The Westerosi II: Subprime Directives (ASoIaF / Star Trek-ish)

[Mal-3]

*/ "Showtime (Piano Refrain)" Malcolm Brown Homestuck Vol. 1 (2009) /*​

FWSC Carefree Victory (AGS-3172)
Winterfell, Westeros, FSC-29294 III
21 August 391 UEC


Dear Mom, Mama, Dad & Everyone,

Kongou is just about close enough that I can finally start sending compressed text over subspace and not have it come out as garbage. That means I can write you directly and know that you'll get the letter, instead of having to trust to some random First Federationer I'll never actually meet face to face. At least now if the message gets corrupted I can blame the Fleet's censors. (As an aside to the censors, assuming you're reading this, please don't wield the markers of doom on this letter. I'll get you all ice cream and beer when I get back to Federal space, promise!)

I'm writing to you from Winterfell this time. You remember Winterfell from my first letter, the gigantic castle sitting out in the middle of a boreal forest? It's kind of become my center of operations since the last time I had a chance to write you. It's been a weird couple of months, let me tell you.

For the record, I'm still alive (obviously). I'd say "and well" but... well, it's a long story. I'm neither on fire nor on the run, which is about as well as I can be at the moment. Things out here are escalating in ways I didn't expect seven months ago when a hunting party stumbled over me and the ship. I finally found out what happened to Victory to cause me to crash-land here, and that's opened some pretty big cans of worms.

Remember the trees I wrote about? That's pretty much where it starts and ends. The notes on the Tanis Map entry I followed all the way out here were about the trees. It turns out they're a Builder project, or part of one at least. I'm still putting it together—psionic gestalt images are a real pain in the ass to sort through—but apparently the trees were here but pre-sophont before the Builders arrived, part of a symbiotic pair with a local humanoid species. Anyway, I guess the Builders saw the potential in the trees and their symbiotes and decided to uplift them. That thought just... wow, right? We've uplifted all sorts of animals in our time, primates, parrots, sehlats, but uplifting plants? I don't think even the maddest genetic engineers from the bad old days would've thought of doing something that crazy! I suppose the trees' psionic potential made it a little easier but still, wow.

The tree uplift wasn't the whole of the project, either. According to the trees, Planetos (and no, I didn't name it!) is close to something they call "the Shroud." I think that's the dimensional brane where psi energy originates? It's hard to tell—the trees obviously don't speak human, and they're given to poetic metaphor as a matter of course. I think they might've picked that bad habit up from the Builders. Anyway. So the source of all psi energy is, like, half a degree away on the zorth axis from normal space-time around Planetos, which is why the place feels like it's crackling with psi all the damn time. Mama, you'd love just soaking up the psi around this place. I've gotten used to it over the last couple months but if I stop and concentrate I can feel the energy just sort of coating everything like mist. It's... there's no good way to put it into words, really.

But (and there's always one of those) therein lies the problem: the proximity of this Shroud to Planetos is why the Builders set up shop here, and they managed to provoke something on the other side. I'm still not sure exactly what it is when it's at home, to be honest. The Builders called them "the Unbidden," the human locals call them "the Others." They didn't seem interested in giving me their names the first-and-so-far-only time I've talked to them. At this point all I know is that they're psionic (naturally), they're hostile, hungry and really interested in leaving Planetos. According to the trees, the Builders fought them, managed to trap their scout force in some kind of prison in the northern polar regions... and then they abandoned the planet not long after.

I know, right? I guess they decided the locks were secure and the trees, the symbiotes and the humans could handle the situation if they needed to. And I suppose they weren't... wholly wrong? According to my research and the trees, about eight thousand years ago the Unbidden started to slip out of their cages and ran riot and a coalition of the species managed—barely—to shut the whole thing down before everything got too far out of control.

But that was a long time ago. The trees' numbers have dwindled, the original symbiote species seems to be all but extinct and the human populations have forgotten pretty much everything they need to know. All the relevant information's changed into myth, legend and religion. And the Unbidden are starting to break free again. Some of them already are free, but not (yet, I think) in enough numbers to push south from the poles. The trees were desperate; they needed a Builder, and they've been gone for who-knows-how many years.

Enter yours truly and her trusty ship. Victory entered the system at just the right moment. I'm no Builder, at best I know what their stuff looks like and how to maybe make it safe for study, but I guess any old doofus in a starship is going to look like a Builder if you're desperate enough. They brought me down using a focused psionic strike to the engines, in just the right place that I'd put enough of the pieces together that I'd initiate contact and we'd be off to the races.

(Admittedly, I don't think they intended to kill the ansible along with the warp drive. That was probably a mistake, but I'm not 100% sure of that. I know that if I needed Builder assistance I wouldn't want to stop with just one. But that's just me.)

That in and of itself would be bad enough. Actually no, there's no reason to pussyfoot around it: this is exactly bad enough that I've declared a Section Three intervention over the whole clusterfuck. Like, formal record of intent before the court martial and everything. This is some industrial-grade shit I've found myself in. And to make things worse, I stepped in a big pile of it that isn't covered by Section Three guidelines.

I've been making friends since I've been here. I told you about some of them in my first letter. They're good people, they really are. Primitive compared to anybody back in Federal space, yeah, but you don't have to have some kind of advanced space-brain to have a good heart. Besides, you know how I always end up collecting strays, right? Some—well, most—of these friends move in Planetos's upper class, and they have enemies. I'm not trying to offend anyone, but I admit that I haven't been as diplomatic as a Starfleet officer ought to be in situations like this. I've done my best to maintain a certain level of distance from the ruling class, no loaning the ship or anything in my toybox out to help maintain the status quo or anything, but that in itself is considered mildly impolite by my hosts. And in the end my tendency to make friends screws me over more than anything else; in a feudal society who you know defines you almost as much as what you can do, and my landing zone locked me into a space in local politics I didn't really grok until it was way, way too late.

Long story short, the king of Westeros died about a month ago. His heir... isn't one of the best people in the world, if I'm going to be honest, and he either wanted my total loyalty as a vassal or my head on a stick for treason, depending on the time of day. And while I was gallivanting about talking to the psionic trees and learning about the Unbidden, it turned out that members of the nobility had concerns about the crown prince's legitimacy and were moving to unseat him. He moved faster.

One of the people I'd befriended was one of the people he had imprisoned, her and her father. For various reasons she had one of my communicators and called for help. I've never, never been able to refuse a damsel in distress. After all the times you had to bail me out in primary and secondary you know that more than anyone else. When she called, it didn't matter to me that I was potentially about to blow a huge hole in General Order One and the other contact regulations. I was on autopilot: the only thing that mattered to me was making sure she was safe. So I did what I do best, I went in, saved the damsel and blew a hole in the contact regs big enough to fit Canaveral in.

My heroic rescue set things in motion I didn't understand in the moment, but the longer this goes on the bigger and uglier it gets. There's a civil war in the offing; I console myself that the civil war was probable even if I hadn't gotten involved, but that's cold comfort. I'm a known associate and counsellor of one side, which limits my ability to move and get things done in the middle of the Section Three intervention.

I'm... not okay. I'm almost completely alone here and this thing with the Unbidden is bigger than anything I've ever had to deal with. If I screw this up, it's not impossible that these things will get out and threaten the entire galaxy, and until Kongou gets here it all falls on me. At the same time I have to try and diplomance my way through a bouncing baby civil war, try and get everybody on the we-don't-want-to-all-die page and hopefully do it without smashing down any more Federal laws in the process. There's no way in this world or any other that I am anywhere near "okay."

