the Starks and raised as Lord Eddard's own."
That seems to shake Aegon a bit, and you wonder at that for a moment before speaking up again. "Nonetheless, I agree with Aegon that he deserves the truth. What he does with it is his decision."
Arianne gives you a long look. "You are certain? House Targaryen has rather a checkered history with its bastards, after all."
You nod. "We're going to be haunted by the ghosts of our family's past no matter what we do – a young prince commands the City Watch, a princess rides dragons and holds prominent position, a Dornish princess gives her husband a boy and a girl," and as you look to each of them you see them recognise the comparisons you're drawing. "We can either run from our history, repeat it, or learn from it. Legitimising or recognising him aren't options on the table yet, if they ever will be. But we can at least meet the boy, be honest with him. Trust has to begin somewhere, and we may yet break the cycle of our family's history. Are we in agreement?" As you look to each of them again, you see acceptance from the women and unbridled eagerness from your nephew.
"When would we do this?" Arianne asks of you, and with timing you couldn't have planned even if you wanted to, there is a knock at the door.
"How's right now strike you?" Before the others can answer, you stand and open the door, finding Ser Asher has delivered Lord Eddard for an alleged meeting as requested. And in their company is a young man trying desperately to not be seen. "Thank you, Ser Asher. If you could now locate Ser Jaime and bring him here as well?" The white cloaked Northerner nods, bows, and departs immediately.
As soon as the Kingsguard has left earshot, Lord Stark looks to you with some alarm. "Ser Jaime is being brought into this?"
You shake your head. "Not yet, at least. That's just a clever ruse to buy us plenty of time alone. I'll bet any amount you want that Ser Asher doesn't know where Jaime is, and won't find him for at least two hours or more." You're especially confident of this, because you do know – Ser Jaime has been standing just beyond the Black Cells every night for the past few weeks, for hours, thinking about going in to see his father as the night grows old before deciding it is too late and to try another night. You don't lack for sympathy for your best friend, but you know that it's one of the last places Asher Forrester will look, and that in itself provides you some small amusement.
Your amusement fades as you finally catch the eye of the boy with Stark. He looks back with fearful grey eyes for but a moment before averting his gaze. "Hello, young man. You're called Jon, yes?"
It takes a moment for him to force out, "Yes, Your Grace," his eyes firmly fixed on the floor.
You restrain a sigh, and try to empathise a little. "Jon, can I ask you something?"
"…yes, Your Grace?" He looks up now, but no higher than your waistline.
Okay, maybe you need to jostle him a bit, shake him out of it. "Is Lord Eddard a good man?"
Yep, that's the ticket, you think as the boy's eyes shoot up to yours and he answers, "Yes, Your Grace," as sure in his assessment as though you'd asked him if the air here smelled of shit, or if the North is chilly.
"Do you trust him?" Lord Stark looks somewhat uncomfortable, but you think this is working to reach the boy, and you have the obnoxious habit of being right a lot.
"Yes, Your Grace," Jon answers with as much certainty as before.
You smile at the boy, "Good," and lean in slightly, "me, too. So do you think you can trust him when he's brought you here to meet me?"
The boy looks to be chagrined, and it makes your heart hurt for a moment because Seven Hells, that expression is so familiar -- it makes him look like Rhaegar. "Yes, Your Grace," he answers you once more.
"Good lad," you respond. "There's people inside here who'd like to meet you, things we'd like to speak about with you. So please trust him, and me, and please step in with us."
It takes a long moment, but Jon nods in agreement. You escort him and Lord Stark inside before you check the hall once more, and upon seeing it empty, you close the door behind you.
...I want to believe that Tywin is just spouting empty Threats. I really do want to believe that it's just the impotent growling of an old, toothless Lion.
But...well...this is Tywin 'Reynes of Castamere' Lannister we are talking about. I really wouldn't be surprised if he was both prepared and petty enough to prepare a final 'Fuck You' to us just in case.
But...well...this is Tywin 'Reynes of Castamere' Lannister we are talking about. I really wouldn't be surprised if he was both prepared and petty enough to prepare a final 'Fuck You' to us just in case.
Magoose
SV's Questing Fanatic
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Alright here is my bullshit analytical that I sometimes do before work.
here we go.
I've said it once, and I'll say it again. @Marlowe310811 you are a better writer then me.
here we go.
At Least Jaime won't be to screwy with the shit he;s pulling. Now we have to clean up this great fucking mess.
At Least V is compleatly honest with the bullshit going on behind his back.
Oh... Well Jaime is one helluva bodyguard...
Dammit Jaime, now is not the time to stop your guilt and get some redemption... you already had that arc with us.
Even in most courts of law, that wouldn't pass... even a medieval court of law...
Dammit Egg! Why do you have to be so wise right now, at the most inopportune moment!
Oh... Well it seems Jaime is still recovering.
Join the club ned... join the club
THat is going to be impossible, this is Kings Landing.
At least V is quite sane at the idea.
Damn... and I though removeing him from power in the last quest was knocking him down a peg... this must be a... knightmare.
Tywin... this is Viserys were talking about. He can talk people to suicide. Do you really want to try him when he is trying?
That was one hellva way to end the update.
I've said it once, and I'll say it again. @Marlowe310811 you are a better writer then me.
