4,973Welcome back everyone! Apologies for the long delay but…eh. Life is a real SOB sometimes. Not much to say other than thank you all for your continued support in reviews, alerts and favorites. I am honestly blown away with the reception that this story has received. And I can honestly say that I did not expect it to get this big (in more ways that one) when I started brainstorming it out years ago! I just hope that I can keep you all entertained!
Big thank you to my beta reader and brainstorm partner Tellemicus Sundace, who personally wrote an entire section of this chapter, helping me immensely! Lastly, I do not own Disney, nor am I Lucas or Martin; I have no ownership of A Song of Fire and Ice, Game of Thrones or Star Wars. This is purely for fun with no profit being made. And with that out of the way, let's get to the chapter! Stay safe out there everyone!
Chapter 44
Riding through the Gate of the Gods, Tyrion Lannister frowned at the lack of fanfare to which he entered the city. He wasn't expecting there to be people lined up in the streets, screaming his name and saying his praises and thanking the gods that he had arrived. But there was no one around the gate save for the Goldcloaks. No merchants. No small folk. No farmers. No traders. No one. Outside of the Street of Steel, Silk and the harbor, the Gate of the Gods was known to be one of the busiest locations in the city for trade. Yet now, there were only a few merchants lining the streets. None of whom were even trying to sell anything to him despite his large retinue and obvious wealth.
Little activity at one of the main gates did not bode well for the health of the city, combine that with the lack of activity he saw at the port as they were arriving, and he was not feeling optimistic. And the city just…felt different. He'd been to King's Landing several times during Robert's tenure as King. And while no-one would ever claim that he was a great King, he did keep the joy of the people high, and King's Landing was always a hub of activity. Now? The city almost felt dead.
"Not a pleasant start to my tenure as Hand," he mumbled to himself, urging his pony forward.
A few were looking towards him, but none were even trying to step forth and try to sell their wares. There was only one thing that could stop a merchant from trying to pry good coin from the high born. Fear. Fucking hells. It'd barely been a moon's turn since Harrenhal and only a fortnight since 'King' Joffrey took the throne. What in the hells had happened here?
Just as he was about to order his retinue towards the Red Keep, a small child darted out from one of the side streets. No one tried to stop him as he ran straight towards Tyrion, running full speed into the side of Tyrion's pony, causing the beast beneath his legs to jolt and it was only because of Tyrion's special saddle and his experience with this pony that he was able to keep from being thrown from his saddle. "Pologies, m'lord!" the child stuttered before darting off as fast as he'd appeared.
"My lord," the captain that'd been assigned to him rode up next to him, hand on his hilt and ready to draw his sword and run the retreating boy down.
"I'm fine," Tyrion replied, shrugging off the interaction while reaching down to readjust his boot that'd been dislodged from his stirrup during the collision. "The boy was no doubt excited about…"
His words trailed off as his hand reached his boot. There was something new tucked into the upper part of his boot. A small, folded piece of paper barely larger than his finger. Pulling the paper out from his boot, he unfurled it and found a single location written on the note. 'Sept of Baelor.'
Frowning, Tyrion crunched the note up in his fist. 'Barely in the city for a few moments, and already part of the game. Though I won't deny it…I am looking forward to playing with the Spider.'
"Change of plans, captain," he said, flicking his reigns. "We're heading for the Sept of Baelor before the Red Keep."
The captain didn't question his orders, such was the discipline that his father had installed in those sworn to House Lannister. An order given from a member of House Lannister was not to be questioned. Ever. As they rode through the city and towards the Sept, he was disheartened to realize that the conditions at the Gate of the Gods was not unique, but in fact the norm throughout the city. But it wasn't until they were approaching the Sept of Baelor and the plaza surrounding it that they finally found some actual activity. Dozens of large wooden structures in the form of a Seven-pointed star were erected throughout the plaza. But it wasn't the constructs that made him halt. No, it was the people whose limbs had been broken and twisted through the wooden stars that drew him up short. Men. Women. Old, middle aged…even a child or two were strung up on the stars. Their broken and bloodied limbs twisted through the wooden frame of the seven-pointed stars. All of them were dead.
"By the gods…" he heard a few of his own men mumble from behind him.
Tyrion was about to answer when he heard a roar from the crowd that was surrounding the base of the macabre display. Standing up in his stirrups, he once again cursed his lack of height as he tried to see what was drawing the attention of the crowd. Then he saw it. A new, empty, wooden seven-pointed star was laying on the ground. A woman, kicking and screaming, was being forced onto the ground while a large man with an equally large maul stepped forward while Septons yelled over the roar of the crowd, condemning her to her fate.
"Oh, to hell with this," Tyrion grumbled. "Captain, we're putting a stop to this. Now."
The captain nodded, drawing his sword, which caused all the others under his command to draw theirs as well. "In the name of Lord Tyrion Lannister, you will cease this display now!" The captain yelled, his voice, and more accurately his drawn blade, stopping the execution from going forward.
The crowd swiftly parted, giving room for Tyrion and his men to make their way forward towards the base of the stars and where the condemned woman was still being held down. The Septons and Septas that were surrounding the woman stopped what they were doing until one brave Septon stepped forward. "This is no concern of yours, Lord Lannister," the Septon growled, clearly not pleased with his presence. "Turn and leave now."
Tyrion felt his brow raise. The Faith had sure gotten bold in a short time. Or rather, they had always been bold. But now some idiot had let them off their leash.
"Please, m'lord!" the woman screamed from where she was being held down, fear in her voice and eyes, "I done nothing bu—!"
"Shut up whore!" the Septon roared, whirling back to face her. "You are an abomination and deserve to be put upon the Seven-pointed star to atone for your sins!"
"And what 'sin' has she committed to be condemned to such a fate?" Tyrion asked. "And who has condemned her?"
The Septon growled, but the executioner with the maul held firm. "I said that this is no concern of yours, Lord Lannister. We are performing the work of the Seven, and no one, not even a noble like yourself, is free of their laws."
Tyrion nodded. "True. We are all under the laws of gods and men.Even you. So, I ask you once again, Septon. What law has this woman broken and who was it that condemned her to this fate?"
The Septon was clearly not pleased. But a quick glance towards the men, and their bare steel, behind Tyrion finally had the man show some semblance of a mind. "She was outed as a witch and a heathen worshiper of the false 'old gods'. Her punishment is atonement on the Seven-pointed star."
Tyrion noted there was a significant omission in the man's tale. "And who was it that sentenced her? The King? A lord? Hells, I'll even accept a magistrate."
The Septon waved his hand dismissively. "There is no need for such things. She is guilty. And her atonement is now at hand."
"No, it isn't," Tyrion countered harshly. "No one. Not the King, not I, not you, and not this girl.No oneis above the laws of gods and men. And those laws state quite clearly that no one shall face death or any other punishment without proper trials." Granted, history had shown that these 'trials' need not be equal or even fair. But they still needed to take place.
The Septon scowled and waved his hand dismissively once again. "The King has decreed that the Faith need not hold a trial to do what needs be done."
"Has he?" Tyrion smirked, though a pit of fear also formed in his gut at the same time. "Let me see it then."
The crowd began murmuring as the Septon's brow furrowed. "See what?"
"The decree the King has made which gives the Faith the right to act as the King's Law and Justice."
He saw small beads of sweat beginning to form on the brow of the Septon. "The King has not written it down… But all know—!"
"Ah, you see that is a problem," Tyrion interrupted, sighing dramatically. "You see, people know what they are told. And you have told them that the King has given you this authority to act as his Law and Justice… Yet now you are saying that you do not haveproofof him doing so."
The Septon growled. "Fine. The heathen whore will be tried before the Seven, then sh—"
"Oh, there is no need to bother the Seven with this," Tyrion replied, swinging his leg off his pony and sliding down onto the ground. "I am a Lord of the Realm, after all. I can oversee this girl's trial. Now, let her up and stand before me."
The moment the Septons let go of the girl, she immediately threw herself at him. His men all tensed, but instead of attacking him, the girl threw herself at his feet and began begging. "Please, m'lord. I know not what they say I did. But I swear I did not do it!"
Tyrion frowned and glared at the Septons and Septas. "You were going to execute her…and she didn't even know what crimes have been levied against her? What crimes has she been accused of?"
The Septon, whose face had long since gone red, drew himself up to his full height. "She is a heathen whore who is known to sell her body for the pleasure of any. One of the faithful came forth, saying that she was seen praying to the false 'gods' and denying the faithful their due!"
The woman kept clutching at his feet and sobbing. "Is what he saying true girl? Are you a whore who is faithful to the old gods?"
The woman tilted her head back. He had to admit that, if the situation were different, he wouldn't mind paying a hefty sum for her services. "I – I am a whore, mi'lord. I do not deny that. But I ain't no follower of the old gods."
Tyrion turned his attention back to the Septon. "And who is this 'faithful' that you speak of that claims that they saw her praying to the old gods?"
The Septon growled, but eventually beckoned a man forth. The man was clearly disheveled and dirty. But he honestly was nothing special. The only thing that honestly stood out on the man was the wooden Seven-pointed star pendent he wore around his neck. "I was the one who saw her, mi'lord Lannister," the man said, though his tone clearly indicated that he did not care for Tyrion's rank or station.
Tyrion looked the man over before turning to the girl. "Tell me, girl. Do you recognize this man?" She nodded. "How?"
The girl whimpered but still managed to speak just loudly enough to be heard. "He…He frequently visits the brothel I work at, mi'lord. But he ran out of coin and…and demanded my services for free as he was one of the faithful. I told him that I could not, and he yelled at me, demanded I service him anyway. I kept saying no. Then he… Then he left. Then this morning the Septons and Septas came for me and…and told me that I am a heathen that needed to face my atonement upon the Seven-pointed star."
"The whore is lyin!" the man yelled instantly, but Tyrion held up his hand to silence him.
"Is there any present who can verify this girl's story?"
"I can, Lord Lannister."
That was a voice that Tyrion not only recognized but was surprised to hear. Turning his head, he saw the speaker making her way through the crowd. Her darker skin standing out in stark contrast to those around her. "Madame Chataya," Tyrion greeted her, having gotten to know her quite well considering how often he visited her establishments during his time in King's Landing. "I take it that this girl is one of yours?"
Chataya nodded, "she is. And I can vouch for her word. This man came into my establishment and demanded her services. When she gave him her price, he countered saying he was a man of the Faith and that she should give him her services for free. When she denied, he got angry and threatened her. I had him removed just as he was about to strike her. Before the sun rose this morning, a dozen Septons and their thugs showed up on my doorstep. Dragged her out of her bed and threatened all of us to share her fate should we even think of interfering."
Tyrion turned his eye back towards the 'accuser'. The man suddenly seemed to find his feet the most interesting things in the world. "How many can confirm your words, madam?" Tyrion asked.
"Every worker I have, plus a few merchants who were across the street and saw this man yelling that he demanded free services for being a 'servant of the True Faith'."
Tyrion glanced at the Septons, Septas, and the accuser. The Septas kept their eyes down and the Septons were all glaring openly. "You," he said, waving towards the accuser. "Are there any you can call forth that can dispute the counter claims laid against you? That you demanded free services of a whore. And that when she, correctly might I remind you, denied your request, you retaliated by trying to have her executed by the Faith?"
The accuser was sweating heavily and shaking slightly. "I…I…."