But I'm coping. I'm not completely alone: I have Al, and Thoros, and Mel and a small gaggle of kids who look at me like I'm the biggest, baddest hero in the whole world. I still have Victory and most of the toy chest. Kongou and her squadron are on the way, even if I can't stop it myself all I have to do is hold the line until she gets here.

This thing is huge and it's scary and if I spend too much time thinking about it I kind of want to curl up in my bunk and wait for it to go away... but I will be fucked sideways with a cactus before I let this goddamn thing beat me. I am a Starfleet Ranger, and this is the sort of thing they trained us for at the academy. Well, not this exactly but this kind of scenario. Mostly. They covered it in a couple third-year seminars, at least.

I think I'm gonna be okay. Eventually. Someday.

I love all of you. I'd tell you not to worry but I know better than that, so just remember that I've got every intention of coming home alive and intact, and if these Unbidden bastards are going to stop me they're gonna have to work for it. Give all the littles a hug from me and tell them I'll be home as soon as I can.

Love,
Jadey

----------------------------------------------------------------------
*/ "Project Monarch" Henry Jackman Kong: Skull Island (2017) /*

Illuminati International Productions
in association with Braavos Films, Ltd.
presents

THE WESTEROSI II
SUBPRIME DIRECTIVES
----------------------------------------------------------------------


TYRION​

Tyrion Lannister groaned as the horse beneath him swayed and bobbed, reminding him with every step how much he truly loathed travel by horse. At least the gold road was in better condition over the pass and down into the heart of the Westerlands than the kingsroad had been anywhere in the North. He rode with a small gathering of redcloaks, men Jaime had gifted him with when he departed King's Landing. A thoughtful gesture, that, and the men themselves had been pleasant enough company for commoners. The entire trip had the feel of a grand excursion, riding for some days them stopping at the nearest inn to have some (usually) palatable food, perhaps spend some time at the local brothel if there was one, then back onto the road home. Now, finally, they were approaching the Deep Den, warden of the gold road pass and the final stop before they entered the golden farms of the Westerlands.

As they drew near to Deep Den, all of a sudden the road seemed to be filled with men at arms. A good two hundred Lannister men stood encamped along the road and outside the walls of the mountain keep. Weariness drained from Tyrion and he spurred his horse onwards to the gate, leaving his companions behind. At the gate two men wearing the badger of House Lydden stopped in front of him. "Who goes there?" the taller and uglier of the pair demanded.

"Tyrion Lannister, son of Lord Tywin," Tyrion called out. The guards looked at him—I do have a distinct profile—and silently opened the gates. Tyrion rode in to find more Lannister men mingling with Lydden's household guards, and in the middle of all the activity his lord father glowering at something in the middle distance.

That glower fixed itself on him, and Tyrion flushed a little. Reining to a halt and carefully dismounting, Tyrion met Lord Tywin in the bubble of activity around them.

"Tyrion," Lord Tywin said cooly.

"Father," Tyrion said with a respectful nod. "For a moment I thought something had gone wrong with our lord of Lydden. Hunting bandits?"

"What are you doing here?" the old lion demanded. Tyrion blinked in confusion.

"I was returning to Casterly Rock from the capitol," he said cautiously. There was an odd energy in the courtyard. A sense of restrained violence tinged the air. "I believe I sent you a raven about it when I departed."

Tywin snorted. "And no doubt prolonged your trip by stopping at every inn and whorehouse on the road."

"I was in no great hurry to return home."

"And what news have you heard?"

"News?" Tyrion's brow furrowed. "Nothing since we entered the mountains several days past." The sensation pricked again at his scalp. "Why?"

"King Robert is dead," Lord Tywin said. Tyrion stiffened, then sighed. Well, that was faster than I had anticipated. "Killed in a hunting accident, by all reports. Joffrey has been crowned and I ride to King's Landing to take up my post as Hand."

"Congratulations, Father," Tyrion said, and half meant it. He looked around. The Lannister men didn't have the look of an honor guard escorting the new Hand of the King. They seemed to have a considerably rougher cast to them. No doubt part of that was due to hard riding on the gold road and yet there was still something terribly off about the situation. "I feel like there's something more I am missing here, though," he said finally.

Lord Tywin Lannister's moods rarely strayed from grim even at the best of times. From the clenching of his jaw and the narrow slits of his eyes, Tyrion could guess that the lord of Casterly Rock was absolutely bloody furious. Which didn't make much sense; Robert was dead, his grandson was king and he about to take up the Handship again. What cause would he have to be angry? Lord Tywin reached into his surcoat and pulled out a scroll. "Read," he ordered, thrusting the scroll at Tyrion.

Tyrion took the scroll and did as he was bid. The message was from Pycelle, he recognized the Grand Maester's spidery handwriting, and made very little sense. Chaos in the Red Keep, a warning from the master of magic and the king was being... reluctant about something. "I take it things have not gone well, then?" he asked.

"Robert's pet witch appeared not long after His Grace's coronation," Tywin replied, scowling. "Shouting some nonsense about grumkins and monsters from beyond the Wall." He pulled a small bundle of similar scrolls from his coat and waved them in Tyrion's face. "Then the madwoman defied the Iron Throne, allied herself with the Starks and humiliated my son!" He threw the scrolls at Tyrion. "You suggested we ally ourselves with this creature, and now it's turned against us." Look at what you've done now he all but shouted, the implication hanging thick and greasy in the air between them.

"Aye, I thought we might make the witch our friend," Tyrion said absently, thumbing through the scrolls and taking in all the reports of what had happened: almost all the Kingsguard defeated, their pride sorely beaten, the Mountain slain by dire sorcery—and what a terrible shame that was—stopping to wince as Pycelle described the injuries Jaime had taken. "I also feared that something like this might happen," he continued. "Robert used a soft touch on the woman and successfully kept on her good side. Joffrey was eager to have a court sorceress, mayhaps too eager. I daresay he tried to push and Lady Hasegawa pushed back to the court's detriment." Tyrion looked thoughtful. "We might still be able to salvage this."

Lord Tywin's glare could have burned all the Westerlands to ash in that moment. "No," he said with finality. "There will be no salvaging. This foreigner has dared to insult the throne and House Lannister at the same time with her actions. Do you intend me to grovel at her feet for her favor?"

"This is not some upjumped merchant from the Free Cities trying to haggle over spices and cheese, Father," Tyrion argued. "You haven't seen what the witch has at hand and what she can offer, I have. We cannot make her bend the knee to Joffrey or to our house, there is no force on this earth that can make her do that."

"A pretty Dornish mummer girl flutters her eyes at you and you abandon your family," Tywin sneered. "Is a foreign cunt all it takes to turn you?"

Tyrion flushed with anger. "You've not seen the ship, my lord," he said stiffly. "A hulk of white metal as big as the largest dromond in the Lannister fleet, perhaps bigger, floating in the air like a cloud. What coin is there in all of Casterly Rock—in all the world—that could make a mummery like that? My lord father, you needs understand that the only coin worth anything here is our good will. If we arranged a meeting, or even an exchange of letters, apologize for Joffrey, at the very least listen to what she has to say—"

"Enough!" Tywin barked. "I will hear no more of this talk from you or anyone else. I don't need a drunken dwarf or an old fool muttering in my ear at all times about witches. The woman Hasegawa will be attainted, declared outlaw and subject to the king's justice as soon as I reach the Red Keep, if not before."