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I mean...estranged or not, it is nonetheless deeply traumatic to lose someone you love, worse yet when you're the one to discover her body along with the children. It's a scar that isn't going to be healed overnight [read: Ser Jaime's liable to hold onto that Depressed trait for at least the next year] and for all his skills and talents, one that Jaime has always lacked is the ability to express his feelings in a healthy manner.
[stage whisper] to offer a peak behind the curtain a bit, my secret is that I'm not really that great of a writer -- just a clever one. For instance, here I know how the conversation in question goes, and lesbireal so does anyone even slightly familiar with Jon Snow (spoilers: he's a bit of a confused, emotional and angsty mess) but damned if I could actually make the words come out right, or find a way to not make a third conversation about the same thing repetitive and boring, so instead I thought 'why don't we just close the door and fade to black, let the readers infer the rest?'
Well, we are going to need to keep an eye out for Tywin's claws and teeth.
I actually don't think he was prepared for this, and I'm actually uncertain as to what he's going to do. Jaime has repudiated in him in more than just one way, and I suspect rejoining the Kingsguard is actually the worse act in Twyin's mind. He might have accepted being betrayed by his son as long as his son remained Lord, and thus limited his revenge to just the royal house.
Now I'm not certain if Jaime and Tyrion are acceptable collateral damage in Tywin's eyes or not. Would he prefer Kevan to continue House Lannister than Tyrion?
If so that would open a lot more avenues for mischief making by Twyin.
I actually don't think he was prepared for this, and I'm actually uncertain as to what he's going to do. Jaime has repudiated in him in more than just one way, and I suspect rejoining the Kingsguard is actually the worse act in Twyin's mind. He might have accepted being betrayed by his son as long as his son remained Lord, and thus limited his revenge to just the royal house.
Now I'm not certain if Jaime and Tyrion are acceptable collateral damage in Tywin's eyes or not. Would he prefer Kevan to continue House Lannister than Tyrion?
If so that would open a lot more avenues for mischief making by Twyin.
(Semi-Canon Omake) A Small Moment: The Thoughts of an Egg
Magoose
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A Small Moment: The Thoughts of an Egg
(Aegon POV)
Your uncle was someone you didn't quite understand. He always felt different than Lord Connington, Arianne, even Dany, who seemed to share in many of his more noble traits, but none of his more… how to say it.
Eccentricities.
You felt something about him, that no one else did.
He was strong, stronger, and more powerful than the other people in your life, but it was not in his hands or his smile.
It was his eyes. Illic purple that seemed to pierce through everything. He could see everything about an event, about a person, and with a few words, destroy them as he had finally pieced everything together.
And when that person broke, they usually went to him and owed him things beyond most men's wild dream. You had heard about Lys, how it was a place that owed practically everything to his alter ego, Valar Vaeltigar… and now to him.
You believed that something was inside Viserys that made him see things clearer than anything else.
And that frightened you… but gave you comfort at the same time.
Not because of who wielded it… and how he wielded it… but when he wielded it.
Viserys had remarkable restraint, that much you knew from his… dealings and punishments to the men responsible for committing genocide against a people who had lived in Westeros for centuries. But even then, his restraint always seemed to be…
Well, you knew he was a man who had for a large portion of his life, been on the run, dodging assassins, even though they never found him more than once or twice, and he had managed an intelligence apparatus that kept both him and Dany safe.
Was he wanting revenge on those who wronged him?
Who made him suffer alone?
You didn't know. He was always honest with every conversation you had with him. Always open, but you never asked those questions that you believed could have given you… a better picture.
Viserys Targaryen… was an enigma, even with all your wisdom, and ideas… You could not read the man who was your king.
You just hoped that there was more to him… that all his actions had meaning, beyond his need for revenge and justice.
But there was a fine line between…
You weren't going to criticize him though about his actions, or his reactions. After all, most of this hell was your fault. You could do nothing but hope for the best, and prepare for the worse.
AN: Enjoy a ten-minute blurb of Aegon's thoughts on V. Really I couldn't come up with anything better.
(Aegon POV)
Your uncle was someone you didn't quite understand. He always felt different than Lord Connington, Arianne, even Dany, who seemed to share in many of his more noble traits, but none of his more… how to say it.
Eccentricities.
You felt something about him, that no one else did.
He was strong, stronger, and more powerful than the other people in your life, but it was not in his hands or his smile.
It was his eyes. Illic purple that seemed to pierce through everything. He could see everything about an event, about a person, and with a few words, destroy them as he had finally pieced everything together.
And when that person broke, they usually went to him and owed him things beyond most men's wild dream. You had heard about Lys, how it was a place that owed practically everything to his alter ego, Valar Vaeltigar… and now to him.
You believed that something was inside Viserys that made him see things clearer than anything else.
And that frightened you… but gave you comfort at the same time.
Not because of who wielded it… and how he wielded it… but when he wielded it.
Viserys had remarkable restraint, that much you knew from his… dealings and punishments to the men responsible for committing genocide against a people who had lived in Westeros for centuries. But even then, his restraint always seemed to be…
Well, you knew he was a man who had for a large portion of his life, been on the run, dodging assassins, even though they never found him more than once or twice, and he had managed an intelligence apparatus that kept both him and Dany safe.
Was he wanting revenge on those who wronged him?
Who made him suffer alone?
You didn't know. He was always honest with every conversation you had with him. Always open, but you never asked those questions that you believed could have given you… a better picture.