"You should know," Tyrion continued. "That should I find out that if you are lying, that Madame Chataya and the girl's version of events are true, then you can be held accountable for bearing false witness resulting in the near execution of an innocent woman. Such a crime is punishable by death."
The man was now shaking, "I – I…I take the Black, milord."
It was a damning thing to say. The man all but admitted to lying to have the girl punished without admitting it. "That is your right. Captain, see to it that this man is put on the first ship heading to the Night's Watch. And let that girl go. She isclearlyinnocent."
The Septon looked like he was about to argue, but he couldn't and instead motioned for the girl to be released. As soon as she was, she threw herself at Tyrion's feet. "Thank you, milord! Thank you! Thank you!"
Tyrion felt...proud. He was finally able to do some good. "I do not need your thanks, girl," he said before turning his attention towards Chataya. Waving her over, he lowered his voice so that few could hear. "Take her and get her out of the city. I do not doubt that someone will try and claim some sort of vindication against her for this embarrassment."
Chataya nodded before coming to the girl's side and leading her away and disappearing into the crowd.
"Hold one moment," Tyrion called out as the Septons and Septas, as well as their minions, began to wander away. "We have more to discuss. Namely, you claiming to have the right of the King's Law and King's Justice."
The Septon sneered. "We are the faithful of the true god, the Seven-Who-Are-One. We do not need to answer to you, Lord Lannister."
"I'm afraid that you do," Tyrion countered with a smile. "You see, ever since King Jaehaerys the Conciliator disbanded the Faith Militant, it was made clear that the Faith would have no authority over the King's Law or the King's Justice. Yet here you are, executing people both in clear violation of the laws of gods and men."
The Septon and those following him did not back down. "King Joffrey the Blessed has seen fit to decree that the faith can act as we will for the betterment of the people and in honor of the true gods."
"He has?" Tyrion questioned, holding out his hand. "Then let me see it."
The Septon blinked. "See what?"
"The decree that King Joffrey signed granting the Faith the right to act as the King's Law and Justice."
The Septon blinked dumbly as around them the people began murmuring. And he could understand their murmuring. Most here were illiterate. So, they could only count on the words they were told. If the Faith told them that the King said they could act like this, then who were they to question? But Tyrion was not them. "There is no written decree," the Septon growled.
Tyrion tsked and shook his head. "You see. That is a problem. Simple word of mouth is not enough to justify your actions in this regard. Claiming the King's Law and King's Justice as your own without a written decree from the King. And unlawfully killing anyone you wish… Tell me, Captain. I do believe we have a term for both actions, do we not? What are they?"
The captain stepped forward, his sword at the ready. "Treason and murder, my lord."
"Treason and murder," Tyrion nodded as he stared at the gathered faithful before him, all of whom suddenly looked very unsure of themselves. Turning his gaze upwards, Tyrion frowned at each corpse decorating the sky. "As Hand of the King and as a Lord of the Realm, I, Tyrion Lannister, do hereby find all these poor souls that have been unjustly executed innocent of the charges that were levied against them. Captain, see to it that they are all taken down and given proper rights. Then make sure that proper restitution is given to the families of the deceased. Draw the coin directly from the coffers of House Lannister to see it done. And as for this lot…I hereby find these men and women of the Faith to be guilty of treason and murder through the attempted usurpation of the King's Law and King's Justice. Captain, once you have taken these innocent souls down from the stars…Take the few ringleaders from the faithful who oversaw these executions and put them back up in their place."
The plaza exploded into a cacophony of noise. The people cheered, though whether from bloodlust or justice Tyrion didn't know, while the condemned 'faithful' fell to their knees, protesting their innocence. Tyrion ignored them all as he got back up into his saddle and continued his way towards the Red Keep as most of his men remained behind to see his orders were followed.
Arriving at the main gates of the Red Keep, the gold cloaks that were stationed at the gate didn't hesitate to raise the gate for him the moment they saw the sigil of House Lannister flapping behind him. Moving just inside the gate, he immediately heard cheering and merriment coming from one of the nearby courtyards. He could also see at least a dozen gold cloaks and red cloaks standing guard around the battlements surrounding the courtyard. "What is going on over there?" he asked one of the gold cloaks who had approached as the Keep's stable hands rushed over to see to their horses.
The gold cloak didn't look over his shoulder and his face remained completely impassive. "King Joffrey's name day celebration, milord."
"I see," Tyrion noted, hearing another cheer coming from beyond the walls, "I take it that the entirety of the royal family is celebrating then? The Queen-Mother as well as the Princess and Prince as well?"
The gold cloak nodded slightly. "The Queen-Mother is currently with the Small Council. Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen are with the King."
Nodding, Tyrion turned to the rest of the men that'd stayed with him to the Red Keep instead of seeing to the execution of the Septons and Septas. "See to it that the men are squared away. I doubt I will have need of any of you for the rest of the day now that we are safely inside the Red Keep."
Not waiting to hear their responses, Tyrion marched off towards the courtyard where his nephew was holding his name day celebration. 'Time to see just what sort of mess I am walking into… Though given all that transpired before the Sept of Baelor, I already know that I'm about to have a lot of work ahead of me.'
Ascending to the top of the battlements surrounding the courtyard, he immediately spotted an ornate pavilion tent that was surrounded by several imposing men in gold armor with white cloaks on their backs. And sitting in the middle of the tent were his niece and nephews. Just before the pavilion were three gold cloaks, holding a man up by his legs while forcing his head into a large barrel of what looked like wine. King Joffrey was smiling widely and sitting on the edge of his seat in eagerness at the sight before him. While Princess Myrcella was half shielding Prince Tommen who was clearly trying his best not to stare at the vicious display before him. Before he could raise his voice, the three gold cloaks pulled the poor sod out of the wine barrel, the man was dead. Drowned in a barrel of wine.
"My dear nephew!" Tyrion called out, drawing attention to himself as he walked forward, taking care to avoid the freshly made corpse that was now being dragged away from the King. "I was expecting to find you on the battlefield, giving aid and council in your Exalted March."
Joffrey seemed taken aback by his sudden arrival. "Uncle Tyrion…I have been where I am needed, here running the Kingdoms."
Tyrion smirked as he picked up a cup and poured himself some wine. Arbor gold if he was not mistaken. "And a fine job you are doing of it as well," he smirked as Joffrey frowned, clearly trying to figure out if Tyrion was insulting him or not. Which of course, he was. Turning his attention to his other nephew and niece, he favored them both with a smile before giving each a hug. "My lovely niece, your beauty is growing with each passing day. And you, Tommen, you take after your father with the way you are growing. Why, one day you will be bigger than any man here…and far better looking as well. The maidens will certainly swoon at the sight of you as you pass by."
Tommen smiled shyly at him, while Myrcella beamed. "I'm glad you are here, Uncle. It's good to see you again."
"Indeed, my dear. Perhaps when we have more, time we can sit and catch up more thoroughly. I have much I would like to discuss with you regarding your lessons and some of the books I recommended for you."
Myrcella smiled. "I would enjoy that, uncle."
Smiling, he finished off his cup and set it back down. "Unfortunately, that time is neither here or now. I have a lot of work to see to. So, if you will excuse me your grace, I will see to it."
Joffrey called out, asking him what work he was talking about, but Tyrion ignored him as he walked away from the courtyard and into the Red Keep proper. It took him only a moment to orient himself within the keep before he made his way towards the meeting chambers of the Small Council. There were two guards standing watch outside the chamber doors, but given who he was, they did not stop him as he pushed open the chamber doors and into the council room. He could vaguely hear his sister saying something regarding the smallfolk, but he didn't care as he began calmly whistling 'The Rains of Castamere' as he made his way through the foyer of the Small Council chambers and made his presence known to all those within.
His sister, as was her right as the Queen-Mother, was sitting at the head of the Small Council chambers. Though that seat should've been occupied by the King. But, given Robert's tendencies to all but ignore the Small Council meetings, he wasn't surprised that Joffrey had decided to follow in his 'father's path. Maester Jeorge was sitting on his sister's left while across from him sat Petyr Baelish and Varys. There was a fourth man as well who was sitting next to the Grand Maester, one that Tyrion didn't recognize but given his gold cloak and armor, he assumed that this man was the new commander of the gold cloaks.
"Don't get up on my account," he said, reveling in the shock and confusion on the face of each individual present. Walking up to his sister, he gave her a kiss on the cheek, one which she pointedly ignored. "More ravishing than ever, dear sister. War and widowhood agree with you, it seems."
"What are you doing here, Tyrion?" his sister asked through gritted teeth as Tyrion walked to the opposite end of the table from her and took a seat.
"Forgive me," he said, taking up a cup and pouring himself yet another cup of wine. "It has been an exhausting journey, and I am quite parched. Seems like ever since the Tourney of Harrenhal, I have been doing little more than traveling on the road."
"What are you doing here, Tyrion?" Cersei asked again, this time far more forcefully. "This is the Small Council."
Tyrion nodded. He was going to enjoy this more than a dozen whores. "Yes… Well…I do believe that it is customary for the Hand of the King to be present at all meetings of the Small Council."
Oh, the look on his sister's face was priceless. And he lamented the fact that he had not hired an artisan to capture her face on a canvas. "Father is Hand of the King."
Tyrion drained the rest of his glass and nodded as he reached into his doublet and pulled out a scroll sealed with his family's crest. "Yes, but… In his absence," he said, handing the letter off to Varys.
His sister clearly knew what was about to happen, even if she didn't want to hear it. Breaking the seal, Varys unfurled the scroll and took his time in reading it. If he didn't know better, then Tyrion would bet that the Spider was also enjoying his sister's predicament. "Lord Tywin Lannister has appointed Lord Tyrion Lannister as acting Hand of the King as he leads the Exal—"
"OUT! ALL OF YOU GET OUT!"
The four men all got up and scurried out of the council chambers like rats running from a cat. Now alone, Cersei continued glaring at him from her place across the table. "I want to know how you tricked father into allowing this."
Tyrion just shook his head and laughed. "Dear sister, if I were capable of truly tricking Father like this, then I would be Emperor of the world right now. You have brought this on yourself, dear sister."
Still glaring, Cersei got up from her seat and moved to the spot Varys had vacated so that they would be closer. "I have done nothing," she said defiantly, sitting down.
Tyrion nodded in agreement. "Quite right. You did nothing when your son jumped on the Throne before the time of proper grieving could be reached. And you did nothing to stop him from declaring a war against half of Westeros."
Cersei held her chin up. "You overestimate the North. They are not 'half' of Westeros—"
"And you understate them, sister," Tyrion countered back. "And considering all six of the southern Kingdoms can fit into the North, I am correct in saying that Joffrey has not only declared war against half of Westeros, but also against anyone who holds faith to the old gods. Which, need I remind you, has recently seen a resurgence thanks in no small part to the advancements provided by the Starks and the Sorcerer."
Cersei pursed her lips. "The 'size' of the North means nothing without the numbers to back it. We have three times the men and we have Father. This war will be over soon enough. The North is little better than the Iron Isles, and they will be defeated just as quickly."
Tyrion could not help but shake his head and sigh, which drew a sharp look from his sister. "You are a fool, sister. If you think this war will be similar to the Greyjoy Rebellion. Which, might I add, was only so short in large part thanks to the strength of the Northern armies and the power of the Sorcerer. Two things which are now working against us."
Cersei shook her head. "And how much do you know about war?"
