I had originally wanted this out on Friday, but 40K hijacked my muse, but here it is. Enjoy the weekend everyone, thank you for all your support! :)
Chapter 24
“My sweet brother, can you not control our sister? I’ve grown a bit fonder of our king.”
Jaime laughed.
“Is that all it took to get you to change sides? You’ve become master of coin and now all is forgiven?”
Tyrion had been quite surprised when he was made master of coin. Robert seemed to have taken some delight in the idea that since Littlefinger’s calumnies against him still needed to be repaid, why not make Tyrion the man’s replacement?
This was Sansa’s doing.
He didn’t regret teaching her about intrigue and the ways of court, but to have so quickly used it against Baelish was surprising. That Jaime and Cersei had been conspiring to essentially sell her to Littlefinger once Robert was dead was concerning.
“I’ve forgotten nothing, but our king has firmly put Margaery to the side. He could have been far more vindictive with Lancel, and he has made up for it by making me master of coin. He may not be loyal in the bedchamber to our sister, but it’s clear he isn’t going to replace her. Call it chivalry, call it fear of our father, call it what you will. There’s no purpose in this risk we are undertaking.
Jaime’s features hardened.
“Cersei fears the drunken oaf. With him gone, it will be far better for her. Her mind is set. Even if I wished to dissuade her, it would not work. If you do not enact your scheme, then she will try another. We need your wit, brother.”
Tyrion sighed. It felt wrong to him to repay a seat on the small council with murder. He also had serious qualms about Sansa’s future. Littlefinger was not going to be leaving the city. Oh, there’d be a sendoff with him travelling toward the Vale, but it was a ruse. Cersei and Jaime had explained that he was far too important, and that until Robert was dead, they needed him.
Littlefinger danced better for Cersei than he did for Robert. How my sister couldn’t see that his double dealings weren’t in her favor is beyond me.
Jaime at least agreed that the prior master of coin ought to be gutted, but he wouldn’t go against Cersei in the matter. Cersei had made some spiteful remarks about Sansa. That her ‘bumbling wide-eyed innocence’ had ruined more than one scheme. Tyrion had tried to provide Sansa some cover. Suggesting that if it was merely bumbling, why should Cersei bear her ill will?
Not that Tyrion thought it was simple misfortune. Some of it was accidental, such as the king giving her a heavy guard when she went hawking with Margaery, but others like their meeting to clear the air with Littlefinger was her deliberate doing. But his sister was too stupid to see it, not that it would save Sansa. Someone accidentally stepping on Cersei’s foot would also face her anger regardless of the intent.
“You ask for my wit, but then disregard it?” Tyrion waved his comment away with his hand. “’Tis no use arguing, so I’ll stop. In trust, being made master of coin does help my plan. It makes it even less likely for others to suspect our family of murder when he has just honored it by placing me on the small council.”
Jaime’s lips curled into a lazy smile. “Good. When does he die?”
Tyrion wished he had more time, but the man was already aboard the ship and would arrive within weeks. The mummer was already in the city. And the useful fools would soon be in position. Nothing was certain, but even if the attempt failed, it would not be traced back to his family or him personally.
“Within the month, Jaime. Within the month, we’ll have another link that binds us.”
Jaime looked confused, and then let out a laugh. “Ah, look at us? Brothers and Kingslayers!”
His sibling’s mirth did lighten his heart. The death of the king was only one step of his plan. A Lannister always paid his debts, and Littlefinger still owed him one.
***
Robert was miserable, but determined to see himself through this small council meeting. The Redwynes reported that several of their merchant cogs had gone missing. His council was saying things, maybe even correctly, but it was all guesses. Nothing was certain. Robert hated that.
“Yes, my Lord Hand,” Tyrion, his new master of coin, was saying, “it is possible my father is responsible. It is also possible that Balon Greyjoy, the lord who rebelled less than a decade ago, would assume that is what this council would think and is being opportunistic!”