Gods damn everything, has your pride finally overtaken your sense? "Do you think that matters, Father?" Tyrion said quietly. "The master of magic still has her ship and her abilities. How much do you truly believe she cares about titles, or being named outlaw? Robert stepped lightly with her—as far as Robert could step lightly—because he saw that he couldn't press without losing control."

"A sufficient reward ought to remove her ship from her," Tywin replied. "Enough golden dragons to make a man wealthy for the rest of his life. Perhaps a keep somewhere, should the victor be landless. There are enough greedy men in Westeros to make it possible."

"You're trying to chain a dragon with paper rope, Father," Tyrion warned. "Joffrey tried to press his advantage and all he got for it was a court full of battered knights."

"Joffrey is a boy," Lord Tywin said. "She'll find defying a man a more difficult task. And I will not brook any defiance, not from this witch or from my children." He leveled a glare at Tyrion. "You will stay here until my party departs, then return to Casterly Rock. Do not leave until I summon you." The proud old lion turned and walked out the castle gates, back to the road and the soldiers waiting thereon.

***FLASH TRAFFIC***​

TO: KIRK, Cpt. Winona, cmdg. FWSS Kongou CA-314
SUVOK, Cdr., cmdg. FWSC Kirkwood Gap R-1821
SH'QESRIR, Cdr. Vroli, cmdg. FWSC Hiroko Ai R-1209
OLAYINKA, Cdr. Temitope, cmdg. FWSC Soval Variations R-1104
FROM: HASEGAWA, Cpt. Jade, cmdg FWSC Carefree Victory AGS-3172

A big Planetosi hello going out to my rescue party! Direct communication that's more than 140 characters a burst transmission, ain't technology grand? Even if this is compressed to hell and back, short plaintext messages ought to be okay until you get close enough that we can start using compressed video.

Right now, you're still too far away to be of any physical use, more's the pity. But you've got bigger & badder library computers than I do and working ansible links to all the data. So you guys can be my plucky research team assisting the noble heroine as she attempts to unfuck this situation, okay? Great. Let's get started.

Psionic defense is the key here, so let's start digging into the all data we've got on blocking psi energy. Sort it into two piles: one for anything that looks feasible for a grade-1 sensitive to accomplish using the resources of a Triumph class scout with a busted warp core. The other pile is for the big, ridiculous schemes, the bigger and more ridiculous the better. I might not be able to use them now but there's a non-zero chance the Builders left a bunch of other toys behind on this rock. A silly scheme might be able to leverage that better than a serious one. Or I could just be talking out my ass, that's a possibility too.

Next on the agenda is diplomacy. I'll be sending a staged text dump over the next few days containing everything I've been able to get my hands on regarding Westerosi law. From that, I need somebody to go over it and use that to build a "let's not kill each other because ice monsters are coming" treaty. I know, it's kind of a long shot but if you can get me something that works within the confines of Westerosi law and custom I have a better shot at making the intervention work than if I just bully everybody into submission. I mean, I'm pretty sure that might work but it'd make my life way more difficult than it really needs to at this point. Also, I don't want to have to find a desert island to operate from if the bullying plan falls through.

That's about all I can ask for at this point. Clear skies, guys.

—Hasegawa

THE CHEESEMONGER'S PALACE​

Illyrio Mopatis sat in his courtyard, staring at the image of his old self. The young face stared back wordlessly. He wondered, now and again, what the young bravo would think of his station. The life of a Pentoshi magister seemed so far away at the time. Would he be pleased that he'd reached the pinnacle, or dismayed by everything that climb had cost him? Now, the magister sat, nibbling on dates and cheese as his oldest friend in the guise of a household guard relayed current events from Westeros.

"I fear I lost track of her in the confusion," Varys admitted. "The queen regent sent parties after her but failed to catch up before the ship arrived. Ser Gregor reportedly got the closest but lost his head in the process."

"Martell will be pleased by that," Illyrio grunted. "Or not; who knows with that one. Mayhaps he wanted to see to Clegane personally." He waved a chubby hand. "It is no matter. Tell me more of this threat the witch made towards the king."

"No threat," Varys replied. "To threaten implies a personal connection. No, this was a warning clear as day. She believes that the Others of legend are alive, awake and marching south towards the Wall as we speak. And she had the head." A faint shudder rippled through the large man's body.

"You saw this," he half-asked.

Varys nodded. "I did. It was a most convincing scrap of evidence."

"And this was no mere mummery? I can think of men in the Free Cities who could make such a thing appear to be real. This Ulthosi witch might be skilled, but how much is real and how much fake?"

"I know, old friend. This would be so much easier if it was mummery and puppetry, but the world is not so simple as all that. I had a chance to examine the head closely, after the lady departed but before the king took possession. If this was a puppet or some kind of mechanism it is so far beyond any kind of trickery we are aware of that I cannot tell the difference."

Illyrio pounced on the last statement. "But there is a chance," he said.

"There is," Varys said. "But I do not give it much credence. I find no motive in creating such a thing and then acting the way the former master of magic did. The head makes an excellent tool for insinuating herself deeply into the new king's counsels, but then she assaults a dozen men, grievously injures the Kingslayer and flees with the Starks in tow. There's no obvious gain in doing this, yet she did. Madness? Perhaps, but it is a very consistent and compelling madness. Also, my little birds in the north sing that the northmen at the least take her warnings very seriously. No my friend, I believe we must take her claims—and her evidence—as what they appear to be."

Illyrio sat silently, looking at his former glory and nibbling on dates without thinking, for a long time. "This complicates matters," he said finally.

"To an extent," his old friend replied. "But not perhaps as much as you might fear."

"I wish I had your confidence, old friend," Illyrio said. "The Dothraki are marching, but young Viserys is not among them. My agents tell me he finally crossed the khal one time too many and, well." He sighed dramatically. "I told the boy he should stay as my guest. A pity. Still, the khal is heading south but we have no clear idea on where he's headed or when he'll turn his eyes westward. Or even if he will, for that matter. Without the khal..."

"I urged you once to put the khal aside," Varys said in reply. "Again, we must do so. If the khal turns west then we may add him back to the playing board but for now it doesn't matter what he does. The time for waiting and delays is over, my friend. Events have finally overtaken us; this matter beyond the Wall overshadows everything, but there's still an opportunity to be had."

Illyrio raised an exquisitely dyed eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Joffrey may wish to move north to answer the insult given him, but the old lion will prevent him from doing so whilst the Baratheons are against them. Lord Tywin would prefer to let his enemies weaken each other before he moves to eliminate them with one bold stroke. If the Starks take the warnings seriously they are not likely to move south whilst the Wall is threatened. The Vale is closed to outsiders, the gods only know what the ironborn will do, Stannis and Renly cannot make common cause and Dorne will not follow any of them. In this stalemate we have an opening, but it will not last long. Letters need be sent; to Connington, to tell him to prepare the boy, and to Strickland, to secure his men."

"I think I see," Illyrio mused. "We attack the weakest party and secure our position? Strickland's men ought to be able to take the capitol whilst the other players are paralyzed. A risky gambit to be sure, but..."

Varys shook his helmeted head. "You misunderstand," he chided. "Joining the fight in the south is the losing move. The players are paralyzed, as you said, and that paralysis means the upheaval we need is not present. The winning move is to the north. Our prince and his army must join with the Starks and aid in the defense there."

Illyrio stopped chewing, openly staring at his longtime accomplice in disbelief. "Has this dead man's head made you take leave of your senses?" he demanded. "You propose to send him to the Starks? How could you even think for an instant they'd accept him?"