Tyrion had to concede her point. "Very little. But father does know about war. And even he has acknowledged, though not publicly of course, that this is not a war that we will be able to win outright on the field. Our best hope is to keep the North in the North. Keep them isolated and force them into submission."
Cersei swallowed hard. "And how are we to keep the North in the North?"
Tyrion refilled his glass. "You love your children, Cersei. It's youroneredeeming quality. That and your cheekbones, I guess. The Starks and Nox are no different. They love their families more than anything. And it is through them that we will force the North into submission, not on the field of battle. I trust that Lady Nox, the Stark girls, and the Stark ward are being kept comfortable."
Cersei glared down at the table. "We don't have them."
Tyrion smirked and shook his head. "Of course you don't. The greatest weapon we have against the Starks and the Sorcerer, and your ill thought out ploy allowed them to slip right through our fingers. I trust you have sent out men to find them?"
"Of course we have!" Cersei snapped.
"And seeing as how you have not found them yet, we will be recalling the men you have sent out," Tyrion continued. "By now they are far away from King's Landing. They are either in hiding or they are trying to make it back to friendly soil. Either way, we will be sending out ravens calling for the capture and return to King's Landing of Lady Nox, both Stark girls, and the Stark ward. We will make it known that no harm is to be brought upon them. Should even a hair on their heads be harmed, not only will the reward be forfeit, so will the lives of those that harmed them."
Cersei frowned. "Joffrey has already sent out decrees calling for the heads of any who carry the name Stark or Nox. Dead or alive."
"And we will alter that decree to alive and unharmed, at least for the women," Tyrion pressed. "You do know the tale of Ser Corbray's fate, do you not, dear sister? It is not a simple tale made up by the bards or an exaggeration of what happened. And I, for one, have no wish to have such a fate visited upon myself should Lady Nox come to harm. Nor do I wish such a fate to fall upon our family, especially my beloved niece and nephew, should the Sorcerer decide to take his anger out on all of us should something happen to his lady wife."
The fate of the late Lyn Corbray was one that put his father's retribution against the Reynes and Tarbecks to shame. It was a story mothers now told their children to scare them into behaving. And it apparently even worked on royalty as his sister visibly stiffened as her face when ashen. "We will…revise the order."
Tyrion nodded. "Good. In the meantime, we will have Lord Stark sign off on a letter and send it north. Urging his sons and Lord Nox to stay in the North. It won't work. But it might at least slow the North down. And we will need every advantage to stay ahead of a pissed off Northern host led by an equally pissed off pair of Stark sons and a master Sorcerer."
At this, his sister went completely silent as she stared once again at the table. "Eddard Stark is…gone."
Tyrion didn't say anything as he stared at his sister for a long pregnant pause. Slowly, he reached up and dug a finger into his ear. "Forgive me, sister, I fear I think I had something in my ear that was affecting my hearing. Because I surely hope that youdid notjust say that Eddard Stark, ourlastremaining hostage and ouronly hopeof at leastslowing downthe North, is…gone."
Cersei's fists clenched into tight balls. "He is gone. Someone took him from the Black Cells and now he has…disappeared."
"Disappeared?" Tyrion questioned harshly, glaring at his sister. "What? In a puff of smoke? We had three Starks, a Stark ward, and the Lord Sorcerer's wife to use as leverage for a Northern surrender…and you have lost all of them. It must be so different for you, isn't it, sister? To be the disappointing child? You've allowed your son, our King, to provoke the North and the Sorcerer into war, as well as imprisoning the former Warden of the North, only to lose all our hostages that we could've used to leverage our position in this war."
Cersei didn't respond, and before she could the doors to the Small Council chambers were thrown open as armored footfalls filled the chamber. Turning towards the door, Tyrion hopped down from his chair as he saw Joffrey, his face red, charging into the chamber halls with two white cloaks at his back. "My dear nephew," Tyrion smirked. "The Small Council is taking a short break while the Queen-Mother and I—"
"YOU KILLED SEPTONS!" Joffrey shouted, his eyes alight with fury that might've matched Robert. Though unlike Robert whose rage was often directed, Joffrey's rage seemed wild and uncontrolled.
Tyrion nodded. "Yes, I did."
Cersei turned her head towards him, her eyes wide in surprise, though that quickly disappeared as a cruel grin spread across her face. Joffrey sputtered, clearly not expecting Tyrion to so readily admit his execution of members of the faith. "YOU HAD NO RIGHT TO CALL FOR THEIR DEATHS! THEY—!"
"Were usurping the right of the King's Law and the King's Justice by taking any amongst the smallfolk they wish and executing them upon the Seven-Pointed-Star without trial," Tyrion countered back quickly. And he quickly continued talking over Joffrey as his nephew made to open his mouth. "Which is treason and murder. They claimed to have a declaration from His Grace giving them a right to do so, but they could not produce the written declaration."
"I GAV—!"
"And seeing as how only avicious, idiot incompetentKing would even think of giving a group as powerful as the Faith power of the King's Law and Justice. And as I know you arenota vicious, incompetent idiot…I knew that you wouldnotbe dumb enough or gullible enough to give such a decree," Tyrion pressed, glaring at Joffrey, who's rage had slowly tapered off. "After all, with the ability to wield the King's Law and Justice, what use would the Faith have for the monarchy? How long until they simply decided that they no longer needed to entertain the Royal Family and decided to have them brought to 'justice' to face any supposed crime they wanted? Who would be able to challenge them if they controlled the people's faith, the laws of the faith, and the laws of the realm? And as Hand of the King until your grandfather returns to King's Landing, I have the right, and exercised that right, to oversee the trials against murderers and traitors to the crown."
His face still holding onto the fringes of rage, Joffrey glared at him. But as the realization of Tyrion's words settled over him, the rage slowly morphed. Instead of trying to block Joffrey's rage at his actions, he had simply redirected it as one would redirect a river. "You will consult me before taking further actions against the Faith," Joffrey growled before turning on his heel and marching out of the hall with the Kingsguard silently falling into step behind him.
"I do hope you were paying attention, dear sister," Tyrion smirked as he sat back down and picked up his glass again.
Cersei glared at him. "You were fortunate in this instance. But your wit won't save you for long. Soon enough, you will find yourself upon the Seven-Pointed-Star with the rest of the heathens."
"For your sake, dear sister, you should do your best to prevent such a fate," Tyrion shot back. The idea of dying like that truly terrified him and the mere thought was almost enough to make him mind his tongue.
His sister smirked as she leaned back in her chair. "And why would I do anything to prevent it?"
"Because, dear sister," he said, pouring himself another cup. "To quote father exactly, this Exalted March is aBaratheonwar decreed by aBaratheonKing. And should a son of House Lannister, who are at the forefront of this march, die at the hands ofsaid BaratheonKing as he was simply trying to advise him… Then why shouldHouse Lannistercontinue to hold faith to theBaratheonmonarchy?"
The message was sent to his sister, whose delicate eyebrows rose nearly to her hairline. "And when did father ever start caring for you so?"
Tyrion laughed at that. "Do you truly think he does care, sister? No. If he actually did care about me, he wouldn't have sent me here to potentially die at your son's hand. Can't you see father's play, Cersei? Either I succeed as Hand of the King and convince Joffrey to bring peace to the Realm. Or I end up pissing off Joffrey to the point where he dismisses me, either by exile or death. No matter the outcome, Father will get what he wants."
Cersei couldn't meet his eyes as she glared straight ahead. "Joffrey is King."
"Joffrey is King," Tyrion agreed. For now.
"And you are here to advise him."
"And I am here to advise him," Tyrion agreed. "And should our King listen to me, we might regain some semblance of peace across the realm once more and avoid either having our heads decorating the walls or having our souls stuck in stone for eternity. Now, dear sister. Perhaps you can tell me just how the most honorable and arguably thestrongest supporterof the Baratheon monarchy suddenly decided to turn traitor?"
Cersei's hand, which was reaching for a cup of wine, froze. It was just for a moment before continuing, but it was long enough for Tyrion to notice. "The Sorcerer enticed Lord Eddard, and his family, into rebellion so that he could claim the Iron Throne through the Starks."
Leaning back, Tyrion scratched at the several days' worth of beard growth on his face. "Not a bad tale. And one that the masses might just accept. But you can't expect I, and especially father, to buy that load of horse shit. The truth,now, dear sister."
Cersei remained silent, causing Tyrion to sigh. "Then perhaps we will start off with an easier question then. At least until I can speak with Jamie personally as you seem so adamant to stay quiet. What was the exact wording of the will the late King Robert left. The one that you destroyed. Tell me exactly what it said, dear sister. Or my next stop will be to the Grand Maester's chambers to hear the words myself before heading over to the ravenry so that I can inform our father of your…difficulties in memory."
Grimacing at the carnage surrounding him, Jamie Lannister stood in the middle of the main yard of Raventree Hall as around him the last remaining holdouts loyal to House Blackwood met their end. Either by way of blade or through surrender. Men and women, old and young. It did not matter. If they owed allegiance to House Blackwood, they were given a simple choice. Surrender. Or death. Most of whom were choosing the latter. "A good day, Lord Lannister."
Glancing over his shoulder, Jamie found a smirking Lord Jonos Bracken making his way towards him. The lord's sword was still unsheathed and coated in blood. It was unsurprising to any that House Bracken had been quick to join the Exalted March against the faith of the old gods. Especially as it would inevitably lead to direct conflict with House Blackwood, one of the few southern Houses that still held faith to the old gods. "Where is Lord Tully?"
Walking over to a wounded but still twitching guardsman, or rather guard-boy as Jamie doubted the lad had even needed to shave yet, Jonos calmly pierced the dying boy's heart with his blade. "Still outside the walls. With the reserves."
Picking up a discarded cloak, Jamie began cleaning his valyrian steel blade. How many had he killed today? Ten? Twenty? He honestly couldn't remember at this point. "How many did we lose?"
Jonos paused as he picked up a fallen Blackwood cloak to clean off his own blade. "Hard to tell. Perhaps around five hundred with maybe half that number injured? As backwards and heretical as they were, the Blackwoods were never one to give up without a fight and Raventree was a hard nut to crack as any keep in the South. If not for the blessing of the Seven and Septon Ramsay Rivers, it would've taken us weeks and over twice our losses to bring the Blackwoods to heel."
As much as he wanted to avoid all thoughts of the Septon, Jamie had to give credit to where it was due. Upon arriving at Raventree Hall, Jamie had ordered his men to begin preparations for a siege. That very night at the first strategy meeting, the Septon had requested an audience by stating he had a plan. Despite his own hatred for the man, Jamie could not turn the man away if he had a viable option. His plan was stupidly simplistic. They would set up to siege the main gate of Raventree, drawing all the attention there. Then, during the dead of night, the Septon and twenty other men would scale the back of the keeps walls and wait till morning before throwing open the gates.
The plan had no reason to work. And honestly, the only reason Jamie even gave him the go ahead to try was because he was sure that the Septon would end up getting himself killed in the attempt. But to his surprise, and dismay, come dawn two days later the gates to Raventree Hall were opened just long enough for Jamie to order the rest of their army to charge in. The rest of the battle was a massacre. Despite being heavily outnumbered, the men and women of Raventree Hall were not about to give up their keep without a fight.
'While we've captured Raventree Hall, I almost wish we hadn't,' Jamie thought morosely. 'Now these zealot fools will actually start believing that that vicious cunt is actually blessed by the Seven.'