Pycelle was nodding and stroking his great beard.
“Yes… ah, Lord Tyrion, ahem, has the right of it. The Greyjoys are not to be trusted.” The old man’s eyes grew comically wide. “Your, Your Grace. Ahem, I just had a troubling thought. Lord Stark has Theon Greyjoy at Winter… Winterfell. Hmm, yes, what better way to seek to trouble your good-father than to use a, ahem, a catspaw.”
Renly laughed at the insinuation.
“Lord Stark doesn’t have the imagination for that.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Lord Varys said with amusement. “Grand Maester Pycelle, I believe Lord Stark has painted a vivid scene, and I was curious when that was going to be brought to the attention of our council.”
Robert looked at the Grand Maester, who fumbled around in the pockets of his robe.
“Perhaps it would be wiser if your whisperers spent their energies elsewhere. The letter is absurd, so much so that I worried if someone had taken Stark’s seal. I was just about to send a raven back north to Winterfell to ensure naught was amiss.”
Varys tutted. “And the letter from the Night’s Watch steward? That confirms their fascinating tale?”
“What’s going on?” Robert asked, irritated at yet another hare’s trail being followed.
“Your pardon, Your Grace.” Pycelle said as he unrolled the letter. He cleared his throat and began ponderously reading. The pace was intolerable and Robert leaned over and snatched it from his hand and then gave it to Renly.
“Read, damn you. And be quick about it.”
His younger brother smirked and then did so at a more tolerable pace. The air was stuffy and the heat was beyond stifling. Robert shifted in his seat, but his discomfort was set aside for a moment as the most absurd claims were heard.
“The Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch is dead and Ned thinks their claim that some sorcery that allowed the dead to walk is responsible? What madness is this?”
“Precisely, Your Grace,” Pycelle spoke again. “I did not wish to concern you, ahem, with this until I could confirm that it was truly Lord Stark’s letter. Seals can be stolen.”
“Well, now I’m quite happy I didn’t pay a visit to the Wall!” Tyrion japed. “I meant to piss off the edge of the world, and if I knew there was more to worry about than just snarks and grumkins I’d never even consider it!”
Yohn slammed his fist on the table.
“This is no time for mockery! My son is missing and now presumed dead. Benjen Stark is missing and presumed dead. Now the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch is dead! The men of the Night’s Watch are honorable, as is Lord Stark. ‘Tis clear that Eddard is taking the commanders of the Night’s Watch at their word. That is the sort of man he is. It is possible there was a mutiny or some madness that has taken hold. In either case, we should let Lord Stark investigate and offer reasonable aid.”
Varys expressed his sympathy for Yohn’s son, Waymar Royce. After which he pointed out that it sounded suspiciously like a potential excuse for Stark to call his banners.
“And if he does?” Yohn said with heat in his voice. “So long as his men remain north of the Neck, why should we care? If the Night’s Watch is in peril, be it the wildlings, the dead, a mutiny, what does it matter if he calls his banners to deal with the threat and preserve the realm?”
“To make use of them before other lords might have time to gather their own men,” Pycelle pointed out.
Renly shrugged. “The Tyrells and Lannisters have already done so, what issue is there if a third does? Besides, we have his daughters and have recently done him a kindness regarding his youngest son.”
Robert grunted. He hated being reminded of that.
“What if some sorcery has been used and the dead do walk?”
His small council glanced at each other.
“They built the bloody thing for a reason,” Robert argued.
“It that’s why they built it, it didn’t seem to have worked very well, given that the Old Bear is dead,” Tyrion mocked.
Renly chuckled, while Yohn looked furious.
“You miserable halfman, do not mock the deaths of your betters.”
“Please, my lords, tempers are on edge as it is, I’m sure Lord Tyrion only sought to lighten the mood,” Varys said in a soothing voice.
Talk and more talk. Does this never end?
As the talk continued Robert stood up.