Viserys Targaryen… was an enigma, even with all your wisdom, and ideas… You could not read the man who was your king.
You just hoped that there was more to him… that all his actions had meaning, beyond his need for revenge and justice.
But there was a fine line between…
You weren't going to criticize him though about his actions, or his reactions. After all, most of this hell was your fault. You could do nothing but hope for the best, and prepare for the worse.
AN: Enjoy a ten-minute blurb of Aegon's thoughts on V. Really I couldn't come up with anything better.
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Take another +10 for the upcoming rolls! I believe this gets you up to +30 (or however you wanted to divide them among roll choices)
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297 AC: Word from the Realm
- Pronouns
- She/Her
The Three-Headed Dragon flies triumphant in the summer breeze as the Targaryen Restoration defeated the Usurper Robert Baratheon, and brought the Lonely Dragons to their rightful home! King Viserys promises to usher in a new era of stability and prosperity, of laws and justice. With most of the Usurper's former Small Council standing trial, and now even Tywin Lannister, the Old Lion himself in chains, highborn and smallfolk alike begin to wonder if perhaps this is a king who means what he says, with varying degrees of comfort with the idea.
The North:
End-of-Year Bonus POV Interludes: Pick 2
[ ] Ice and Fire: Jon Snow, unmoored and uncertain, has a heart-to-heart.
[ ] Brother and Sister: Beyond the Wall, a fateful meeting occurs.
[ ] Shadow and Flame: Riddles and codes disguise a message between two, biding their time, about a third.
[ ] The Basilisk and the Kraken: Two good at fighting and shit at talking, try to talk and not fight.
[ ] A Lion Still Has Claws: "And mine are long and sharp, my lord, as long and sharp as yours."
[ ] The Lovely Goatherd: "Knights of the Vale hate to hear the taunt of 'Lay-ee-odl-lay-ee-odl-oo'!"
[ ] The Climb: When the only way up is down, what's a Lady of the Vale to do?
[ ] For the Night is Dark and the Sky is Red: Priests of the Lord of Light have a plan. They think.
The North:
- House Stark has marshalled the North to pride of place in the King's allies, and Lord Eddard now serves as Master of Laws in the Small Council, with rumours abounding that either of his eldest children may wed one (or even both!) of the spare Targaryen heirs. Apart from the (expected and unregarded) bitter grumblings of Barbrey Dustin, the lords of the North are proud to have taken part in the Restoration, though some second sons and younger brothers have (very quietly) groused about feeling as turncoats against the Usurper, Robert Baratheon. Under the leadership of Lord Stark, the North has become an economic powerhouse to rival the Reach, and the Northern lords are making the most of this newfound largesse, as they all know well, "Winter is Coming."
- Lord Gerion Lannister of Long Lake, "The Lion in Winter", has welcomed his second child and first son, Jacen Lannister. Work has now begun in earnest on his keep with the end of the war and his return to the North, and he hopes to have his little family out of Winterfell, and the Starks' hair, by next year's end. It is said that young Lady Sansa thinks of young Lady Joy to be like a sister to her, and is displeased at the idea of the Lannisters departing.
- Domeric Bolton is said to have come down with terrible sickness after returning home from the war. Lady Dacey has managed the Dreadfort in her lord husband's stead, apparently causing some uproar in the town by dismissing many of the old lord's favoured servants and burning old heirlooms and keepsakes in a bonfire far from the castle's walls. The smell is said to have been repellent, and to have lingered for days.
- The Night's Watch has had its numbers bolstered after the victorious Restoration, though rather less than after the Rebellion fourteen years prior, as many belligerent lords and knights fought to the last rather than surrender or face taking the Black. Prominent among the new members of the brotherhood are the former Kingsguard Mandon Moore, and the irascible Randyll Tarly. They have also happily received an unexpected gift of many pigs from the Bolton lands, the locals for some reason no longer desiring them.
- Meanwhile, the Gifts have begun to be settled by demobilizing soldiers of the Golden Company and other sellsword companies. Houses Umber and Karstark have groused about 'southron upstarts and foreign pretenders' sitting on land they've rather unsubtly considered theirs, but they fall into a terse silence when confronted with the collapse of wildling raids making their way south from the Wall.
- House Frey is ascendant! Despite entering the war on the wrong side, somehow the ever-present house has turned its fortunes around. There are now six Freys in contention for lordship of keeps across the Riverlands, with young Olyvar Frey taking lordship of the Twins, supported by the younger generation of Freys against the other heirs and claimants. Called Olly the Unlikely by the local smallfolk, the rise of Walder Frey's eighteenth son (and 50th in line!) was as unexpected as it was bloody: after their elders wrought destruction upon themselves, the youngest Freys took to arms and raised Olyvar to the lordship, putting down any that stood against them and hoped to continue fighting against the Dragon and his allies.
- This is not to suggest the house has fully turned its sullied reputation around; many Frey men-at-arms and some prodigal heirs, stripped of lands, titles and protections by the new Lord Frey, have continued to raid and pillage across the Riverlands. Since their exile from the Twins, this party of Freys, led by Aegon 'Bloodborn' Frey, has acquired a small host of disaffected men, deserters, and other malcontents to form a Band of Bastards. They are quickly becoming the scourge of the Riverlands, and a problem for the King's Peace.