"Septon Ramsay has requested that all of the heretics that've surrendered be given to him for questioning and a chance for repentance." Jonos spat. "Fucking tree worshipers don't deserve the honor or repentance if you ask me."
Jamie felt a shiver. He had seen personally the results of the Inquisitors idea of 'repentance' when they came across a homestead with an idol of a weirwood after entering Blackwood lands. The entire family had been forced to suffer through having each of their fingers, then their toes, then their arms broken. But even as they shouted their repentance, the Inquisitors just laughed and continued. Saying that they were only repenting with words, not spirit. Their suffering only came to end after every bone in their limbs had been broken, their nails pulled out and their eyes burned. And even then, the only reason it'd come to an end was because Jamie had personally stepped forward and ordered the family put to death immediately. After that one incident, Jamie had made it a point tonevergive anyone over to the Inquisitors again.
"The women will be given the choice to join the Silent Sisters," Jamie commanded. "Men and boys of age will be allowed to join the Black. Should they refuse, then they will be executed by hanging."
Jonos did not look pleased. "These heretics should be questioned, Lord Commander."
Sheathing his sword, Jamie faced off against Lord Jonos. "Raventree Hall is located in the middle of the Riverlands, far from the reach of the Starks and the Sorcerer. The only thing we will learn from putting them to the question is how loud they can scream. No. Give them the offers for the Black or the Silent Sisters, or death."
Jonos growled but knew his place so merely grit his teeth before marching off. No doubt trying to find some more holdouts to bloody. "Find Lord Edmure Tully," he said towards one of the Lannister men behind him. "About time he presents himself to the frontlines, instead of hiding back with the reserves."
It took until night was falling before the last pockets of resistance were finally quelled within the keep. And as the sun was finally setting, Jamie found himself alongside Edmure Tully and Ramsay Rivers standing at the head of the great hall with a bound and kneeling Lord Tytos Blackwood with a grinning Jonos standing behind the fallen lord. Despite being defeated, the Lord of Raventree Hall held his head high, his eyes screaming his defiance. "Lord Tytos Blackwood," Jamie called out, starting the proceedings, which in truth were little more than formality at this point. Everyone knew the fate awaiting the defeated Lord before them. "You stand accused of heresy through your continued faith to the old gods. Of conspiring with the heathen sorcerer of the North and of treason against your true King Joffrey Baratheon, First of His Name. The sentence for any of these is death. But I will grant you the chance to speak should you wish it."
Lord Tytos spat on the floor. "To the hells with that little fucker."
Lord Jonos immediately cuffed the kneeling man on the back of his head with his gauntleted hand. Mind your tongue, Blackwood."
Blackwood just laughed. "Or what? You'll cut out my tongue? I, and all those still here, knew our fates the moment you pathetic fucks marched upon our walls. My only regret is that I will not be there to watch the Starks and the Sorcerer fuck you all over. What do you think, Edmure? Or you, Lannister? They say none are as cursed as a Kingslayer or a Kinslayer. And you two are each. Do you think the Sorcerer will tear out your souls and entrap you in stone for all time? Would be fitting for you two."
Jamie had to swallow hard at the thought, and beside him Edmure Tully visibly curled in on himself slightly. The fate of Lyn Corbray was one that was well known throughout Westeros and perhaps even Essos by this time. But despite the horrific nature of the execution, not once since that time had the Sorcerer employed such brutish methods.
"Do not think your bravado will save you or make your end heroic, Lord Blackwood," Septon Ramsay drawled with that same sick smile the man always seemed to have on his face. "Where are his sons and daughter? Perhaps watching them being placed upon the Breaking Star one at a time will show him the error of his ways."
Jamie's stomach twisted in a knot. The Breaking Star was something he had only heard of whispered by the men. Apparently, it was a punishment the Faith had put forth to deal with heretics. Each limb was to be broken. Then weaved through the beams of a wooden seven-pointed star and then propped up and left to die slowly to either the elements, dehydration, hunger or by succumbing to the pain of their broken bones. And it was not something he wanted to witness.
Lord Tytos though didn't seem scared. The man only laughed. "Do you think me a fool, 'Inquisitor'? I told you. Everyone here knew what awaited us. Even before you lot made camp outside my walls. My family is long gone from here. As are almost all the women and children. You have gained nothing by taking our keep. You have only wasted time, men, and food."
Frowning, Jamie looked pointedly towards Lord Jonos. "Lord Jonos, is what Lord Tytos saying true?"
Jonos frowned. "Yes. The Blackwood spawns are gone."
"What of House Blackwoods coffers?" Lord Edmure asked. "Or their food stuffs?"
Again, Jonos looked uncomfortable. "The coffers are empty. And all the food that was left in their lauders were…burned by the last pockets of resistance in the keep."
Jamie turned his eyes back to the smirking Lord Blackwood. In the end, it looked like the man had gotten the last laugh on them. He knew he was dead. So, he had sent his family away before they arrived, as well as anyone not able to wield a weapon. Then drained his coffers and emptied their lauders. While the siege was not overly costly, they had wasted time, men, and resources to take a keep that, in the end, gave them little to nothing in return.
Ramsay, however, did not seem disappointed. "Well, instead of your family, we shall instead mountyouupon the Seven-Pointed-Star and display you upon your own battlements for all to see."
Jamie's gut clenched. "No, there is no need," he said quickly, resting his hand on his hilt. "Lord Tytos's guilt is unquestionable. I will take his head personally. Take him out into the yard and get a block."
Ramsay, clearly displeased at being denied his sick and twisted pleasures, sulked off into the depths of the castle as Jamie marched outside with Edmure and Jonos while Tytos was guided outside by two Lannister men at arms. The yard outside the main keep was as bad a scene as Jamie had ever seen. Bodies, and what could still be found of some bodies, were being tossed upon a cart as if they were nothing more than refuse to be thrown out. Which in truth, they were as he had ordered a massive grave to be dug outside the walls of the keep to bury the bodies. He might not care enough to give them a proper burial. But he would not leave their corpses out in the open to rot and potentially poison the land or, worse, spread disease amongst his own men as they took the time to reorganize themselves before marching north towards the Twins.
In their path, a few Lannister men had erected a crude block, which was already stained red with the blood of the few holdouts who'd been captured yet refused the Black. Stopping next to the block, Jamie turned around and faced the condemned Lord, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Lord Tytos Blackwood. You stand guilty of the crimes of heresy and treason against your rightful King, Joffrey Baratheon First of His Name. If you have any last words, say them now."
Despite knowing his end was coming, the strength never left Tytos's eyes. Turning his head, the condemned Lord glared at Edmure Tully, who appeared to be doing all he could not to shrink before the man's hateful glare. "My family will live on and remember this, Tully. As will your own family. The words of House Stark are a reminder and a warning. And the words of the North, of the First Men, have never waned. The North remembers."
Without another word, Lord Tytos stepped away from his two Lannister escorts and knelt before the block. Yet he would not lower his face to the blood and flesh covered block. Deciding not to press the matter, Jamie drew his blade and, with one quick two-handed strike, relieved the Lord of Raventree Hall of his head. "Send word to His Grace that the old gods have lost their footing in the South," Jamie said, wiping away the blood from his blade before sheathing it. "And see to it that Lord Tytos Blackwood is laid with his ancestors beneath the weirwood tree."
Jonos baulked. "Why? This swine deserves to rot under the open sun!"
Jamie glared at the lord. "You will do as I command, Lord Bracken. Have someone see Lord Blackwood laid to rest amongst his ancestors. He deserved that much at least."
Turning his back on Bracken, Jamie came up next to an ashen faced Edmure. "Don't let his words rattle you, Edmure," he said. Which was still strange seeing as how he was basically consoling a grown man his own age.
Edmure shrugged, glancing at him from the corner of his eye. "Easy words for you to utter, Lannister," the Heir of Riverrun muttered, a clear bite to his words. "You are not the one being forced to stand against your own family."
Jamie did nothing to stop Edmure from turning his back on him and walking away. In a way, he was right. Despite the accord that'd been struck with the Tully's in regard to the future of the Starks, in the end they were being forced to raise their own blades against their kin. Which was something that even Jamie did not know if he was truly capable of doing.
Turning away from the retreating Edmure, he motioned for his few remaining men to come forward. "Search the keep from top to bottom. Take anything and everything of value. Food comes first. Then good steel. Then coin. Anything else will be loaded up on carts and sent back to Riverrun for safe holding until a new Lord of Raventree Hall can be named. Then pass the word. We rest here for two nights, then make for the Twins."
"Yes milord," all the men saluted before turning away to see his orders carried out.
Glancing up one more time at Raventree Hall and the imposing branches of the weirwood that outlined the keep, Jamie couldn't help but scoff once more. 'My brother was right. As usual. The gods either don't exist…or, if they do, they are right cunts.'
Standing with her bloodriders and Ser Jorah, Daenerys stared blankly at the seated form of the Good Masters Grazdan mo Ullthor and Kraznys mo Nkloz. Standing beside the two seated Good Masters were several Unsullied along with the slave girl Missandei.
"The Good Master's welcome you back this morning, Lady Daenerys Targaryen," Missandei began, translating for the two Good Masters, though using far more polite words than either man was using. "Good Master Kraznys mo Nkloz wishes your business to be concluded swiftly and asks how many Unsullied you wish to purchase."
Dany didn't answer, instead she let her eyes glance upwards where dozens of child slaves were watching from the rooftops. "All of them."
Missandei hesitated only a heartbeat before translating Dany's words. The two Good Masters both looked surprised before scoffing and shaking their heads. "What is dumb bitch thinking? Does she think just because she has a pair of tits that she can just wave them before us and we will give her what she wants?"
Missandei hesitated. "Do…you wish me to say that, Master?"
Dany had to keep herself still as Kraznys produced a small whip from his side and hit Missandei once across the back. To her credit, Missandei did not show any reaction besides a slight closing of her eyes. "Of course not, you dumb bitch. Ask the dragon whore how she intends to pay for all eight-thousand Unsullied."
Composing herself, Missandei kept her gaze towards Dany, but would not meet her eyes. "The Good Master Kraznys wishes to know how you intend to pay for the eight thousand Unsullied that are ready for sale."
"The ships she has could pay for maybe a hundred. If she's got some gold, maybe another fifty. The Dothraki and other pathetic shits she has following her are not even worth the cost of food to feed them. Though she does have nice tits, so maybe I'll give her ten for her men. Ask the dumb whore how she intends to pay for the remaining seven-thousand-eight hundred and forty."
Again, Missandei relayed Kraznys words, albeit with a much nicer tone and wording. Knowing that she was taking a risk, several, Dany steeled herself and forced herself to press on. "I have a dragon. Plus, three dragon eggs that are not hatched. Butcan be, now that I know what needs to be done."
Missandei's eyes widened fearfully, but she dutifully translated her words exactly to the Good Masters. The reaction of the Good Master's was almost immediate. Both men sat up quickly in their seats, their eyes flickering skywards for a heartbeat in fear before Kraznys met her eyes full on. The first time he had ever really looked her in the eye. She could see the greed in his eyes. And she knew at that moment that she would have her army. "The hatched dragon.Andshe hatches a second for us.Thenshe gets her Unsullied."
Dany waited until Missandei translated before making her counteroffer. "One dragon. And one egg. For all of your Unsullied and those still in training."
Missandei translated her words as fast as they left her, leaving the two Masters to lean over to one another and talk quietly. "Dragon. Two eggs." Kraznys finally said in the common tongue.