“Stop. Stop your pointless and wasteful words! Gods be good, you lot natter on like fishwives. Ned can do as he likes in his realm. Pycelle, write to him and say if he feels the need to call his banners, he may, but they are not to muster anywhere near Moat Cailin. Tell him to keep the small council informed with what he learns.”
He scowled and remembered the concern over the Redwyne missing vessels.
“Send yet another raven to Stannis and advise him a response is due within days or I’ll get a new master of ships. I have no idea if it’s Tywin, Balon, or mischance at sea. Send ravens to the Tyrells, the Greyjoys, and Lannisters that anyone breaking the King’s Peace, MY PEACE, will face my wrath.”
Pycelle tried to speak up again, but Robert was done. He stormed out of the sweltering room and went back to the Royal Apartments. He wanted to speak with Sansa about what her father was doing. She had lived in Winterfell all her life, and a better read noblewoman he was not like to find. Ser Barristan trailed him and he interrupted the needlework circle that Sansa typically joined Myrcella.
“Your Grace,” Eglantine rose and curtsied, as did Jeyne Poole, and two Tyrell cousins.
“Father,” Myrcella gave him a shy smile. Robert was pleased that she had tentatively told him that she was excited to go on the next hunt. Though whether that had been worth the haranguing he had suffered from Cersei over it, remained to be seen.
No Sansa was within the room.
“I thought Lady Sansa attended these?”
Jeyne bowed her head. “Your Grace, Sansa said she was not feeling up to it today. I believe last night’s dinner did not set well.” The girl was nervous addressing him. Robert couldn’t remember if Poole was a noble house or not, just that she was the daughter of Ned’s steward.
“Ask Sansa to come find me when she is feeling better,” Robert commanded and then cursed as he left the room. He had wanted to drink, but if Sansa did begin to feel better… he cursed again and addressed a passing servant.
“Go find Grand Maester Pycelle and tell him to check on Lady Sansa. I have heard she might be ill, if all is right tell him to send her to me quickly, if not let me know as well.”
If he couldn't drink, he needed something to occupy him. He scowled. This business of ruling was becoming bothersome. In a foul mood he decided he would try to do something else productive.
“To the yard, Selmy. I’ll send for Tommen. He’s to be the next king after me, and he needs to be a warrior.”
***
Juggling competing priorities could be difficult when I had little control over the schedule of things. I did not like missing social gatherings I had obligated myself to, but spying on the small council meeting after Father sent his letter was too important to miss.
I was a little annoyed with Tyrion. I was responsible for him being selected as master of coin. He had been helpful and I was a firm believer in quid pro quo. He had given me useful insights, was still helping with my spectacle project, and clearly did not like Lord Baelish. A few comments, including the one I had promised to Margaery about how representatives of wealthy houses would be the best fit for the master of coin, and he was assigned the post.
He does like making his jokes. I can find time to talk to him and convince him with rational arguments on why it is better to be safe than sorry.
Returning back to my body, I saw Arya balancing on one hand. That type of flexibility and core muscle strength was honestly impressive. I whispered what I had heard in the small council. While she didn’t care much about politics, she was very curious about what had happened at the Wall. She had taken that to mean all of Old Nan’s stories were true since now wargs and wights were factual. Though I rather doubted spiders grew large enough to ride on. The idea that every tall tale had to be true since some were was quite the fallacy.
Sometime later, after an annoying encounter with the Grand Maester I was escorted to the training yard.
“UP! DAMN YOU! I am not raising a craven, get up.”
Robert’s booming voice gave me pause. There was anger in it which made any sort of discussion about my father and the Wall a minefield. Tommen was attired in padded armor and was red-faced. The sun baked the occupants overhead. With the warm waters of the coast so nearby, the humidity no doubt added an extra layer of misery.
I watched for a moment as Robert cursed at his son and ordered him to swing again. Tommen struck out at Robert who easily parried with his own wooden weapon.
“You call that a strike? Myrcella could hit harder. GO ON! HIT ME!”