"Think, Illyrio," Varys said in a low, urgent voice. "None of the southron lords will send more than a token force to the Wall, assuming they don't simply laugh away Stark's attempts at convincing them. Stannis might send more, but with his brother and the Lannisters to fight even he cannot send away too many men. Tales are already starting to spread of the witch and her warning; the people begin to wonder if the lords are squabbling whilst the realm is threatened. What better moment for him to appear, standing with the northmen at the Wall defending the realm against legendary foes? Ned Stark will bend the knee out of sheer gratitude in that event."

"What of the witch?"

"We needs sway her to our side, or at least sway her to neutrality. Sending the boy north will help in that—it shows we take her seriously. The rest... it will be difficult, she flits about Westeros like a demented raven, not staying for too long in one place. Preparations need to be made; she seeks to unify Westeros against the threat, but she cannot be allowed to unify it behind anyone other than our prince. Perhaps the Dornish could be our intermediaries in this cause. I must find the new pattern before we start throwing more balls in the air."

"I know not if I like this plan, old friend," Illyrio said, frowning. "Too much is left open to chance, and factors we cannot control. If we send the boy to the North, if we gain the witch's favor... if, if, if. Too bold, too bold. What happens should the Starks see him as a threat? What happens if he fails?"

"If he fails..." Varys shrugged. "The witch claims that this is a threat that will swallow all of Westeros, possibly the entire world. If the prince that was promised cannot stand against such things, what hope do any of us have?"

***FLASH TRAFFIC***​

TO: HASEGAWA, Cpt. Jade, cmdg. FWSC Carefree Victory AGS-3172
FROM: KIRK, Cpt. Winona, cmdg. FWSS Kongou CA-314

We'll get right on that, Captain. Also, be advised that all communications from this point will be going on record as part of the Section Three investigation. You might want to remember to moderate tone in official communiques from here on out.

—Kirk

***FLASH TRAFFIC***​

TO: KIRK, Cpt. Winona, cmdg. FWSS Kongou CA-314
FROM: HASEGAWA, Cpt. Jade, cmdg. FWSC Carefree Victory AGS-3172

The part of me that was seriously concerned about decorum in communications broke off and burnt up somewhere over Westeros, I think. Got way too much to worry about than policing my language when speaking (typing? Whatever) to my fellow Fleet officers. Besides, I might as well give the people who end up transcribing this mess into the official record something entertaining to read while they're doing it.

—Hasegawa

DAENAERYS​

They rode out of Vaes Dothrak at dawn, the shadows of the Horse Gate pointing long towards the west. Khal Drogo led the khalasar under the bronze stallions out of the sacred city and turned south, keeping the rising sun on his left. Dany followed dutifully on her silver, escorted by Ser Jorah Mormont. The morning light caught off of Drogo's long braid, causing it to shine like burnished obsidian.

The light also caught on Dany's newest gift, an odd ring of blue-veined gold, joined to a bracelet of the same material by fine golden chains. Her sun-and-stars had found the ring somewhere deep within the markets of Vaes Dothrak and brought it back to her. Or perhaps it was one of her khas, or the bloodriders? She wasn't sure. It seemed odd that a khal, especially as mighty a one as Drogo, would go hunting for trinkets in the marketplace. But that was apparently what happened.

The ring was Valyrian, that much she was sure of. Of her heritage Dany knew little in truth, mostly what her brother Viserys had been known or was willing to teach her, along with some extra reading in the rare times they had secured the patronage of a man with a library. One of the few things Dany knew was the dragonlord script, and this was inscribed along the inside and the outside of the bracelet.

The inner track was in High Valyrian, a language Dany knew a little of. She could make out the words dragon and master and that was about it. The inscription on the outside of the bracelet was older, the script more worn but still cut deeply and cleanly into the gold that it might be readable after many centuries, and the words made no sense to her. They seemed Valyrian, but were unlike anything she'd ever heard before.

"Zlaldimandenak zalzeh nilar pehsehbh bihzihseh mbiredh," Dany murmured, stroking the cool metal. In response the metal warmed under her fingertips for an instant. She felt something flicker in her breast, then flutter down into her swollen belly. For a moment she could feel something inside her and around her, flames licking around her hands as the world shifted just a little and she could see… blue and gold and red and green flowing all around her and Drogo.

"Your pardon, Princess?" Ser Jorah's voice came from behind her, breaking the moment. The colors vanished from Dany's sight as she turned to see her lone loyal knight looking at her with great concern.

"Ser Jorah?" she asked.

"You said something aloud I didn't quite catch," he explained.

Dany blinked. She had said the inscription aloud, hadn't she? "I was just… thinking about this bracelet my lord husband gave me," she said, raising the encircled arm to show Ser Jorah. "It's Valyrian, I think. I wonder how it came to Vaes Dothrak?"

Ser Jorah shrugged. "Who knows, Princess?" he said. "It's said that most of the dragonlords' treasure vanished with them in the Doom, but they ranged all across Essos in their time. It may be that one khal or another picked up the trinket in the years after, when the Dothraki established their domains over this land."

"And then it came to me," Dany said, absently rubbing the golden bracelet. This time, it remained cool to the touch. "I wonder if it's magic?"

"Who can say for certain, Princess? It's known the Valyrians used the dark arts as much as they used dragons."

"Aye." Dany rubbed the bracelet again, tracing the shape of the runes beneath her fingers. She could feel the colors start to lick at her fingertips again as she did so. "And where did my ancestors learn these arts, Ser Jorah?"

The knight shrugged again. "The dragonlords kept their secrets well. I doubt even your family knew much of anything about their origins. No Targaryen ever said as much after the conquest, at least."

Dany made a small noise of disappointment and let the ringed hand drift over her belly. The ring warmed a little, pulsing in time with her heart. It might've been her imagination, or some trick of the rising sun, but the colors seemed to flash around the ring, as if it was waking up from a long sleep.


----------------------------------------------------------------------
Fun Tyrant's Notes: Ere we go ere we go ere we go...

Welcome to Act II. Please settle down and make yourselves comfortable, the show's about to begin. Questions will be answered in the order they are received. Let's get back on track, yeah?

xoxo,
The Fun Tyrant

 

[ShyGuy]

Yay, its here. Watching.

Wow. Tywin is really misreading the situation here. He thinks he is dealing with some common mummer when he actually has the real deal in front of him.

Edit: Also, Varys is making a pretty good move. If Aegon can come in and save the day then he will gain a lot of gratitude from the North. Of course this won't change the balance in the south too much unless they feel threatened too. If the Others can make their reach felt in the regions below the Neck, then people may start to wonder if they are fighting the wrong war.

 

[Matrix Dragon]

Oh Tywin, you dumb bastard. I look forward to you discovering reality doesn't bend to your whim.

 

[Meneldur]

Great chapter, an awesome beginning. More when I get to my computer, but is it just me, or did Dany get some sort of kara kesh?

 

[Mal-3]

Oh Tywin, you dumb bastard. I look forward to you discovering reality doesn't bend to your whim.

Click to shrink...

Tywin's been coasting on his reputation for shock & awe tactics for most of his career now. He figures that plus the incentive of Sufficient gold will overcome any wariness about going up against a witch who fucked up every swordsman in the Red Keep. He's so far out to sea that land's a distant memory, but he doesn't realize that yet.

Tywin: Is that an ultimatum? I love ultimatums! Here's mine: either die to her or die to me!

Great chapter, an awesome beginning. More when I get to my computer, but is it just me, or did Dany get some sort of kara kesh?

Click to shrink...