"One dragon. And one egg." Dany replied firmly, not backing down.
"Khaleesi," Ser Jorah said quietly as the two Masters leaned into one another again. "You cannot do this. You will win with dragons, not slaves."
Turning her head, Dany fixed her shield with a stern look. "I know what I am doing, Ser Jorah. Stand back."
Ser Jorah frowned and looked like he wanted to press the issue, but wisely instead kept his mouth shut. Turning her attention back to the Masters, she saw that the two men were done conversing. "One dragon. One egg." Kraznys finally agreed.
"Done," Dany replied quickly, drawing a smile from Kraznys.
"Done."
Turning, Dany took a step to leave before stopping and turning back around. Her eyes settled on the translator slave that was standing dutifully next to Kraznys. "I will take you as well. A gift from Master Kraznys for a deal well struck and as a sign of potential future arrangements between myself and Astapor."
Missendai appeared taken aback, but turned towards the Good Masters. "She requests that I be given to her as well. As a gift for a deal well struck and as a sign of future deals between herself and Astapor."
Kraznys looked between Missendai and Dany twice before nodding. "Agreed. Go now. And tell her that we will have all Unsullied ready in five days' time. But should she fail to produce her dragon and egg, the deal will be off, and you will be on the Walk of Punishment."
Missandei paled as she took a step away from the Good Masters and towards her. "The Good Masters agree to gifting myself to you, Lady Daenerys. And they request five days to prepare the Unsullied for the change of ownership."
"Good," Dany nodded, turning on her heel. "Come. I will introduce you to my other handmaidens and instruct you on your future duties from here on."
Standing in one of the many covered walkways that crisscrossed their way across Winterfell providing cover between the buildings that made up the great keep, Jon Stark watched with his brother Bran at his side as the remaining men of Winterfell that had not departed with their brother Robb worked on assembling for their march south. Each day since leaving the Wall with the five-thousand free folk, they had been gathering more and more men, and even some women, on their march south. First was Lord Umber and his men. Then the Karstarks and their men linked up with them on the road with the Glovers, Mormonts, Foresters and even Lady Norfolk joining with them before they reached Winterfell. Their numbers were now well over fifteen thousand, and more were joining with them every day and perhaps another fifteen thousand would join with them as well from the Houses between Winterfell and the Moat. Outside of the winter years, he had never seen Winter Town so full to the point where there was a sea of tents outside the walls of Winterfell. Lord Nox had estimated that by the time they reached the Moat, they would have an army of well over thirty thousand, with perhaps half again that many in camp followers. Nearly fifty thousand Northerners going to war once again to repel an invasion of Andals. Something not even thought of as a possibility since Aegon the Conqueror brought the Seven Kingdoms together.
"Do…Do you have to go, Jon?"
Grimacing, Jon turned to his younger brother. Bran wasn't looking at him, preferring instead to keep his eyes firmly fixed on the mass of men and women beneath them preparing for war. "You know I have to, Bran," Jon said, trying to keep his voice as gentle as possible. "We are Starks. We do not ask of others that which we are unwilling to do ourselves."
He could feel the sadness and despair coming from his brother. "Mother is gone. Rickon is gone. Then you, father, and Robb went south for moons. Then father goes south again and takes Sansa and Arya…Now Robb is going south to war and you are going with him and I…I'm all alone."
Frowning, Jon knelt in front of his young brother. "Bran," he said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You are never alone. We will always be with you. If not in person, then through the Force."
Bran swallowed. "I…I don't know if I can do this…Lead the North while you and Robb are leading a war. What if I make a mistake? What if…?"
"Don't let the 'what if's' weigh you down, Bran," Jon said gently, but firmly. "You are a Stark and as strong as any of us. Don't forget what father has taught us. A good ruler is not one who thinks they know everything or only make correct decisions. A good ruler is one who acknowledges that they do not know everything. Therefore, they listen to the advice of those more knowledgeable than them. Ser Rodrik will be staying with you, as will Maester Luwin. Listen to them as father has done for years. And you will be just as good a leader of the North as father and Robb."
Bran nodded, but still seemed apprehensive. "I'm…scared, Jon. Scared that you…all of you…will go south and–and none of you will come back."
"I'm scared too, Bran," Jon replied, drawing a look from his brother. "We're going to war. To kill those who are coming to try and kill us. Even despite the Force being with us, the only thing certain about the future is uncertainty. But remember. Bravery isn't about being fearless. Bravery is feeling fear but acting despite it. Trust in me, brother. Trust in our sisters and our brother and our father. We will come back. And if we don't. Then one day we will meet each other again either amongst the gods or within the Force."
Bran lunged forward and wrapped his small arms around Jon's shoulders. Returning the hug, Jon held his brother for several long moments before separating. "Come. We are leaving soon. And as acting Lord of Winterfell, you will be expected to see us off."
Bran nodded, and together the two navigated through the corridors and passageways of Winterfell until they arrived in the main yard. Eyes moving towards the front of the column forming in the courtyard, Jon's eyes immediately fell upon Ygritte. Before they had departed for the Wall, he had commissioned a set of armor from Gendry and Mikken for her, despite her telling him before that she did not want to be encumbered by steel. But Jon, after working with Gendry and Mikken, had designed a set of armor that still gave her full range of mobility, yet would provide her with as much protection as possible. Her shoulders and arms were left exposed, with only bracers for protection. And the chest piece was a scaled plate armor that was well sculpted to her body. Not an easy feat as he had to basically bring one of her few dresses to the two blacksmiths in order to properly get her size. Her legs were without any metal protection, save for her boots which went up to just below her knees and were made of strips of metal. And while the armor might not look overly protective, it was made by Gendry and imbued with the Force. Which made it far, far stronger than it appeared. And it still allowed her full mobility.
While she had been adamant that she didn't want to be encumbered by the steel, after wearing it now for a full day, she was starting to look quite comfortable in it. "I see you're finally adjusting to the armor."
Ygritte grunted. "Aye. I guess it's not as…bad as I thought it would be. Gendry and Mikken know what they are doing."
"That they do," Jon nodded, looking down and glancing at his own armor. A set Robb had commissioned for him before leaving for Moat Cailin.
Boiled leather covered with Force-imbued Northern steel plates that covered his chest and various joints. It wasn't full plate armor, as the different pieces were all disconnected from one another to prevent hindering his movements. But it would still provide him with a great deal of protection. Though he would still have to be mindful of a blade or arrow slipping in between the separated plates.
Just as he was about to comment further on their armor, a chill passed over him and the rest of the yard. Men and women, hardened by winter, age, and battle, all went still and turned. Marching from the Sorcerer's Tower was none other than Lord Nox. Only, that was not who he was now. Gone was Jon's long-term mentor. His father's advisor. The man marching into the yard, wearing the same black spiked armor and black cloth as he did when Jon first met him in the wolfswood all those years ago was Darth Nox. His dark red and black mask firmly affixed to his face. 'To be recognized as a Darth amongst the Sith is to be recognized as death itself,' he remembered his Master telling him years ago when he asked what it meant to be a Darth.
Only twice before had he ever felt this…cold. This fear while in the presence of his Master. The first being when his father took him to quell the Greyjoy Rebellion. And the second was just after the attempted coup at his Master's wedding. The horses began nervously neighing and shuffling their feet. While the men and women, even those who'd been in his presence before, parted to give Lord Nox a wide birth as he walked straight for Jon and Ygritte at the head of the column.
"Master," Jon said, inclining his head as Lord Nox approached him.
His Master's masked face turned first to Jon, then to Bran. His Master didn't kneel, hells the man didn't even kneel to the King, he merely nodded his acknowledgement. "Bran Stark. Do not doubt your powers. Trust yourself. Trust those around you to advise you well. And I will do all I can to bring your father, brothers, and sisters home to you."
Bran swallowed as he nodded back. "Thank you, Lord Nox. On behalf of House Stark and the North. May the old gods, and the Force, be with all of you as you march forth to repel those who seek to end our way of life."
Lord Nox nodded and with a flourish vaulted up into his saddle. Giving his brother one last nod and a reassuring smile, Jon aided Ygritte up onto her own horse before getting up on his own. Without another look back, Lord Nox urged his horse forward and towards the gates of Winterfell.
Standing on the docks of the outer harbor of White Harbor, Ser Wendel Manderly watched with a careful eye as piles and piles of foodstuffs from the sea were meticulously prepped before being loaded on to the long wagon train that stretched nearly the full length of the outer and inner harbor docks. The past moon had not been kind to House Manderly. Not that they were suffering. No, far from it. No, their hardship came from that pathetic, idiotic boy-king who was currently polishing the Iron Throne with his ass. Due to House Manderly originally hailing from the Reach, their House was perhaps one of the few, now perhaps only thanks to the Whitehills stupidity, that still held some semblance of reverence to the Seven-Who-Are-One.
Them holding faith to the new gods, as well as being perhaps being one of the youngest Houses in the North, meant that they constantly needed to remind other Northern Houses why they deserved their place amongst the North. All children of House Manderly practiced both faiths. In the last few generations, the Faith of the Seven had even begun to wane. And now, after centuries of relative religious peace, the idiot boy-King had declared a war against the old gods of the North.
Of course, his father could not simply sit and wait before once again proving his faith to the people of the North and the Starks. The same day they learned of the Exalted March, his father had called upon the Septons and Septas of White Harbor and had them all loaded up onto a ship heading south to Gulltown, and none too soon. For the very next day, word of what had been declared somehow reached the masses, and the Sept of White Harbor had been raided and vandalized. Which of course forced his father's hand once again. Thankfully no one was killed in the mild riot. But several hands had been taken and five were soon destined for the Black. The riot was settled when his father made a public appearance, formally forsaking the Seven-Who-Are-One and re-swearing his allegiance to the North, the old gods, and the Starks to all that would hear his oath.
Now, White Harbor and House Manderly were off to war. And they were behind. Word had reached them that not only had Lord Robb Stark reached Moat Cailin, but that he had already repelled the first wave of the Exalted March despite having less than half the numbers of the attackers. Now, House Manderly was under even more strain to show their support to the North. The war had already started, and they were not even on the frontline. While most of the Houses of the North were absent, their presences would be the one that was noted the most out of all the others.
So now, here he was. Overseeing the loading of food stuffs that would be needed for the war effort while his elder brother mustered the men at arms. His nieces, Wynafryd and Wylla, worked tirelessly to sew banners or clothes for the men that would be marching south.
Just as he was about to step forward to address an issue he'd noticed with one of the wagons, the harbor bell started ringing loudly. Turning his head, he squinted out into the Bite. Grabbing the far-eye that was at his waist, he extended the device and held it up to his eye. Almost immediately, he spotted over a dozen ships and more behind sailing northwards through the rough waters of the Bite heading straight towards them.
His first thought was that the boy-King had sent an additional force by sea, which would have been wise. But just as he was about to start yelling out calls for arms, he noticed one of the sails. Orange sails, with a distinctive golden sigil adorning it.
His mind raced as he recognized the sails. Thoughts of ringing the bells of the harbor were dismissed as a smile came to his face. "You there," he said, motioning to one of the men sworn to his house. "Run to my father and brother as fast as you can. Inform them that allies of the North have arrived."
The man nodded before turning and running as fast as he could in heavy armor. Checking himself over to make sure he was presentable; he made his way out onto the docks proper while motioning for the guiding skiffs to lead the foremost ship towards the dock he was on.