Tommen gave a cry of frustration and launched an uncoordinated assault. Robert looked disgusted at the paltry efforts, and I entered the makeshift arena.
“Your Grace,” I called out as Robert was about to rant.
He looked up. His own features were ruddy as the warmth of the day had impacted him as well.
“Lady Sansa, I had heard you were unwell. Are you feeling better?”
“Yes, Your Grace. It was but a passing sickness.”
Tommen was laying on the ground breathing heavily underneath the heavy padding. I glanced at him with some concern. While useful for protecting him from harm in training, I was genuinely concerned about things like heatstroke.
I looked at Tommen, then back at the king. “If you are busy I can return later, though I suppose this afternoon sun meant you were not likely to train much longer.”
Robert gave a heavy nod. “Aye, we’re done here. I’ll attire myself promptly and you can join me in the sitting room.”
As the king left to do that, I saw some of Tommen’s minders come help the boy up and get the layers off him.
“My prince, your father works you hard.”
“He hates me. I’m not good enough.”
“You are young, but I’m sure you will impress him in time. Remember how brave Ser Robin was when he protected the people from excess taxation? You must be just as fierce. In truth, I think the next time you practice with His Grace, you should offer to forgo your protective armor. Tell him you need it not and that a bruise serves as a better teacher than anything else.”
Tommen’s eyes grew wide with fear.
“But it will hurt.”
“It will earn you some respect.”
And hopefully prevent you from dying of heat exhaustion. It feels well over thirty-seven degrees.
I gave him what I hoped was a comforting smile. “I’ll make you a bargain. Next time, do as I suggest, and I’ll have a new tale for you of your favorite character.”
Robert had cooled down and gestured for me to sit when I arrived.
“’Tis good you are feeling better. Your father has sent me a letter, though not one that we thought he might.”
I kept my face impassive, other than curiosity. Before the dead men were used as a Lord Commander assassins, I had helped the king craft a letter freeing my family of a future Rickon obligation and Robert’s attempt to make amends with his friend. I counted it as one of my most successful manipulations. All of that had been somewhat sidetracked now with the serious danger at the Wall.
“Oh? I would have thought my parents would be pleased.”
“Yes, I am sure they are, but your father sent a letter concerning a grave matter. Here,” he said as he handed it to me. I already knew what it contained, but put a suitably shocked expression.
“I recognize the writing as Maester Luwin’s, and that is my father’s signature, but these words seem unfathomable. My heart is filled with worry over Uncle Benjen. And poor Lord Mormont. Though Father despised Jorah, he had naught but respect for his sire.”
Robert in turn looked a bit surprised as well at my comment, though I wasn’t sure why. I let silence linger a bit, waiting to gauge where his mind was.
“What do you make of it? Do you think the dead truly walk? You love your books, is this sort of thing possible?”
I stroked Visha’s fur and played at thinking about his question.
“Well, as to that, my books are only as knowledgeable as the ones who wrote them. Surviving original texts from thousands of years ago don’t truly exist. At best we have copies of copies. Nothing of note has been written about wights walking among humanity for centuries, so as to that, who can say? There are very old tales that I have always taken as fables from long ago. From the time of the Long Night.”
I briefly went over the legends, especially the ones I had heard from Old Nan in Winterfell, then expanded my explanation to other legends.
“The North isn’t the only place these tales are told. In Essos they have a different version, one that features a character named Azor Ahai. While the undead do not feature heavily in those tales, it does talk about fighting the darkness and slaying monsters, so if we were to squint, there’s some evidence the tales had a similar origin point.”
I returned the letter and steepled my fingers together.
“I don’t know what to think, Your Grace. I worry about my family and my people. Perhaps a swift vessel can send knights you trust to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea and they can uncover the truth of it?”
Robert grunted. “It seems so outlandish. My small council is divided. Half believe this is some ruse to give Ned an excuse to call the banners, and others think it some trick or mutiny on the Wall.”