- Meanwhile, Lord Hoster Tully has been gracious about being stymied in his longstanding attempts to see his brother the Blackfish wedded off. Young Lord Edmure has become well-regarded among formerly aloof Riverlander lords, after his brief but successful tenure aiding the King as the Acting Master of Laws. Arranged marriages have started to be offered at a greater rate than he previously received, but Lord Edmure has been noted to spend a great deal of time in the company of Lady Roslin Frey, who has acted as Lord Olyvar's emissary and has become a confidant of the heir to Riverrun.
- The Whents of Harrenhal have spread word that they are inviting refugees from across the realm to come to their lands for protection and work and shelter. After acting as a 'hospital' of sorts during the battles of the Restoration, Harrenhal has apparently found a new life as a refuge and shelter for the wayward. The lands around the ruined castle have likewise begun to see some new life as new faces come to live and work on lands once considered haunted and foreboding.
- Jon Arryn returned home from King's Landing a broken man, and was not improved by sending his only son to King's Landing. This act, along with Ser Brynden's departure for the Kingsguard, led to such a fight between Lord Arryn and his wife that even the normally taciturn and insular highborn have remarked on its ferocity and cruelty from both parties. Many say it only ended because Lord Arryn struck her with enough force to separate her jaw. A heavy silence has since reigned in the Eyrie, some suspect only because of the bandages keeping the lady's jaw in place and mouth closed.
- Hill clansmen have been making a greater nuisance of themselves than usual, some even daring to attack the Bloody Gate. This has left many highborn of the Vale on edge, none more so than Lady Lysa. Whispers about the apparent weakness of Lord Arryn in the face of such brazen raids cannot be traced back to her, for obvious reasons, but suspicion lies squarely on her nonetheless.
- Other whispers have followed the nameless hero of the Bloody Gate – a servant of House Royce, said to have led a charge of immense mules and large feral goats that brought half the hillside down on the clansmen and routed the survivors with her ferocity. Knights of the Vale offer strenuous denials, that curiously never actually refute the details, focusing more on the unlikelihood of a servant or a girl or a pack of mules or feral goats driving away clansmen when armed and armored knights could not. Nonetheless, songs of 'The Lovely Goatherd' have started to trickle out of the Vale, with lyrics and rhymes as absurd as the stories behind it.
- An unnamed keep on the smallest of the Fingers was said to have been burned to the ground by a party of twenty cloaked men. Lord Royce Coldwater led his men to apprehend this party, but found none of the arsonists. Upon returning to Coldwater Burn, however, he had in his company some dozen wandering orphaned children. Lord Royce fed and housed them for the night, saying he wished to "question the little birds" about who or what they might have seen in the morning. He claims to be deeply embarrassed that they all somehow slipped his grasp before the following dawn and could not be recovered.
- Gulltown has been shuttered to the outside world after a ship's crew was discovered to be carrying the bloody flux. Reports out are limited and of dubious accuracy, but estimates go anywhere from seven-and-ten to seven-hundred taken in the past month. What all reports agree upon is that the plague has evaded all attempted control measures, and that some measures are suspected to be aiding its spread. The Arryns of Gulltown assure any who ask that things will be under control soon and economic activity will resume forthwith.
- The rapid one-two punch of Tywin's arrest and Jaime's abdication has left most of the Westerland lords reeling, which may have ended up helping Lord Tyrion claim power, as demonstrating calm and consistency seems to be the balm the Westerlands needed. Lords have come to proclaim fealty, and to renew offers of unwed daughters (notably, some have been of less high stature than the offers made only months ago to then-Lord Jaime – fourth daughters instead of first, and so on). Lord Tyrion has graciously accepted the former, and politely but strenuously rejected the latter.
- Ser Raynald Westerling brought the fealty of his father and the offered hand of his sister to the new Lord Paramount, but has remained by Tyrion's side after swearing said fealty and receiving polite refusal of said hand. Apparently the new lord and young knight have taken a shine to each other, which may be the most advancement Lord Gawen can hope for, for the time being.
- Men of Fair Isle have claimed to be seeing lights near the horizon of the Sunset Sea in the dark of night. However, no ships have come from the direction of these lights, and no ships sailing forth have found anything or anyone when they look. The Ironborn have been accused of some kind of shenanigans, but Lord Harlaw swears that no Ironborn are in that area, and none have any interest in harassing House Farman anyhow.
- House Lannister continues to be the eye of a whirlwind of events and incidents, as Lady Genna Frey arrived at Casterly Rock with her husband and eldest in tow and is said to have veryquickly stepped in to act as her nephew's steward and right-hand 'man'. Rumours abound that Lord Kevan hasn't been seen in several weeks because the Lady Genna locked him in the dungeons as part of her power grab. Whispers about the Frey men have abounded, questioning if they mean to take the Westerlands from House Lannister altogether as part of their realm-spanning conspiracy.
- From the Hand of the King: Nothing nearly so drastic took place – Genna didn't swoop in so much as she dragged her idiot husband and eldest son away from the Riverlands to save their lives. Her three younger sons, and Cleos' boys, are part of Olyvar's court. And they promise to take Uncle Emmon's head should he or Cleos try to press their claim to the Twins.
- Tyrion tells me that he all but begged her to take over for Kevan, because our nuncle cannot stop drinking and his work has faltered as a result, so he needed an aide he could trust. She's been doing well, he thinks, helping him keep things stable and rebuilding her old relationships with many of the lords' wives and daughters, and on top of this she's had the extra duty of keeping Emmon, Cleos, and Kevan out of sight and out of trouble.