He didn't have to wait long as the lead ship separated itself from the rest of the small fleet, its sail folding in as oars were extended the closer it drew to the dock. Upon reaching him, ropes were thrown from the ship to the waiting dock hands and a heavy gangplank was lowered from the ship. The first one off the ship was a man atop a fine black steed, red armor adorning both the man and beast, and a valyrian steel spear at the ready. "Prince Oberyn Martell," Ser Wendel called out in greeting, making his way over to the legendary Red Viper and known friend of House Stark and House Nox.
The infamous prince smirked down at him from his place atop his steed. "Ser Wendel Manderly," Prince Oberyn returned the greeting, still not dismounting from his horse who was slowly walking down the length of the dock towards him as dozens of men-at arms began disembarking from the ship and forming a protective line. "I'm glad to see that you Northerners haven't started to have your fun without us to back you in this farce of a campaign."
Wendel smirked. "Indeed, Prince Oberyn. Though the first assault has already reached the North. Some of the more idiotic Southerners rushed ahead of the main force. Right into the walls of Moat Cailin, which had been reinforced by Lord Robb Stark's advanced force. The attackers were killed to the man."
Prince Oberyn frowned. "Fools. What word is there of the Exalted March's main force?"
Wendel kept his head high and eyes on the Prince as he spoke. "Last word we had was that they were currently laying siege to Riverrun and that Tywin had recently joined the siege with a significant number of his own bannermen. We do not know the result of the siege however."
The Prince of Dorne grinned widely. "Excellent, then we have not missed our opportunity. When are your men planning on departing for the Moat, Ser Wendel?"
"At first light on the morrow," Wendel answered immediately. "We are currently loading the last of our food stuffs and supplies for the men. My brother and father are overseeing the last of the armoring of our men and plan on taking one last night of rest before pressing hard for the Moat."
"Then we will find lodging for our men and ourselves outside your walls for the night and join you in your march on the morrow," Wendel was surprised to hear the higher pitched voice that it took him a moment to realize that it wasn't Prince Oberyn who'd spoke. Turning his head, he found a second figure, this one just as recognizable as the famous Red Viper of Dorne, though for very different reasons. "Princess Arianne," he greeted the heir of Dorne and betroth of Jon Stark. "Forgive the informal matter of our greeting, we were not expecting either your, or your uncle's arrival."
The Princess waved off his concerns. "There is no offense, Ser Wendel. We did not inform any of our intentions as Dorne is still mustering its forces and do not want our enemies to know of our plans. In fact, right now neither I nor my uncle nor my cousins are even here. My family, save my father and brothers, decided to visit my mother with a decent personal guard. A fact that was shared quiet openly and loudly to all ears willing to hear it."
The meaning behind her words was not lost to him. Dorne was preparing for war, albeit quietly as technically the Exalted March was only concerned with the North. And by the time the rest of the realm realized it, their forces would be committed northwards leaving them partially open to attacks from the south. "I understand, Princess," Wendel nodded, grinning. "We will see to it that you and yours are well incorporated into the men and women of the North. None shall even know you are with us until you have the chance to unleash your spears on Tywin-fucking-Lannister."
Sitting atop his horse, Tywin Lannister could not help but stare approvingly at the sight before him, despite the troubles that he knew he would now be facing. Moat Cailin had long been known as one of the most formidable strongholds in all of Westeros. After all, it had kept out the Andals for several millennia. But since the founding of the Seven Kingdoms by the hands of Aegon Targaryen, the once mighty stronghold was no longer needed. And for three hundred years, it suffered due to lack of proper manning and upkeep of the keep. But Eddard Stark, or perhaps more accurately Alim Nox, was correcting that mistake.
The walls of the Moat were perhaps nowhere near what they once were. But they were strong and tall with the banners of the wolf scattered across them. And there were no obvious weak points that they could exploit. Not only that, but the three towers that were still standing had all been reinforced. He could see archers within each tower, ready to rain down their arrows on any who attempted to assault the walls. But it wasn't just the repaired keep that he was admiring. It was the land that stretched between his own army and the walls of the keep.
Trees had been uprooted and scattered across the land. Some propped up, others just laying flat. Carts, that'd no doubt belonged to the original fools who rushed the Moat, had been disabled and their wreckages scattered across the field as well. There were also broken spears, tent poles… Anything and everything that had been brought by the advance force had been broken and arranged in a manner that would impede his army's approach of the walls. The only clear path to the Moat lay along a path that led right up to the front gate.
The debris was annoying, but nothing that would stop an army for long. But that, he realized, was the point. The debris was not meant to stop the army but rather to slow them down. A dangerous prospect considering all the debris was well within bow range, especially from the towers. He could send out laborers to clear the debris, but they would be easy prey for the archers upon the walls and within the towers. Or he could send his men through the debris, but they would be slowed considerably as they tried to move around it, again leaving them open to arrows. Or he could march straight down the road towards the front gate. Leaving his men in a bottle neck. It was an impressive defensive set up, especially by the untested Stark heir.
But what truly drew his admiration was the macabre display Stark had left littered along with the debris. Hundreds. No. Thousands of severed heads were scattered amongst the debris. The heads in various states of rot and some even with fresh blood beneath them. Heads were on spikes. Placed on trees. Strung up on the broken carts. One display was a cart that had a severed head sitting on the driver's seat, a set of reins leading down a pair of severed horse heads. So not only would his men have to navigate through the debris to reach the walls, but they would have to trample over perhaps all that remained of the five thousand men that'd rush the Moat ahead of the rest of the army. It was brutal. Demoralizing to his own army. And he full heartedly approved of it. Even admired it. But that almost made him realize that he would need to adjust how he dealt with the Stark heir.
"Such a disgusting display! The Starks are showing their true depravity and spitting in the eyes of all the teachings of the Seven with this!"
Tywin didn't bother glancing towards the Septon that'd been a constant thorn in his side ever since he started on his path north after securing the loyalty of the Riverlands. The comment just went to show how sheltered and idiotic the Septon truly was to matters of the world. This was war. The Northerners were fighting for their lives, for their very way of life. The only thing shocking to Tywin regarding the display was the fact that it was put together by the still green son of Lord Eddard Stark.
Ignoring the Septon and his drivel, Tywin urged his horse forward. "Kevan, Septon, and two others with me. Raise the banners. Time to speak with the Starks."
Approaching the gates, Tywin had to tighten his hold on the reins of his horse as they drew closer. The horses were clearly uneasy as they walked amongst the wreckage and carnage. But it was more than that. There was a cold wind blowing from the north. Not surprising. But even Tywin could feel the cold. Not as if it were winter. But a cold that pierced through his flesh and made his heartbeat slightly faster. He immediately recognized what was going on. His niece had long since informed them that when Lord Nox became angry that the very air around him grew cold and her heart would hammer in fear. Even if she wasn't the target of his ire and had no reason to fear. Just being around Nox when he was angry was enough to make her shiver or even want to hide. 'So, there is indeed at least one of Nox's students here,' Tywin confirmed, eyeing the wolf banners waving in the wind. 'Robb Stark at the very least. But there must be more than him. The girls are in the south. Nox and Jon Stark are north of the Wall. Robb might be green, but he would not be green enough to bring Joy within my reach. Gendry Waters, perhaps? Bran Stark would need to remain behind to watch over Winterfell in his brother's absence. So, it must also be Gendry.'
Reaching the edge of the moat, Tywin was just about to have a caller announce them, but he didn't need to. The iron portcullis in front of the gate slowly rose before the draw bridge lowered over the moat that separated them from the walls. He was not surprised to find Robb Stark standing just on the other side of the drawbridge. The young Stark had grown since he saw him last in Harrenhal. A short cut beard now adorned his face and his hair was pulled back in a simple tie. But it was his armor that was truly different. It was unlike any Tywin had ever seen before in Westeros. Yet it was clearly well made. 'No…I have seen thistypeof armor before,' he thought, remembering back to the Iron Isles all those years ago. 'Nox wore something of similar make, though clearly from a different smith. Perhaps Nox has now also taught the North to make his people's clearly superior armor. Yet another worrying prospect.'
Dismounting from his horse, Tywin slowly walked to the center of the drawbridge with his brother Kevan and the Riverlands Septon coming along. Robb Stark did not have an escort, at least not a human one. Two dire wolves, one easily large enough to rival a horse and the other coming up to Robb's shoulder followed the young Stark out onto the bridge. The Septon's steps faltered, and even Kevan slowed. But Tywin did not. He knew these beasts. He knew the control the Starks had over them, either through their magic or through intense training. And he knew that the wolves would not do anything unless Stark told them to. And he knew that a son of Eddard Stark would not break the laws of parley.
"Lord Lannister," Robb Stark said, his eyes passing over each of them as the two wolves stopped a few paces behind him and sat down on their haunches. "You and those following you are a long way from home. I do hope you are not here for the same idiocy as the fools who came before you. As you can see, it did not end well for them."
Tywin didn't bother looking behind him, he kept his eyes on the young wolf before him. Eyes that were blue, twinged with a deep yellow. The eyes of the wolf, as so many called them. "They were fools to rush ahead," Tywin conceded. "But, nonetheless, they were here on orders of the King, King Joffrey Baratheon. As such, the faith of the old gods is considered a heretical religion, and its practice is hereby outlawed. The wildlings you have taken under your banner will hereby be banished back north of the Wall where they belong. As you have taken up arms against these orders, you are no longer recognized as Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell. You will be given safe passage to White Harbor, where upon you will hereby be exiled along with your foreign wife. Your brother, Bran, provided he forsakes the old gods and swears to the Seven, will be allowed to maintain his new position as Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell."
Robb stayed quiet as he listened to the demands. Even after Tywin finished delivering the King's commands, the boy said nothing. He didn't laugh. He didn't outright throw the offer into the moat either. He just stood there, staring at the three of them. Finally, he tilted his head back and closed his eyes just as a light breeze passed them by. "Do you feel that, Lord Tywin? The chill running down your spine? The wind on your face? It's the old gods of the North speaking through the Force. And they're telling you to take your offer and shove it up your grandson's arse."
Crude. Very crude. Though he was willing to excuse the boy's mannerisms based on his lack of experience. "You may have the old gods, absentee that they are. And the Force. But the North stands alone, young Lord. Even your own grandfather and uncle have sided with the crown and the Faith in this manner. Though not without concessions, of course. One of which was my assurance that you would be provided safe passage from Westeros to find your own fortune in Essos."
This revelation made the young Stark pause. Which made Tywin want to grin. Clearly the young man did not know about his mother's family keeping with the Faith and the crown, instead of with him as he was no doubt counting on.
"It doesn't matter," Robb sighed, before his eyes turned wolf-yellow and hardened. "Should my uncle or grandfather take the field against me and mine, then they are my enemy."
Tywin was both impressed and disappointed. Impressed by the boy's resolve. And disappointed because this meant that there was no chance for a simple resolution. "You need not walk down this sinful path, young Lord," the Septon said, taking a step forward. "Renounce your sinful ways. Forgo the false old gods and accept the true gods of Westeros, the Seven-Who-Are-One. The gods of your mother and family. You may have the illusion of power in this life through the sinful ways of your father and the heathen sorcerer. But they are false promises that are fleeting. And will only lead to eternal torment in the Seven Hells."
Robb scoffed. "Is that all you have to threaten me with, Septon? Eternal torment if I do not conform to your ideals? Pathetic. If you have nothing better to add, then keep silent."