Not quite as elaborate as that--no palm jewel, the bracelet's more of a hoop than a spiral bracer--but not a bad guess really.

 

[Sceonn]

A very pleasant surprise, thank you for continuing this. :lol

 

[jwolfe_beta]

He's so far out to sea that land's a distant memory, but he doesn't realize that yet.

Click to shrink...

I imagine Jade and/or Starfleet is going to give him a rather rude awakening.

Also with Tyrion having to stay at Casterly Rock and Tywin heading off to be Hand of the King, does that mean Tyrion's basically in charge of CR?

 

[reignonyrparade]

I imagine Jade and/or Starfleet is going to give him a rather rude awakening.

Also with Tyrion having to stay at Casterly Rock and Tywin heading off to be Hand of the King, does that mean Tyrion's basically in charge of CR?

Click to shrink...

Probably depends on who exactly got left behind and who exactly people decide to listen to if Tyrion and whoever else is in charge start giving conflicting orders. If Kevan got left behind he's absolutely in charge but Tyrion can probably work with him without any real issues. If it's Stafford... who really knows.

 

[Terrace]

Yay, Book 2 is starting!

I can only imagine the shenanigans what would be required to get Dani involved.

 

[zup]

It's alive! And if Jade has her way, Westeros will stay that way too.

 

[Artemis1992]

The inner track was in High Valyrian, a language Dany knew a little of.

Click to shrink...

Sure?

Not only did the Targaeryens take care to teach all their children High Valyrian (Canon-Dany could speak it), but it's also very close to the low Valyrian of the Free Cities after just 400 years of linguistic drift.
It should be easy for her to translate, or at least find any edjucated person to do it for her.

 

[Mal-3]

Probably depends on who exactly got left behind and who exactly people decide to listen to if Tyrion and whoever else is in charge start giving conflicting orders. If Kevan got left behind he's absolutely in charge but Tyrion can probably work with him without any real issues. If it's Stafford... who really knows.

Click to shrink...

Tywin needs his right hand with him in King's Landing. And to be honest we've got to make Tyrion's stewardship difficult somehow...

I can only imagine the shenanigans what would be required to get Dani involved.

Click to shrink...

Weeelll, we won't be seeing Dany much until she gets to the right point. After that, well... two headstrong, powerful women with similar yet very different end goals. Can the mother of dragons and the witch from Ulthos work together? Guess you'll have to hang in and find out~

Sure?

Not only did the Targaeryens take care to teach all their children High Valyrian (Canon-Dany could speak it), but it's also very close to the low Valyrian of the Free Cities after just 400 years of linguistic drift.
It should be easy for her to translate, or at least find any edjucated person to do it for her.

Click to shrink...

*shrug* I'm working from the assumption that Dany's education in the finer things was... haphazard shall we say. She's got a basic understanding of High Valyrian, but not much more than that since her studies were interrupted by the whole getting-thrown-out-of-her-house-and-spending-the-next-decade-or-so-homeless thing. It's not, I don't think, a terrible leap to assume her overall fluency is a little lacking.

 

[Monshroud]

Tywin needs his right hand with him in King's Landing. And to be honest we've got to make Tyrion's stewardship difficult somehow...

Click to shrink...

...."Uncle Dolt" Stafford is going to try to detain and kill Jade if she comes a visiting to Casterly Rock, isn't he?

That poor fool.

 

[Mal-3]

EDDARD​

"Queenscrown," he said, putting his finger down on the map. "The keep is abandoned but still in good repair, and there are orchards and fields still bearing crops where the village used to be. I would rather it not be so close to Umber land, but there are few holdfasts left in the Gift."

Lady Jade hummed in agreement. "It's suitable as a rally point at least," she said. "Send the free folk south to the tower, then spread them out east and west so they've got room for forage?"

"Aye," Ned said. "We can't just let the wildlings flood through the Wall, that would be the makings of a disaster." He could see it in his mind's eye: a great mass of wildlings coming south without direction, no King-Beyond-The-Wall to give even the slightest leadership, pillaging every village and small keep between the Gift and the Neck. "Mance Rayder needs keep his people close; Queenscrown lets him do that."

"I can't see him reneging," the sorceress said. "He knows what's at stake here. I'm worried about outlying groups, but..."

Ned sighed. "Small groups we can deal with, or hand over to Rayder to dispense with, so long as he can keep the greater mass in line." Ned wasn't sure this was the wisest course. In the long years of the North the wildlings had never been trustworthy. Starks died because of wildling treachery. Given the greater threat looming over all of them, though... "We will need Lord Umber to show willing first," he said. "Last Hearth has the worst experience with wildlings of all the Northern houses."

"Whenever he shows up," Lady Jade noted. Ned nodded and returned his attention to the map. The North never felt so large as when he was expecting somebody to make the journey to Winterfell. "I could've gone and picked them up," the sorceress continued, again. "Last Hearth, Dreadfort, Karhold. A nice, simple quadrangle, could've arranged to pick up them and a half-dozen retainers each and brought them back to Winterfell inside of a day. We could've have all of this over and done with days ago instead of waiting around staring at maps with our thumbs up our asses."

"Aye, I respect your concerns, Captain," Ned said patiently, again. "But in this I felt it better if my bannermen had a more gradual introduction to your..." he gestured vaguely, "abilities." Shocking them beyond the capability of rational thought might serve our purpose in the moment, but I still have to live with them when you're gone. "You'll have your moment to surprise Lords Bolton, Karstark and Umber when they see your ship at the gates."

The sorceress from beyond the fixed stars, possibly the most powerful single person in the whole of Westeros, thumped her head against the table and groaned like Robb might when avoiding tutoring. "Yeah, yeah," she said. "I'm sorry I keep carping on it. I'm just used to a faster pace of life."

"If every man could fly, I imagine there'd be less patience for those who walked," Ned noted. Lady Jade looked up and cracked a small smile.

"That's a pretty good way of putting it," she said.

A knock came at the door. Ned turned his attention that direction and called for the knocker to enter. Maester Luwin came in bearing a collection of scrolls. "Ravens from the south, my lord," he said.

Ned blinked. "Oh?"

Luwin held out a scroll with an expression of distaste. "King Joffrey demands that Lord Robb hand over, ahem, 'the traitor Eddard Stark and the renegade Jade Hasegawa' to the king's justice, that he return his lawful betrothed and that he himself travel to King's Landing to bend his knee and pledge himself to the rightful king."

Lady Jade gave him a wry look. "Well, aren't we popular," she said. For a long moment all Ned could see was red. That creature will never have Sansa flashed hotly through his mind. It was only the beginning, of course. The Lannister boy still had Stannis and Renly to deal with in the south, even with the Westerlands in his camp he hadn't enough to attack the North directly. Not yet.

"What else?" he said tightly. Luwin gave him a concerned glance, then went fishing through the scrolls.

"Messages from the Baratheon brothers, both requesting our loyalty," Luwin replied, leafing through the scrolls. "Stannis is... fairly abrupt in his message. Renly's a bit more polite but the gist remains the same: bend the knee or see the weight of Westeros arrayed against you."

"Send ravens back to Stannis and Renly," Ned ordered. "Tell them of our situation and ask if they will support the Wall. Let us see where the Baratheons stand on this." Stannis had the rightful claim, this was true enough, but if he was disinclined to come north and offer aid then Ned would take his faith elsewhere.

"And let them know I'll be coming south to meet with them personally," Lady Jade put in. Luwin looked at her in surprise. "Make sure to mention that. I'm sure they'll be very interested in that part."

"Is that wise, my lady?" Luwin asked.