- He hasn't been locked in the dungeons. What she did might actually be worse; when he arrived too drunk to work or speak without slurring, and tried to take her place anyhow, she slapped him in full view of the family, hard enough to put him on the ground, and ordered him to stay out of her sight until he could make it three days without wine. He hasn't yet succeeded.
- Maybe it's the return of the old dynasty. Maybe it's because King Viserys took down Robert, the bloody butcher of Pyke. Or maybe it's because he took down Tywin Lannister, and to their minds he did it "like an Ironborn", paying the Iron Price rather than with gold or with words. Regardless, the Iron Islands sit as firmly by the new king's side as any dragonseed. Calls for independence or renewed rebellion now are not quietly whispered at taverns or bantered between lords, but thoroughly beaten out of whoever was stupid enough to voice aloud the idea of turning on their now-beloved "Stormbreaker."
- The Iron Fleet, once destroyed by the Baratheons, is now reborn and sailing the seas alongside mainlander ships instead of hunting them. Under Lord Harlaw, many of the Ironborn have become privateers rather than raiders, accompanying mainlander ships as paid protection through pirate-haunted waters. Some at home might grumble about the Gold Price replacing the Iron Price and the Old Ways being waylaid once again by old Lord Quellon's ideals, but any captain asked seems thrilled. Baelor Blacktyde is claimed to have said, "We get as much gold to shield these Greenlanders as we would from boarding them, and we get to practice the Old Ways on any pirate stupid enough to cross us! Iron and Gold do us better together than either did alone."
- Balon Greyjoy is, by the words of the few servants that see him, unwell. What little hair he clings to is wiry and white, he is barely eating, and his mind seems farther afield with each day; he is said to fall silent for hours, staring out into the bay, then without prompting or incidence begin to scream at his father, or his brothers, or his sons, or simply put forth incoherent frothing while rushing about the ruins of Pyke; other times, he is said to be found scrabbling for bugs in the stonework or noisily slurping at standing water. It is quickly becoming a question of when, not if, someone new will sit on the Seastone Chair.
- Succession is the word on the minds of all as many Crownlands houses are now in question – chief among them Rosby and Duskendale. Renfred Rykker, the last Lord of Duskendale, died with Robert at the Trident, leaving behind two daughters and a pregnant wife. Rosby, meanwhile, has the sole remaining member of its house rotting in the Black Cells. There are no less than seven claimants unsubtly waiting in the wings for Lord Rosby's inevitable sentence and loss of his seat.
- Éoland Wendwater, a veteran of the Golden Company, has claimed the vacant Wendwater seat and quickly begun gathering unlanded horsemen and archers of the Company to his side. Lord Éoland speaks of forming a company of men to mind the kingswood and protect smallfolk within from predation by bandits. Others, however, are distrustful given that they remember the Kingswood Brotherhood … among them the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and the Hand of the King.
- Grand Maester Jace (as he is coming to be known to the folk of the Crownlands) has been a godsend, they say. His work in treating the few survivors of the Screams found within the Black Cells has made him a saint among dragonseeds, highborn and low alike.
- A Summer Islander ship, tall with billowing sails and loud with a boisterous crew, was said to be sighted entering the Blackwater Bay by watchers on Dragonstone and Driftmark, but has not appeared in any port, and is not known to have departed the Bay. No ships have reported seeing this alleged vessel in their travels through the Bay, nor any signs of a wreck for that matter.
- New hope rises for House Baratheon! After finding its future on a knife's edge with only a greyscaled daughter (and countless bastard nieces and nephews) to Lord Stannis' name, Lady Selyse has sent word that the blessings of R'hllor shine upon her house – she is pregnant. Rumours fly around, most being variations on themes of Lady Selyse being a witch who has gotten with dark powers for her new baby, but no rumour is quite so wild as the one that says upon receiving the news, a smile came to the infamously stony Lord Stannis' face.
- Some maesters say that history does not repeat itself but rhymes with itself, and surely future students of history will use House Connington as an example. Ser Ronnet and his bastard son Ronald Storm have been sent into exile as Lord Jon has returned to reclaim his family's seat and lands, with the blessing of the Crown. Lacking a wife and heirs of his own, he has named his estranged cousin's children, Raymund and Alynne, to be his heirs. The children have remained in Griffon's Roost of their own accord, or so Lord Connington says. This does fit with another piece of news, yet another rhyme of history: that Ser Ronnet has become an irascible and persistent drunk.
- Men cloaked in green and bearing the turtle of House Estermont have been sighted roaming the Stormlands since the tail-end of the war. Sightings of them have ranged from Storm's End to King's Landing, even as far as the Stoney Sept in the Riverlands and Casterly Rock, of all places. Lord Aemon claims no men of his house or banners have left Greenstone, and he has asked the Crown to declare a reward for these false Estermont men to be turned in with any found in their company, which he will gladly pay in full.
- Blackhaven has sent forth ravens declaring the firstborn child of Lord Beric and Lady Allyria to be Ashara Dondarrion. This is possibly the tamest news to come from Blackhaven, as red priests, scions of House Dayne, hillsmen from the Vale, and even Septon Luceon Frey are said to have been seen coming and going from the castle.