"Do not let your youth, pride, victory against this paltry few, and newfound power lead you to delusions, Lord Robb," Tywin pressed, trying one last effort to get the boy to submit and avoid a prolonged war. One which he was not entirely confident in should it stretch for any prolonged length of time. "The North stands alone in this matter. And you, despite having the safety of the Moat, are outnumbered at least four-to-one. And more of my men will be arriving with each passing day. Soon enough, we will easily be able to pass over the walls of the Moat and take the keeps."
"The only way you will be able to scale the walls of the Moat is if you do so over the corpses of your own men," Lord Robb countered. "Let me tell you something that Lord Nox told my father when his assistance was asked for to put down the Greyjoy Rebellion. Lord Nox told my father that Sith do not kill their enemies. They destroy them. Which is exactly what Lord Nox did. And he was only a single Sith at the time. Our numbers have only grown since that day. None of you will find victory here. Only blood and death. Even if you should manage to take this keep from me, you will only do so once every man and woman of the North gathered here lay dead. Each step you take into the North will be paid for with the blood of your men. Even if you manage to make any headway into the North, the summer years are now over. And when winter comes, I wonder what will kill you first. Northern steel? The cold? Or your own men's blades?"
"Shame," Lord Tywin sighed, "I had hoped you would see sense."
Lord Robb smirked. "I had hoped the same of you, Lord Tywin. I suppose we are both destined to leave this meeting disappointed."
"Indeed we are, Lord Robb," Tywin nodded. "May your gods or the Force grant you mercy. For my mercy has reached its limit."
Turning on his heel, Tywin turned his back on the young Lord of the North and marched back towards the camp. "Set the camp well out of range of the walls and towers," he commanded Kevan as they reached the line of their men. "We will be in for a siege until we can goad the boy into a sortie from the Moat. We rest till nightfall. Then collect a few hundred men to work under the cover of darkness to remove as much of the debris from the field as possible. Come morning, we assault the walls of Moat Cailin."
The Plaza of Pride was almost completely silent as Daenerys Targaryen walked into the yard with a small, covered cart being pulled by her four bloodriders while Ser Jorah stood dutifully at her side and Missendai kept pace just behind her with her head lowered. Despite the silence, the entire plaza was almost completely full of bodies. Thousands of Unsullied were standing in formation in the plaza in full armor with spears and shields at the ready while dozens of Masters carrying whips walked between their ranks. Looking around the plaza, she found Good Master Kraznys standing on a raised platform on the far end of the plaza holding a gold and jewel encrusted whip. All around the plaza along the edges were dozens of other Good Masters, both male and female, standing around watching the spectacle of what must be the largest single purchase of Unsullied in recent history.
Making a motion with her hand, her bloodriders stopped, leaving the cart in the middle of the plaza. Making her way to the cart, Dany opened the closed, covered cage and reached inside. She could feel the apprehension coming from her daughter, but she gently sent back feelings of reassurance and love. "It will be okay, my child," she whispered in Valyrian, ensuring none but her and her child could hear.
Her daughter was still unsettled, but Dany could feel the trust from her child. Even as she grabbed the chain that was attached to the collar on her neck, she felt quite a bit of love and trust from her. There was also fear, but the love and trust were far greater.
The chain rattled as Droga slowly emerged from her cage. The dog sized dragon spread her wings and stretched her neck. Her powerful wings beat slowly and steadily, allowing Droga to rise into the air until the chain connecting Dany to Drago was taught. Walking forward slowly with Droga keeping above her, Dany made her way towards Kraznys. The large Good Master was not staring at her. Instead, his eyes were focused solely and only on Droga hovering almost lazily in the sky above them.
Walking up the steps, Dany was almost within arm's reach of Kraznys when the Good Master held out his hand expectantly. Dany just stared at him blankly before holding out her free hand towards him. Kraznys understood her gesture and immediately held out the jeweled whip. Heart beating fast, and urging patience to her child, Dany extended her hand holding onto the chain connected to Droga as her other hand took the whip from the Good Master.
Krazyns all but dropped the whip as he had to use two hands to hold onto the chain as Droga immediately started tugging at the chain the moment Dany let go. Turning the whip over in her hands, Dany could hardly believe that such a small, almost inconsequential thing could give her command of the Unsullied.
"Is it done?" Dany asked in the common tongue, which Missandei immediately translated to Valyrian.
"It is done," Kraznys grunted, still trying to pull Droga down to the ground. "The dumb whore has the whip. The Unsullied are hers to command."
Not even waiting for Missandei to translate, Dany turned her back on the Good Master and approached the Unsullied. They were impressive. Straight formation. Weapons and shields at the ready. The perfect soldier. 'But is the cost of such perfection worth it?' Raising the whip, Dany called out to her army in perfect Valyrian. "Unsullied! Forward march!"
The Unsullied immediately snapped to attention as thousands began marching forward while keeping formation. "Stop!" she called out, and the Unsullied immediately stopped.
Behind her, she could hear Droga fighting against Krazyns as the Good Master was trying to pull her child down to the ground. "Tell the whore that the dragon won't come down!"
"Of course she won't come down," Dany said in Valyrian, drawing a sharp look from just about everyone nearby, though she did see a slight smile come across Missandei's face. No doubt her newest handmaiden had recognized that she understood the Valyrian tongue. "My child is no slave."
Krazyns was still staring at her dumbly, the chain in his hands rattling and jerking him about. "You speak Valyrian?!"
Dany wanted to laugh. "I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. The last daughter of Valyria. Of course I speak the language of my ancestors. Of my people." Still smirking, she turned her attention back to her army. "Unsullied! Kill the Good Masters who have bound you! Strike the chains from all slaves you see! Free those on the Walk of Punishment! But harm no child this day! This I command you!"
The Good Masters all around the Plaza broke out in a fervent cacophony of words as confusion ran rampant through them. But then two Unsullied broke ranks and stepped out from their formation. Their spears thrusting forward straight through the hearts of two Good Masters who were walking between the ranks. With their deaths, the plaza descended into anarchy as the Unsullied lowered their spears towards the Good Masters and marched forward. Not to be outdone, her bloodriders drew their arakhs and let out a war cry before rushing towards the fleeing Good Masters and their guards, eager for blood. Ser Jorah drew his own blade and dutifully put himself in front of Missendai, protecting Dany's newest handmaiden.
Hearing Krazyns's shout, Dany turned back around to the struggling Good Master. Krazyns was staring at her in fear. "No! We–We had a deal!"
"We did," Dany nodded, reaching up with her right hand and twisting her hand with a snap. The chain that was connecting Krazyns to Droga snapped as Dany broke one of the links with the Force. "Droga! Let lose your rage! Dracarys!"
Her daughter didn't hesitate. Serpentine head rearing back, Droga let out a stream of fire at the guards surrounding Krazyns, setting them all ablaze but leaving Krazyns alive before breaking off and raining down fire on the fleeing Good Masters and their guards. Reaching into the folds of her dress with her right hand, Dany slowly pulled out the hilt of her lightsaber. Krazyns, eyes wide and head moving around quickly trying to find a way to flee, finally saw her slowly approaching him.
"Fucking dragon whore!" The man screamed, drawing out a dagger from his own robes. "I'll fucking gut you!"
Waiting until he was running straight for her, Dany calmly ignited her lightsaber. The white blade humming to life before her. Krazyns's eyes widened at her blade's sudden appearance, and he tried to stop. But his fate was sealed as he couldn't stop his forward momentum towards her. Sidestepping, Dany calmly swiped horizontally, bisecting the charging Good Master with so much ease that it surprised her.
Whip in one hand and lightsaber in the other, Dany glared down hatefully at the fallen pieces of the 'Good Master'. "Khaleesi," Ser Jorah called out over the sound of battle. Missendai was still by his side, and surprisingly there were ten Unsullied with him, forming a protective ring around them all.
"Take command of the sacking of Astapor, Ser Jorah," Dany said, deactivating her lightsaber and looking skywards, searching for Droga. She could feel…elation from her daughter. The joy at flying free and breathing fire at those who had angered her mother so. "Spare the Good Masters who surrender. And then bring them to me once the city is under our control."
Ser Jorah nodded before turning and leaving the ring of Unsullied, two of them breaking away from the rest and joining her sworn sword as he headed towards the battle.
Listening to the sounds of battle all around her, Dany tilted her head back and let the sounds wash over her. 'Finally. Now I can begin.'
Standing atop the battlements of Moat Cailin, Robb watched with a small grin on his tired face as the blessed army of the Exalted March tucked tail and withdrew their assault against the mighty northern fortress for the fourth day straight. All around him, shouts of joy and mocking taunts echoed throughout the northern ranks as the southern fools abandoned ladders, ropes, shields, and anything that would slow them down as they tried to run out of the range of the archers on the walls.
Despite wanting to join in with his men, Robb kept his composure as he deactivated his lightsaber and clipped it onto his belt. His father had always taught his children that a Commander, and a Lord's, role does not end when the battle does. But rather, they become even more important. A Lord needed to keep their wits about them, even while everyone else around or under him may let loose their own.
Glancing down the length of the battlements, Robb's heart ached at the sight of the dead piled upon dead upon the walkways and leaning up against the parapet. While there were easily twice to thrice as many southern bodies as there were northern bodies. It was still a hard sight to see. The blood. The gore. The torn clothing, broken shields, and discarded weapons. The tales of war from his father, the skirmish against the wildlings in the North and the Battle of Hardhome. None had truly prepared him for the aftermath of a siege. Especially when you were the one defending.
"Another day won thanks to your leadership, Lord Stark. You do your father proud."
It was only because Robb had become used to the voice that he did not jump as Lord Howland Reed seemingly materialized out of thin air beside him. The Lord of Greywater Watch was one of the first to have arrived at the Moat after Robb and his vanguard. Although 'arrive' might be a bit of a misstatement. The Lord and his men just appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, within the walls of the Moat just before dawn on the day Tywin had arrived with his full force. And Robb was not ashamed to admit it, but Lord Reed and his men were perhaps the primary reason why the defense of the Moat was going as well as it had been.
The very first night, Tywin had sent out over a hundred workers under the cover of darkness to try and clear the debris that Robb had had scattered before the Moat. Unfortunately for those men, between the light of the full moon shining down and the keen eyes of the crannogmen, they did not make it far. Speared out across the battlements and up in the towers, the archers of the North easily picked off all workers that they could. And by the time dawn came that first day, less than a third of the debris had been cleared away. And the Southerners were down over a hundred men.
The first day was perhaps the easiest. The Southerners had no proper siege engines nor ladders. And between the moat separating the walls from the attackers and the debris still cluttering the field, the Southerners didn't even get a chance to reach the walls as the men and women of the North rained down arrows, stones, and whatever else they could. By the time night fell, the grounds before Moat Cailin were soaked in Southerner blood and the Northerners were in high spirits as not even a single man fell that day.
That night, Lord Reed had approached him with a plan. While most of Lord Reed's men were within the Moat, a good number were still in the swamp lands near the Southern forces. With Robb's consent, Lord Reed sent the orders out for the crannogmen to sabotage the Southerners in any manner they could. He wasn't sure just how effective their actions were. But by the time midday of the second day came around with no attack, Robb used a far-eye to observe the Southerner's camp. What he saw was several wagonloads of food being burned and fresh water being poured out with dozens of men in Southern livery, not Northern spies he'd been assured, were hung or whipped in the middle of the camp.