The sorceress shrugged. "No idea, but if we need to get Westeros behind us it's worth trying."

"Any other messages, Luwin?" asked Ned.

The maester plucked one last scroll out from his collection. "An interesting puzzle, this one," he said. "It came on the same raven as the Iron Throne's message, but was addressed directly to Lady Jade." The sorceress blinked when he handed her the scroll. She unrolled it and read the contents.

"Huh," she said. "That's... unexpected." She raised an eyebrow. "How secure are the ravens, exactly?"

"How do you mean, my lady?" Luwin asked.

"Can they be tampered with? Messages altered or switched out en route?"

The maester looked thoughtful. "Ravens can and often are shot down during sieges," he said. "But once a raven is in flight... no, I daresay it's impossible to change a raven's scroll once it's away. To suborn a raven would require suborning the maester responsible for the raven. Not an impossible task, I regret to say, but difficult."

Lady Jade hummed to herself. She held up the scroll before her eyeglass and gently tapped the earpiece, then crumpled the scroll and tossed it into the fire. "Well, something to keep in mind," she said. "Guess I'll have to see what Pycelle does next."

"What was that all about?" Ned wondered.

The sorceress opened her mouth to reply, then scowled. "I really wish Westeros played card games," she grumbled. "I can't use any of my favorite metaphors. Let's say, hm, that I was just given a weighted die but I don't know if it's weighted in my favor or not."

"You've a man inside," Ned said, the light dawning.

"I might have a man inside," Lady Jade corrected him. "I might also have an elaborate trap waiting for me. Either way it's not worth exploring until I have more intelligence."

"A wise decision," Luwin said. He might have said more but a cry came up from the hallway:

"Riders, milord! Bearing the sigils of Karstark, Umber and Bolton!"

"About frickin' time," Lady Jade said.

THE GREATJON​

There was a gigantic fucking boat made of white metal squatting between the wintertown and the gates of Winterfell. He'd heard the rumors flying all about the North, even read a raven or two from Ned and young Robb—before this latest madness at any rate—about all the strangeness surrounding the Starks the last half-year. If they'd come from anyone other than Ned Stark he'd have dismissed it as drunken ranting, or some mad bard working on a new song.

Having finally seen the godsdamned thing, everything he'd heard started to make... perhaps not sense, not quite, but it put more than a few things he'd heard in an altogether new light. And judging by the considering look in Roose Bolton's flat eyes, he wasn't the only one who'd put two and two together.

"Gods," Rickard Karstark croaked. "Where did Ned get a thing like that?" It was half chance that they all met along the road; none of their holdfasts were on the same road, but all roads in the North led to Winterfell or the Wall, and when the lord of the North calls for his bannermen to meet in person, then all sorts of interesting meetings may happen.

Bolton regarded the boat a little bit longer, then shrugged. "No doubt Lord Stark will have an answer," he said. "But now we needs ride on, my good lords. Our liege lord requires our presence and we have a duty." He spurred his horse and moved to ride on past the horse. Jon followed suit, spurring his horse just a little more so he would draw even with the Dreadfort's master. Karstark continued to gawp for a moment, then shook himself and set his horse to a gallop.

The gates of Winterfell opened for them, and they rode through. Inside the courtyard the household guards—a damn sight fewer guards than Jon was expecting—went through their drills, watched closely by a boy who could only be young Robb. A huge grey wolf sat at his feet, watching the three lords and their retinues ride in with unnerving closeness.

"Well I'll be damned," muttered Jon. "Ned hadn't mentioned anything about that in his ravens."

Jon found a likely place to dismount and swung down from his destrier. Looking around, it seemed that Winterfell was preparing for war. That fit with what the last raven had said: gather the banners, be prepared to march south. But then why would Ned have called the three of them in particular to Winterfell? Where were the Glovers, the Cerwyns, the Flints, the Manderlys?

A door rattled to one side, Jon turned and saw Ned coming out from the main keep, followed closely by old Luwin and a slight Dornish girl in green tunic and black trousers. Oho, now this is interesting, he thought, taking a knee before his liege. Ned looked like he'd been through another three wars or more in the year since Jon had seen him last.

Ned smiled in welcome. "Rickard, Roose, Greatjon," he said. "Welcome back to Winterfell, all of you."

"I would say it was a pleasure to return, my lord," Bolton said as he rose. "But your missive interrupted our muster. I'm most curious as to why."

"At this point I think we've all gotten the raven from King's Landing," Rickard added. "Rumors floating up from White Harbor about the new king and other things, too." The Karstark shot a look at the Dornishwoman. "Things I had trouble believing until I saw what was sitting outside the wall."

As usual, Jon had to step in and get to the point. "Are we going to war, Ned?" he asked bluntly.

Ned grimaced. "That's a more complicated question than you might imagine," he said.

"Don't see how," Jon countered. "We're either goin' to war or we aren't."

"Perhaps we're getting ahead of ourselves," Bolton cut in. "For one, who is the young lady behind you, Ned? If rumor is right, I suspect she has something to do with the... thing sitting beside your castle gate?"

Ned made a slight gesture of introduction. "My lords, this is Captain Jade Hasegawa and yes, that is her ship. My lady, allow me to introduce you to Rickard Karstark, Roose Bolton and Greatjon Umber. These three are among my strongest bannermen." The girl in green bowed stiffly at the waist.

"I am pleased to meet you," she said, her speech ringing with an accent Jon had never heard before.

"Others take me, you're the witch," Rickard said. "You're the one they say cut down half the Kingsguard and pulled Maegor's Holdfast half off the high hill." Jon blinked. That little thing did that? Truly?

"Captain Hasegawa has been the guest of Winterfell for some time now," Ned went on. "It was on her advice that I asked you three to come here." His voiced lowered, just a little. "What we need to discuss is not for open ground," he said.

"That bad, eh?" Jon wondered. The little witch looked like she wanted to laugh.

The three lords followed Ned into the hall, where a simple lunch of cheese and salt pork was awaiting them, along with the customary bread and salt. They each took a small portion of the bread and salt, then dug into the actual food on the tables. The whole of the Stark family was there, all of them eating and talking amongst themselves. The atmosphere was fairly light, and the witch girl pulled out a lute sized for a man Jon's size and played a few songs that brightened the air a little.

After the luncheon, Ned and the witch took them back into his solar, settled them down with goblets of wine and Ned sealed the door behind them.

"Alright, Ned. What's got such a fire under your arse?" Jon asked. "Are we going to war or not? And why pull us away from gathering our men at that?"

Ned glanced at the witch, but she had apparently gotten into a staring contest with Roose Bolton. Good luck with that, woman, Jon thought. "We are at war, Greatjon," he said. "Two wars, in fact."

"I take it that we are striking south," Bolton said calmly, like attacking the other six kingdoms was a thing northmen did every fucking day.

Ned hesitated. "The messages Robb sent on my behest involved our men going to war in the south," he said. "But that was before Robert... well. And it was before Lady Jade offered intelligence of her own that put things in an entirely new light. As I said, we're now involved in two wars."

Rickard leaned in, fingers stroking his beard. "Wildlings, then," he said. "We've heard rumors about a new King-Beyond-The-Wall rising the last few turns."

"The wildlings are a part of it," Ned agreed. "And that is why I've asked you three here. Of my banners, your holdings are the ones that deal with wildling raiders the most often. I need your support in the war to come."

"By the gods you'll have it!" Jon declared, bringing a meaty fist down solidly on his armrest. "Nothing more satisfying than killing a few hundred raping savages in skins."