- House Caron's seat of Nightsong is currently being held by some wayward men-at-arms of House Frey and recently-widowed Mylenda Caron, as she claims herself to be the sole legitimate heir, and her three-year-old daughter Perra Frey is to inherit from her. The late lord's bastard half-brother Rolland Storm has angrily protested this, and means to petition the Crown for legitimacy to reclaim his home and evict his grasping cousin.
- Highgarden has become a much moodier place than in years past, with Garlan Tyrell tilting at shadows, Ser Loras moving about his family's keep like a ghost when he bothers to be seen at all, and long whispered conversations taking place between Lord Mace, his wife, and his mother. Lady Margaery has taken to being seen outside Highgarden more than within, and is supposedly on a first-name basis with half the smallfolk in the nearby town. Lord Willas has taken to accompanying her of late on these sojourns from the castle walls.
- Lord Dickon is said to have been floundering of late, finding himself so unfit for lordship that his sister and mother manage most of Horn Hill's business when they are not trying to find him a wife and quickly produce a new heir to House Tarly. Apparently his relationship with his older brother has never been better, now that they live in different places and their father is out of the picture – ravens fly back and forth from the Citadel at such a rate that some lords have taken to handing requests to House Tarly, knowing the Tarlys are more likely to get a prompt (and actually helpful) response than they are.
- House Florent's star is on the rise, and this has already led to conflicts with House Redwyne and House Tyrell. Lord Alester has been telling anyone who will listen (and many who would rather not) about his family's strong links to the Gardener kings of old, and has taken the unprecedented step of paying his taxes directly to the Iron Throne rather than to House Tyrell. Ser Imry has, according to some, taken to taunting the imprisoned Lord Paxter in his off hours, a charge that he strenuously denies.
- Septons in the Starry Sept have taken to giving sermons about virtue and moral character, declaring that the greatest among men is he who cannot be tempted or led astray by distractions and fancies. Septas, meanwhile, have apparently been stressing obeisance and submission as holy qualities to the young ladies in their care.
- Honeyholt has become a hive of activity as lordship has come into dispute after Lord Warryn's death in the Restoration. Among the two more prominent, if unlikely, claims being pressed are two different Lords Robert Frey, spurred on by their mothers Jeyne and Beony. Younger sisters of the late Lord Beesbury, they have fallen a long way from their early days of sisterly companionship, each accusing the other of trying to bribe, bully and bewitch their way to the top.
- Lady Mellario has returned from her long summering in her homeland of Norvos. She has sent a raven congratulating the King and Queen, and expressing regrets she was unable to attend their coronation. Her letter also speaks of many gifts that she hopes to bestow upon her daughter and grandchildren when she can see them. She has taken up residence in the Water Gardens, to accommodate the large household and retinue that accompanies her, but she makes her way to Sunspear with regularity.
- From the Master of Whispers: A palanquin of hers does, at any rate – it arrives early in the morning and leaves after supper, with Martell men escorting it each way. My brother's wife continues to be unreconciled with our family, but she at least has the good sense to keep up appearances. I suspect she sends our men away from the Water Gardens each day so she doesn't feel like she's being watched by us. I am doing nothing to dissuade her of that fantasy.
I likewise suspect she waited until crowns actually sat upon your heads before she even commissioned a ship from Norvos, and hopes to bend my niece to her will now that Arianne is Queen Consort. These things I cannot prove, but I know enough of Mellario to trust not one word from her hand nor one breath from her mouth, and neither should Your Graces.
- From the Master of Whispers: A palanquin of hers does, at any rate – it arrives early in the morning and leaves after supper, with Martell men escorting it each way. My brother's wife continues to be unreconciled with our family, but she at least has the good sense to keep up appearances. I suspect she sends our men away from the Water Gardens each day so she doesn't feel like she's being watched by us. I am doing nothing to dissuade her of that fantasy.
- The Marcher lords of Dorne seem to have taken the king's messages of justice over vengeance, and working towards a lasting peace, closely to heart: relations between them, and the Marcher lords of the Reach and the Stormlands, have been noticeably improving. Noteworthy among these is a proposed betrothal between Lord Wyl's newborn heir and House Dondarrion's firstborn daughter, and House Tarly has enquired after suitors of Dorne for their unwed members.
- I have heard that Melessa Tarly has enquired about Lord Franklyn Fowler's daughters, and if they are suitable to wed to young Lord Dickon. Nymeria was quick to tell me that neither would be amenable to such a marriage, but did not go into much detail. I do not think Lady Tarly knows this. But, she is a Florent by birth – if she is able to parlay this inevitable rejection into a consolatory engagement between her eldest daughter Talla to Prince Quentyn, the Florents will be even stronger than now. My brother will be mindful of this, but I believe you would wish to be as well, Your Grace.
- Lord Geoffrey Dayne of High Hermitage has disinherited and exiled his son Ser Gerold, in an effort to mend ties with young Lord Edric of Starfall and Lady Allyria of Blackhaven. The 'Darkstar', as he proclaims himself, is said to have gotten deep in his cups before he questioned Lord Edric's parentage and referred to his lady cousin as a 'Stormlander whore'.