There were no attacks that day. Nor was there any attack the third. But the Southerners were not idle during that time, and neither were the people of the North. While the Southerners were rapidly building siege equipment, catapults, ladders, ropes with hooks. Robb was organizing the defenses on the walls. Organizing his men as best as possible. Their best arms on the walls with their archers up in the towers behind the walls.
The morning of the fourth day, this day, was the first true battle against the North and the Exalted March. Ladders and long wooden planks that were to be used as ramps were carried by the Southerners towards the edge of the moat before being righted and slammed against the parapets of the walls. All the while, the Southerners rained down arrows on the men on the wall with their archers while their catapults threw heavy boulders at the walls, tower, or men.
Robb was able to use the Force to break many of the ladders while other defenders were quick to take axes to the ladders and planks, dropping the men who were trying to climb them down into the moat below where lizard-lions eagerly waited for their meal. Others threw hooks and ropes to try and climb the walls. For a good part of the morning and till midday the defenders held out, keeping the Southerners off the walls. But as midday passed, the overwhelming numbers eventually started to get the better of them and they could no longer keep throwing off or breaking the planks, ladders and ropes and the fight moved from over the moat to atop the walls of Moat Cailin.
After the first attacker made it over the wall, the battle completely shifted as the men of the North were forced to pull their attention away from the ladders and onto the attackers now atop the walls. Robb, who was standing on the walls with his men, began cutting down every Southerner who crossed his path. His lightsaber cut through steel, leather, and flesh with impunity. While several Force pushes helped to clear the immediate area of both attackers and their climbing implements. But despite his efforts, he was still just one man and the Moat was a large keep. The attackers never made it past the wall. But the North had paid a high price to hold the line. And while the Southerners had lost all their ladders, ramps, and ropes that they'd spent days making, it would only be a matter of time before they could be remade and then they would attack once more in force. And with their numbers what they were, Robb did not know just how long he would be able to hold. Sure, the Southerners were losing at least three to four men for every northern life lost. But Tywin had arrived with roughly fifteen to twenty thousand men compared to Robbs mere three thousand. And even with fresh men arriving daily from all over the North, the numbers were not in his favor. But, as long as he still drew breath, no Southerner would step foot on northern soil.
"Thank you, Lord Reed," Robb said, wiping sweat and grime and worse from his hands and face. "Though you deserve as much praise as I. Without you and your men…these past few days would have been far different."
Lord Reed merely shook his head, "perhaps my Lord. My men may know these lands and we have more than a few tricks up our sleeves. But if not for your skills, leadership, and ability with the Force, then the battle would not have gone in our favor so easily. I am just thankful that my children, Jojen and Meera, have finally decided to head to Winterfell to learn more about their gifts. While Meera has not shown much, if any, inclination in the power of our ancestors. Jojen has shown quite an aptitude for greensight. Though why he has always rejected the idea of going to Winterfell and learning from Nox is beyond me. But he always countered that it wasn't time yet. I don't know why he decided to venture now with Nox marching to war. But I hope that he will still be able to learn something from your brother and the other Apprentices and Acolytes in Winterfell."
"I know that Bran will enjoy the company," Robb nodded before taking a step, only to falter and slip slightly.
"You need rest, my lord," Lord Reed stated. "You have been pushing yourself harder than any other man here. And don't think that the men haven't realized that you barely sleep. An hour or two of meditation does not account for a full night's rest. As I am sure Lady Stark has no doubt reminded you time and time again over the past few days."
"Aye, she has," Robb nodded, feeling the wariness of the past few days catching up to him. "But the battlements need to be cleared and the wounded seen too. The dead need to –"
"All things that I, or any other lord can oversee, my lord," Lord Reed countered. "Forgive me for saying, my lord, but until Lord Nox and your brother arrive with reinforcements, you are perhaps our greatest asset against the Exalted March. We need you at your best, my Lord. Please, rest. Let others handle cleaning up the aftermath of the battle."
Robb wanted to stay, but his body was betraying him. Lord Reed was right. He had hardly slept at all the past few days, and what sleep he did get was in the form of meditative rest rather than actual sleep, as Lord Reed had stated. Talisa had been hounding him to sleep for days. And when he countered that Lord Nox could go for days, sennights without rest, she promptly slapped him upside the head and reminded him that he was not Lord Nox.
Giving a grateful nod to Lord Reed, he turned to make his way back to the Children's Tower where he had taken up residency. But his feet stopped as he felt something. A cold, but not the cold of winter. But a cold that chilled him to the bone. A cold he recognized all too clearly. Turning his eyes north, Robb could feel the cold almost intensify as the clouds north of the Moat darkened. Smirking, Robb turned his eyes back to the south where Tywin Lannister's camp lay. "Time's up, Tywin Lannister."
Glaring hatefully at the ancient Northern fortress, Tywin Lannister turned on his heel and hastily made his way back to his command tent. Unwilling to watch as the fools under his command broke ranks and retreated safely out of the range of the archers manning the Moat. He knew that once even partially garrisoned that Moat Cailin could take easily a moon's turn or more than that to capture. But he had still held onto a fool's hope that he could be able to crack the ancient fortification given he had easily five times the numbers and that it was the untested Robb Stark who was leading the defense. But the boy had proven his mettle.
Despite raiding the land around Moat Cailin and even giving the boy a prime opportunity to kill seemingly unguarded workers in the field, Robb Stark did not leave the safety of Moat Cailin's strong walls. After failing to get the boy to charge them, Tywin had ordered everyone to begin preparation for the siege. Only to quickly discover that several wagons loaded with fresh water and food stuffs had been poisoned. No doubt by the crannogmen that called the swamps around the Moat their home. He'd ordered the men who'd been tasked with guarding the wagons flogged and hanged. But the damage had been done. They'd lost a good portion of their food and water. Which meant that he would have to divert men away from the siege to forage food and collect water.
For the next two days he'd ordered the defenses of the Moat to be probed, looking for any sign of weakness that he could exploit. But despite its age, Moat Cailin was just as strong now as it had been for centuries when it repelled one invasion after another. After failing to find any obvious weakness, Tywin had decided to rush the walls using what ladders, ropes, and siege engines they could make. Counting on their numbers being able to overwhelm the defenders.
The siege started at first light. And while it took some time for his men to finally reach the tops of the walls, they were able to do so just after midday. But the foothold did not last for long. Ropes were cut. Ladders broken. Men thrown off the walls as arrows and stones rained down on the field, each one felling a man. But more than that, he saw firsthand the power Robb Stark commanded. Men lifted into the air and thrown dozens of paces to their deaths. Ladders flipped or shattered seemingly by nothing. By the time dusk was beginning to settle on the land and Tywin called for the retreat, almost all of the scaling equipment they'd spent days building were destroyed. And despite hammering Moat Cailin with catapults all day, the fortress didn't even seem damaged in the slightest. The gate still stood strong. The moat was now filled with rotting corpses. And the walls were barely even scratched. In other words, it was a rout against his own forces. Something he was not pleased with in the slightest.
Entering the command tent, he found the various Lords gathered around the map of Moat Cailin, each furiously pointing out different points of the Moat and the surrounding land. "We need to work on rebuilding our siege equipment and focus the catapults on the gatehouse."
"The gatehouse is the strongest part of Moat Cailin. We hammered the gate all day with every heavy stone we could find, and we might as well have been throwing flowers at it. No, we need to build cover for our men to fill in the moat surrounding the fortress so our ladders and ropes will have better luck during our next assault."
"We fill in the moat, and we chase out all the fucking lizard-lions that are feasting on our fallen," another lord scoffed. "We need to pull back, rebuild our ladders and maybe even get a tower or two constructed before we assault again. And as we do, we send out raiding parties into the swamp to burn out the crannogmen before they poison more of our supplies."
"You want to ride into the swamps? Are you fucking crazy? Everything that walks, slithers, or flies through the swamps can kill you. You want to throw the lives of your men away, feel free. But I will not be sending my men into those swamps."
"You fucking craven! I should have you sent to the Inquisitors for your lack of faith in our righteous cause!"
Ignoring the bickering lords in the tent, Tywin turned his back on them and looked out towards the imposing form of Moat Cailin to the north. They were running out of time. Each day they failed to take the Moat was another day that Robb Stark had to gather more and more men to reinforce his position. Even with the most recent message he'd receive from Jamie, stating that his son has claimed Raventree Hall and had collected the levies from the Westerlands and was now on the march towards the Twins, he knew that their position was not the greatest. Perhaps he could change his strategy. Hold the Neck by continuing the assault on the Moat then send word to Lannisport, the Arbor, Gulltown, and King's Landing to prepare what ships they had to circumvent the Neck and attack the far reaches of the North while the bulk of their armies were held up against Tywin.
Just as he was mentally preparing the ravens in his head, he felt it. A chill that swept through him and went to his very bones. Yet there was no wind. No snow. No reason for the sudden chill. Just the sudden sensation of cold. And something else he had rarely ever felt. Fear. Turning his eyes from the Moat to the land beyond, he took careful note of the dark clouds hanging over the North. Dark clouds that were slowly moving south. Against the wind.
"My lord?"
Glancing towards his brother Kevan, Tywin kept his face impassive despite his heart hammering in his chest. "Do you feel that chill, Kevan?"
His brother turned his eyes northward. There was no real need for Kevan to answer. Tywin could see it in his brother's face that he could. "Yes. It's…unnatural. But I've felt this before…"
"On Pyke," Tywin answered for his brother. "Just before the Sorcerer brought down the walls of the Pyke by himself."
Turning his back to the north, Tywin marched back to the lords who were squabbling about what their next plan of action would be. "Spread the word that we will be breaking camp and moving south," Tywin commanded, pointing to a spot on the Kingsroad almost even with the Twins. "We will reform our camp here on this hill. We will then send a runner to the Twins commanding Jamie to send another five thousand men to replenish our numbers. Jamie will then reinforce the Twins to prepare for a siege."
The other lords were clearly taken aback by his abrupt change in strategy. "My lord, with respect, we outnumber the North easily four to one and more are arriving each day. Soon we will have enough to swarm the Nor—"
"We are out of time," Tywin countered sharply. Holding out his hand and showing the bumps forming on his hand. "You see this? Each of you feel it. That cold, the chill. The fear. Any of you who were on Pyke during the Greyjoy's rebellion will recognize it. It is the same sensation as when the Sorcerer tore down the walls of the Pyke with his power. Which means that we are out of time. The Sorcerer has come. And he no doubt has the full strength of the North at his back."
Almost all the bluster and confidence that once filled the Lords of the South disappeared faster than a cup of water in the middle of Dorne. For all their talk of righteous cause, none were truly looking forward to facing the Sorcerer himself on the field of battle. "Would…Would it not be better to reinforce our position here and keep the Sorcerer held up at Moat Cailin?"
Tywin wanted to sigh. They were having difficulty enough taking Moat Cailin having the numbers and the experience on their side. "Moat Cailin is perhaps one of the most impenetrable fortresses in Westeros. And I have no intention of facing the Sorcerer while he is holding Moat Cailin with a full contingent of men. No. Our only chance of taking the Moat is now gone as long as the Sorcerer is with the North. We will pull back and choose our battlefields carefully. One that will give us the advantage. Because we will need every advantage we can gain against the likes of Nox. Now spread the word to break camp. I want us to march south before first light. And I want a runner on his way to the Twins before the sun sets."