The witch looked at Ned. "Time to stop dancing around the issue, Lord Stark," she said.

"Aye," replied Ned. He looked Jon square in the eye. "We're not going to war against the wildlings, Jon."

Jon blinked. "What?"

The witch, meanwhile, had pulled a covered cage out from beneath her chair and set before the three lords. "The free folk are moving south," she said. "But they're not doing it of their own volition. They're being driven towards the Wall, by these." With a swift twist she pulled the cover off the cage and revealed the rotten head of a woman sitting under glass. The woman's head had been cut away cleanly at some point, but it had seen more than a bit of time exposed beforehand.

Jon looked scornfully at the witch and opened his mouth to say something when the head's eyes opened and looked at them. The eyes were cloudy and lit with an unnatural blue light, and he could feel the glare they gave off. The half-rotted jaw worked, exposed muscles clenching and twisting as the head tried to... say something? Crawl through the glass and bite their throats out? Jon couldn't say.

Rickard's face went as gray as his beard. "They said something about that in the rumors, too," he muttered. "But I didn't think... I couldn't think."

Roose Bolton's flat pale eyes held a disturbing glimmer of interest as he beheld the moving head. "Interesting," he said. "Very, very interesting..."

"There are thousands of these damn things currently running around north of the Wall," the witch said. "If that was it, it'd be bad enough. But that isn't it."

Bolton looked up sharply. "You claim that the Others are not just tales, then?" he said, almost mildly.

"I hope you're up to date on your legends, milord Bolton," the witch replied. "Because brother, you're in one now."

"Gods bugger me," Jon said, not taking his eyes off the loathsome thing under glass. "So, war to the south with the Iron Throne, and war to the north with the dragon-buggering Others? This is a hell of a war you've got planned, Ned."

Ned smiled thinly. "Not one I ever thought I would fight, but fight it we must."

Rickard's complexion regained a little color and he leaned back. "You clearly have a plan, Ned," he said. "I take it we're part of that?"

The lord of Winterfell nodded. "Let me tell you what we've come up with and please let me finish before you start jumping in."

LOG ENTRY: SURFACE DAY 214​

If there's one thing I haven't quite gotten used to yet it's the way getting people to where they need to be takes fucking forever in this place. I know, I know, it's a bit hypocritical of me to say that considering I flew in a straight line for 600 days straight to get from Canaveral to Planetos. Still, even then I was halfway plugged into life back home through the ansible. This bit where it takes the better part of a month to arrange a meeting that could've been done instantaneously back home is just... it's frustrating. What makes the frustration worse is that I can't shake the feeling Stark's pretty much going throttle to the firewall in terms of how fast he can physically make things happen.

What I'm honestly afraid of at this point is it might not be enough. I have no good eyes on the Unbidden right now, just a couple communicators in the hands of people who just about know how to turn them on. If they pick up their pace—which they just might—there's a good chance I won't know about it until it's all over. So that's keeping me up nights.

Anyway.

The three lords we really need to convince about this free folk deal finally showed up at Winterfell this morning. Our first meeting was largely productive, which puts it ahead of a lot of meetings I've been to at starbase. They've seen the evidence, they've heard the story and now it's time to hammer out a functional plan. So far Stark's managed to get his old drinking buddy Lord Umber mostly on board; he's willing to not ride out and start actively hunting free folk on his lands. To be fair that's more than I expected for the first meeting. Even with the whole Unbidden thing hanging over us like a particularly nasty cloud there's a lot of bad history between the Northerners and the free folk. I'm not expecting everybody to sit down and hold hands round the campfire first thing. It'd be nice, it'd make a lot of future planning a hell of a lot easier, but I'm not expecting it. Grand alliances to hold back huge elemental evils aren't forged in a single afternoon of planning.

It'd be nice if that worked out, but sadly we're not all Andorians here. So negotiations are in order. Umber seems like he'll be fairly easy to win over, at least for the broad strokes and if we can keep the majority of the free folk away from Last Hearth. Lords Bolton and Karstark are a little more reluctant, but Stark seems confident that he can bring them around given enough time. Karstark—a cadet line of the Starks according to fount-of-all-knowledge Luwin—seems to be a lot like Stark, a guy given to thought more often than action. He's having trouble wrapping his head around the Unbidden (fair enough) but his eyes keep coming back to the head-in-a-jar gracing Stark's office. If he wants something it's likely going to be prestige, maybe the right hand seat at the dinner table or a decent cut of any booty they take when the war in the south kicks off, something tangible to counteract the more esoteric horrors of the story they've fallen into.

Roose Bolton, on the other hand, is just plain creepy. I'm not sure if he's the best poker player in the history of the species or if he just straight up gives no fucks whatsoever about the whole "oh BTW legendary monsters are real and are coming to eat your face alongside their armies of undead minions" thing. He's definitely holding out for a concession of some kind, but I don't know what just yet.

Negotiations are in swing. At a minimum all parties are convinced that something hinky's happening in the far north of the world, and that it's probably better to have thousands of free folk running around south of the Wall than having an extra umpty-thousand zombies heading south for the aforementioned face eating. I was a little afraid that that particular point might be trouble, but so far it hasn't been. Which is nice. Right now it's just a question of who's going to pay what.

And we need to know soon as possible, too. Not long after we broke for dinner, word came down from Aemon at Castle Black: Mormont's scouts finally encountered the first group of Mance's people. Not a lot of them, maybe a couple dozen out of however many he's gathering and sending south, but word's apparently getting back and the Watch is taking the whole thing seriously. Mormont's sticking them at the northern foot of the Wall for the moment, close enough that if something goes really wrong they can get them through the tunnel with minimum hustle but still on the wrong side until Stark gives him an official all-clear. Violence has been restricted to dirty looks and name calling for the moment, but the longer the Watch has to play babysitter for the free folk the drier the tinder's going to get. (Aemon's metaphor not mine, for the record.) And as more of Mance's followers show up the situation's only going to get worse. Mormont has to start moving those people through the Wall and into the fallow land to the south soon or this isn't going to end well.

The hell of it is, now that I've told my story and shown off the head, my part in the negotiations is more or less done. So now I get to jump from one impossible task to another! Ain't my life grand? Time to start worrying more about the south.

The one thing I tolerate about the slower pace of life in Postclassical Westeros is that things haven't gotten started in earnest just yet, which means I still have a window to plan out my line of attack. Armies are mustering, swords are sharpened, etc. but I've got time to shut this whole thing down before it gets too far out of hand. It's time for Cap'n Jade's Magical Zombie Mystery Tour to kick off.

So, prospects: the Iron Throne's closed to me for the moment... my own damn fault, but that's a bridge already burnt. While it'd be nice to have the high king as a cudgel to beat the other nobles into line, even if I hadn't pissed Joffrey off so badly none of the people I need to talk to are inclined to listen to anything he has to say anyfuckingway, so I might as well stop worrying about it.

Aside from the king in King's Landing, the remaining players in the south are Houses Arryn, Baratheon, Greyjoy, Lannister, Martell, Tyrell and Tully. According to the most recent news the Baratheons are divided between King Bob's younger brothers, so that promises to be a fun one. They've already sent "requests" for Stark's loyalty. On a personal level I think Stark favors the middle brother over the younger. Having met the younger brother (albeit briefly) I can understand that, but I'm going to have to try and convince both of them to make common cause. Renly Baratheon seems to be allying with House Tyrell; with a little luck if I convince one I get the other at the same time. The Tyrells seem to be a major food exporter, and that will be very handy as the seasons start to change.