- Lord Geoffrey, if you can believe it, is obscuring the worst of his son's outburst. He insinuated that Lord Edric is a bastard born to Ashara Dayne by Lord Stark (which would conveniently put his line in contention to inherit Starfall, and the sword called Dawn) and he implied to have intimate knowledge of Queen Arianne. Normally, I would not bring this to your attention (and as an aside, I know his claims to be complete falsehoods: I have never trusted that boy, and never let him out of my sight whenever he was in the same lands as Arianne, let alone the same keep) but Gerold Dayne is a dangerous and grasping young man, and there is no telling what he might do now that he has nothing to lose. I will keep eyes on him and monitor him closely.
- Ser Gulian Qorgyle, with the blessing of his father Lord Quentyn, has invited Archmaester Perestan and select students of his, along with any members of House Tyrell who are interested, to come to Sandstone. He claims to have found the lost army of Harlen Tyrell, somewhere in the sands between Hellholt and his home, and believes that there may be historical value to the find.
- To be quite truthful, I do not know if this is accurate, or if Ser Gulian means to take the Reacher men for fools. I would like to pretend that the latter is more believable, as Harlen's garrison is said to have set out from Hellholt for Vaith to attack Sunspear – the opposite direction of Sandstone entirely – but as a Dornishman I have no difficulty believing that a Reacher army could get that turned around in the deserts. If it is true, this will no doubt serve as an unhappy lemoncake to end the Fat Flower's feast of humiliation that has been this year.
- From beyond the Wall come whispers of a mysterious man appearing in many settlements and approaching hunting parties. He is said to be pale of hair and skin, garbed in black and red, and bearing a sword made of flame. He speaks of an ancient enemy and is beginning to muster an army of Free Folk to combat it. When some others of the Free Folk approach him, with intent to attack or drive him off, he's said to vanish as if he was never there.
- Sarnor and the cities of Slavers' Bay have not seen the true sun in weeks, as the sky is ever clouded by the choking ash and smoke from the burning of the Great Grass Sea and Vaes Dothrak. The air itself is red in the easternmost Free Cities, and there has been a series of brutal repressive actions taken in Qohor against R'hllorite revivals in the midst of such a clear omen.
- A small khalasar, numbers dwindling and desperation rising, was cut off and unable to retreat into the mountains with the rest of the Dothraki Remnant in the face of Alesander's pillage. Instead, they turned north, and fled into the forests of Ifequevron. The few of Alesander's men brave enough to scout into the realm of the trees have found no trace of the khalasar, and a few madmen among them claim to have seen trees move and speak to one another.
- The Ibbenese are said to be out in force with their massive ships after a small trading fleet was lost at sea. Survivors speak of many different horrors, from a kraken that became a man and then a kraken again, to a dread serpent like a dragon without wings, to a pale and battle-scarred leviathan – though any who claim to have seen one swear they never saw any others, and proclaim their witnesses to be liars.
End-of-Year Bonus POV Interludes: Pick 2
[ ] Ice and Fire: Jon Snow, unmoored and uncertain, has a heart-to-heart.
[ ] Brother and Sister: Beyond the Wall, a fateful meeting occurs.
[ ] Shadow and Flame: Riddles and codes disguise a message between two, biding their time, about a third.
[ ] The Basilisk and the Kraken: Two good at fighting and shit at talking, try to talk and not fight.
[ ] A Lion Still Has Claws: "And mine are long and sharp, my lord, as long and sharp as yours."
[ ] The Lovely Goatherd: "Knights of the Vale hate to hear the taunt of 'Lay-ee-odl-lay-ee-odl-oo'!"
[ ] The Climb: When the only way up is down, what's a Lady of the Vale to do?
[ ] For the Night is Dark and the Sky is Red: Priests of the Lord of Light have a plan. They think.
So, welcome to the end of the year, and your rumour mill! This will function as a collection of news, stories, events and rumours, all of which have varying degrees of accuracy and attachment to reality. Whether this will be quarterly, semi- or annually, I haven't yet determined. I suppose that will depend on how eventful your year(s) turn out to be! Some stories will have added insights, clarifications or details, depending on the region and what resources your Master of Whispers has there -- at the moment, Prince Oberyn has eyes and ears across Dorne, but his network can be expanded as time goes on.
Either before or after the interludes, there will also be an intelligence report from the Cartel under Garret of Saltpans, offering more insight into happenings in Essos. Then we're onto 298 AC!
Either before or after the interludes, there will also be an intelligence report from the Cartel under Garret of Saltpans, offering more insight into happenings in Essos. Then we're onto 298 AC!
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- Location
- USA
Woah lots of info! So many plot threads... I want them all... but I suppose we have to pick two.
[X] Ice and Fire
[X] For the Night is Dark and the Sky is Red
[X] Ice and Fire
[X] For the Night is Dark and the Sky is Red
Magoose
SV's Questing Fanatic
- Location
- California USA
- Pronouns
- He
Alright let me take part in my... commentary, not much of a breakdown, but certainly a guess on what everything is. And my thoughts
Thankfully, he's a lot more loyal, and we're a lot more sane.
He deserves if for all the hell and struggle he's had over his life.
Plus, if the Wildlings come from beyond the wall... we'll be better prepared to defend it.
Oh wait, your frays, so of course not.
Ros and Edmure... name a more tragic duo. Hopefully, they can have a better relationship before... another crazy crap happens.
Jesus, this is an AU... nothing good happens in Harrenhall.
Christ that hits closer to home than I thought, hope they are okay.
He deserves it.
But good for Genna for stepping up and kicking ass.
I can hear the teeth grinding now... as he tries to control the Ironborn.
He deserves that much.
Vampire summer islander. V, get the Farlic and Dragonfire... we've a ship to burn.
Preposturous. That man can never smile.
And that does not bode well.
Be glad you still have power.
On the other hand: Jeez let the ladies think for themselves you septa cunts.
Arianna's mom is here and not in Norvos?
Edric we can make it look like an accidnet, and you can claim dawn in your own time... just, can we kill him.
Now I'm going to have a nightmare again of my house burning down.
Ned Stark proves hes one of the biggest badasses of the entire quest universe... and now he's pretty much the Wellington to our King George.
Thankfully, he's a lot more loyal, and we're a lot more sane.
Glad to see that Gerion is getting his keep up and running and he's fianlly growing his family.
He deserves if for all the hell and struggle he's had over his life.
Um... Dom, are you okay... is your family history that disturbing that you grow ill and burn it... Well good for you for having a soul that was not corrupted by darkness like your old man.
Glad to see the Watch has not been forgotten in all this.
Hey now, Umbar, Karstarks, calm down. The gifts were depopulated decades before they arrived, and it's free real estate. Can't really argue with that stuff.
Plus, if the Wildlings come from beyond the wall... we'll be better prepared to defend it.
Olly! it seems you'veranked up from a King's squire to Lord Frey... Hopefully, you can keep your family from destroying itself from the bullshit that is succession crisis.
Dammit Frey's can't you not fuck everything up like some drunk asshole who decided it was a good idea to grop the night singer at the pub.
Oh wait, your frays, so of course not.
Wow, the more things change, the more they stay the same.
Ros and Edmure... name a more tragic duo. Hopefully, they can have a better relationship before... another crazy crap happens.
Wait... Harrenhall is a sight of a triumph of humanity and decency... and possibly starting the curing of that cursed place?
Jesus, this is an AU... nothing good happens in Harrenhall.
Okay, I don't belive for a second that Jon Beat Lysa... I do however belive that he is depressed as hell due to Robert being gone.
The Clansmen being uppity... more at 11.
Mia, that you... I know you're bobby's daughter, but really stop living up to his legend by careving out your own... it will put a target out on your neck.
Great, a plauge... now we need to start quarantining the Vale...
Christ that hits closer to home than I thought, hope they are okay.
Jeez, lets hope Tyrion can make things stable.
Tyrion gaining a friend made me smile...
He deserves it.
Uh oh... That does not sound good.
Poor Kevan...the loss of Tywin may have hit him hard.
But good for Genna for stepping up and kicking ass.
Glad to see she's still the sane member of her family. And bright to.
Yeah... Again, poor kevan.
Christ, we need to get a therapist down there to help with his drinking.
Silver Linning... We've got a Royal Navy and a place where the Mannis can gather a respactable (if not entierly disiplined) corps of officers for his fleet.
I can hear the teeth grinding now... as he tries to control the Ironborn.
Hey... We've got pirates... Wholesome pirates even.
Hopefully, Theon won't need to pull a latecomer and arrive to the moot late.
He deserves that much.
Great, more chaos in the wake of Bobby B.
Oh oh, I'm getting flashbacks to a certian smiling knight... and a Kingswood brotherhood.
Glad to see our man is getting a reputation. We need it.
Vampire Summer islander?
Vampire summer islander. V, get the Farlic and Dragonfire... we've a ship to burn.
A smile, on Stannis' Face?!
Preposturous. That man can never smile.
Glad to see Jon is home and well
I smell an opertunists...
And that does not bode well.
Beric... What the fuck are you doing? A Frey! madness!
Great, more succession crisis. hopefully they can deal with it themselves.
Well... be glad we didn't burn you down like the Field of Fire.
Be glad you still have power.
Glad to see Sam and Dickon getting along in this timeline.
Hey now Florents... We can help with lots of things... we do not need another civil war.
On one hand good, we need honor and virture.
On the other hand: Jeez let the ladies think for themselves you septa cunts.
Freys... why did it have to be freys?
oh... wait, what?!
Arianna's mom is here and not in Norvos?
Something tells me this family diynamic is worse then ours... and ours is pretty screwed up.
Ah, opertunist.
Hm... Well hopefully it works, we don't need another blood feud to deal with.
Quaint.
Can we kill him?
Edric we can make it look like an accidnet, and you can claim dawn in your own time... just, can we kill him.
Yeah, we're going to kill him.
This smells like a trap.
that is... wise.
Bloodraven, is that you?
Good god, that reminds me of the fires near my home earlier this year...
Now I'm going to have a nightmare again of my house burning down.
We have Awaken the Ents. Fear us!
Lets go kill a kraken boys!
Wait, I thought Sam was the Heir of House Tarly?
I wouldn't say that.
We got a pretty cool Original Arc in the Show that was never in the Books out of it, didn't we?
[X] Ice and Fire
Because I hooe this will detail Jon's Reaction to the News.
[X] A Lion Still Has Claws
I am paranoid and hope that this will be about whatever Tywin has planned.
Because I hooe this will detail Jon's Reaction to the News.
[X] A Lion Still Has Claws
I am paranoid and hope that this will be about whatever Tywin has planned.
Magoose
SV's Questing Fanatic
- Location
- California USA
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- He
That was more Tywin and Arya stealing every scene they were in.
[X] A Lion Still Has Claws
[X] For the Night is Dark and the Sky is Red
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