Martell seems to be sitting this one out. Probably smart of them, all things considered. I have an in with them thanks to Al, so I might send her off to do the initial recce probe solo, let her explain what the hell's going on before I make an appearance.

The Tullys seem to be in a tricky spot: they're allied with the Starks but they're also in a part of Westeros that's mostly river valleys and floodplains. Not a great strategic position, and not one that's been reinforced all that much over the years either. The current Lord Tully might be willing to go to bat for us at the Wall, monsters having a focusing effect on the mind, but they're more vulnerable to reprisals from the Iron Throne than any of the other houses. I don't know, have to try it and see.

Arryn might be an interesting one. Apparently the current regent of the land Lady Arryn (wife of the late Lord Jon and mother of the too-young-to-rule Lord Robert) closed her borders around the time I landed. An interesting coincidence, that. At least I have a way of hopping borders no knight can touch. (moo hoo ha ha ha) Lady Arryn is also apparently Lady Catelyn's sister; I should reach out and see if she's interested in coming along and helping with the argument? It couldn't hurt the situation much if any, I don't think.

The Greyjoys are... well, they don't seem to be well-esteemed by the rest of Westeros. So far as I can tell, they're only high lords because somebody needed to rule the Iron Islands and nobody else wanted the job. That's... great. Experienced sailors might be useful in evacuating the north, though: moving free folk from the coastal towers south to safety might be an option if I have enough ships. It's an option worth looking into.

And then there's the Lannisters. I'm not expecting much from them, if only because they're so deeply (and creepily) tied to King's Landing at this point. However... everybody I've talked to who has an opinion on the Lannisters respects the current patriarch. Lord Tywin has a pretty good reputation for pragmatism. I might be able to talk him around to the full nature and scope of the threat, and if I can do that then I might—might—be able to get the west and the Iron Throne on board and on the same page in one throw. If not, well... no further harm done, right?

So there's the game plan: head south and try to convince the lords of Westeros that beating each other up is counterproductive when facing zombies. Busy, busy, busy! Never a dull moment in the middle of a crisis.

----------------------------------------------------------------------
Fun Tyrant's Notes: They say that war is long stretches of tedium punctuated with short bursts of sheer terror. What we've got here is a section of the "tedium" part of our program, mostly filled with planning and meetings and figuring out what we're going to do once all the armies are assembled and ready to go.

But hey, at least we got to meet Greatjon Umber! That's always fun! Greatjon's not exactly a complex soul, but getting into his head for a moment, just to see what he thought about stuff was interesting. Also we meet professional creepy motherfucker Roose Bolton for the first time in this story; that went... about how I expected it to. The Lords of the North have their parts to play, so we'll see them again soon enough.

(For those of you wondering where Ramsay Snow is, a: why? b: if he becomes relevant he'll show up, otherwise he's back at the mill or get killed by a bear or wildlings or zombies, whichever.)

Next time, Jade starts her tour on Dragonstone, the green witch meets the Mannis, reunions are had and the saddest little princess gets some good advice. See you then, hopefully not two weeks from now!

Until next time, my lovelies!

xoxo,
The Fun Tyrant

 

[RichardWhereat]

Fun Tyrant's Notes: They say that war is long stretches of tedium punctuated with short bursts of sheer terror. What we've got here is a section of the "tedium" part of our program, mostly filled with planning and meetings and figuring out what we're going to do once all the armies are assembled and ready to go.

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Neat. I like slice of lifes and fluffs. I hope we can see a bunch more.

For those of you wondering where Ramsay Snow is, a: why?

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Because he's everyones favourite panty sniffer.

As for b, well, I hope he drinks from the same goblet as Joffrey. On the same day. Because they're getting married and die. Or Roose sends him after Joffrey and he goes out in a blaze of glory getting honoured by all the Northmen who don't realise what a shit he is.

 

[Meneldur]

"I can use any of my favorite metaphors

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Can't

Awesome chapter. A great introduction to what will most likely be the main portion of the story for a while - introductions, meetings, presentations, negotiations and different PoV's. I really enjoyed the Greatjon's PoV, even if, as you say, it wasn't necessarily that complex. I wonder what Roose was thinking, though - that would have been fascinating.
Oh, Jade, you sweet summer child. Thinking Tywin will be reasonable, or that bringing Cat to the meeting with Lysa will help. Well, i guess she'll learn the truth of it soon enough. I can't wait for Jade to meet Stannis, Shireen, and have a reunion with Mel.

 

[Sceonn]

"I hope you're up to date on your legends, milord Bolton," the witch replied.

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This seems rather uncharacteristic of her.

Also, why would Ned need to give any concession to Boltons? They are not that far North to be directly impacted nor can they refuse his Call-to-Arms.

 

[Mal-3]

Neat. I like slice of lifes and fluffs. I hope we can see a bunch more.

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I'm fond of them myself but I also have to balance that against wanting to tell a rousing, witty adventure story. We'll see, I suppose.

I wonder what Roose was thinking, though - that would have been fascinating.

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Roose: ...I would love to stick my--
Jade: WOAH! NO! NO! Just... no! Bad writer! Bad! Bad!

This seems rather uncharacteristic of her.

Also, why would Ned need to give any concession to Boltons? They are not that far North to be directly impacted nor can they refuse his Call-to-Arms.

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How so?

As for the concessions, Ned and Jade are conspiring to not only allow the wildlings through the wall but also allow them to fend for themselves (within limits) in the North. Last Hearth, Karhold and the Dreadfort are the three largest and most isolated holdings in the North likely to have trouble with wildlings, so Ned needs them on board first ("if these three agreed, then it must be serious") to make getting the rest of the North on the same page easier. Bolton's canny enough to see that, so he's going to hold out for something. What, exactly, we may find out.

 

[kaazmiz]

The simpler explanation for these 3 being summoned together, is that they likely cooperate quite often with each other, even if they don't meet together often, or at all.
Last Hearth is the last landed knightly house that far north, with the Clans to the west in a very mountainous area. Its likely that Wildlings often pass through the gift and hit there. Its very likely that both Karstarks and Boltons patrol those areas, or are on call (raven) if the situation gets out of hand (lots of wildlings), as their lands would be the next to suffer.
The second most likely reason is that these three houses are the last landed knightly houses up north other than the Clans in the western part. Ned is giving command to people who are educated and capable of responding to the situation better than the clans, who are closer culturally to the wildlings than Andals.

 

[RichardWhereat]

Last Hearth is a Lordly house, not a knightly house, none of them are Knights, they worship the old gods.

 

[Prince Charon]

Last Hearth is a Lordly house, not a knightly house, none of them are Knights, they worship the old gods.

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Also, a Lordly House outranks a Knightly House, so calling them that is insulting as well as inaccurate.

 

[kaazmiz]

Details Ladies/Gentlemen. Replace knightly with noble. Martin made a large mess enough with the different cultures and definitions as it is.

 

[RichardWhereat]

Not to mention the idiot only had two ranks of lords. Lords Paramount, and all the others.

 

[Mal-3]

Just a note guys: if you want to bitch about GRRM there are plenty of other threads out there that will let you indulge to your heart's content. While I'm sure it'd inflate the post count I would rather not have it here, thank you.

Regards,
The Fun Tyrant

 

[Matrix Dragon]

Roose: ...I would love to stick my--
Jade: WOAH! NO! NO! Just... no! Bad writer! Bad! Bad!

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And now, for whatever reason, I'm imagining Jade standing next to you with a spray bottle full of water, cat owner style.