“Mutiny? I hope not, but if that were true, they would probably try to lay low as opposed to call attention to themselves. If it is a wildling trick, able to fool the men of the Night’s Watch, then all the better to ensure the Wall is better defended. If the wildlings have grown that clever, they could become a serious threat.” I gestured with my hand. “My father is not going to call the banners for some untoward purpose, he is loyal to you, Your Grace. And yet, if that is a concern you bear, then sending leal knights to determine the authenticity of it seems wise.”
Robert was nodding. “Aye, you clear the murk from my mind. There are many possibilities. I can act, in a fashion, just by sending someone to cut through it all and give their report. Hmm, but who to send?”
I had already provided more actionable direct advice than I normally did, so I remained silent as he mused.
The king laughed. “I could send the Kingslayer! He can freeze his… ah, well he’s the winner of the last tourney, so the honor could be his.”
“I believe my father might construe that as provocation, Your Grace. In truth, I believe for matters concerning the queen’s kin, perhaps you should consult Her Grace directly?”
He grunted, clearly somewhat annoyed at reality intruding on his amusements.
“I’ll send someone. If Stannis were here it would be him, but my ungrateful brother seems to still hold a grudge at not being named my Hand. Can you imagine? My own brother refuses to answer my ravens. How can I rule when my own family undercuts me? My brother, the queen, who else will be next?”
“It is a heavy burden when love of family conflicts with royal duty, I do not envy your position, it is a considerable weight upon your broad shoulders.”
Robert was nodding in agreement with my blandishments.
“Aye, but I can bear it. I’ve done so this long, haven’t I? But now I’ll need another master of ships… ah, my work is never done.”
Most smallfolk put in ten times the amount of work in a week. You are one of the laziest people I’ve ever encountered. You went on a three week vacation in the woods during a time of turmoil and uncertainty! Ugh, the very fact that this limited level of royal stewardship is such a vast improvement just goes to show how utterly useless you were previously.
“Thank you, Your Grace. Thank you for heeding my father’s words. Many others would dismiss them, but you take your duties seriously. Whether it was love for my father, or simple royal duty, it matters naught to me. I am just grateful.”
***
Jon had enjoyed playing with the curious puppy. Farlen had said the bitch that had whelped the pup was milder than most. Thought it might be a fitting gift for a lady, but had little hope of making it a proper hunting hound. Jon figured it would be perfect to test his ability to slip into another animal other than Ghost. As a precaution, Ghost was elsewhere and Robb and Luwin were by his side.
“It is time, I’ll lay on the bed, and we’ll put the pup there in the corner.”
Robb nodded. “Good luck.”
“Who needs good fortune?”
Jon was in fact nervous. Sansa had suggested using his warg abilities on a dog first, because their mindset should have more passing similarity to a direwolf than something in a completely different sort of animal altogether.
No use delaying further.
He started the process like when he chose to warg into Ghost, but this time he focused on the pup instead. He envisioned it with his mind’s eye. Jon willed himself and his mind stretched forth. A strange, topsy turvy sensation roiled through his mind as he became detached from his own body. Sensation and confusion reigned as he peered out of the dog's eyes.
The flesh he inhabited recoiled. It sensed intrusion. It did not fight, not exactly. It instead whimpered and tried to flee. But how could you flee from something inside you? Jon felt the canine’s fear and he felt ill for it, but he strengthened his resolve. There was purpose to this. It would be a vital tool of communication and ‘intel’ as Sansa had once called it.
The whimpers died down and Jon exerted full conscious control of the creature. The scents were weaker, the sounds less sharp. Even the world looked duller through the pup's eyes. Whether that was because it was a hound or merely a half-grown pup, Jon could not have said.
“Jon? Did it work?” Robb asked.
Jon yipped and ran over to Robb and then nodded several times.
Maester Luwin had him do some specific tasks to further prove it was Jon. He went over, did three circles, and then jumped up onto the bed of his sleeping form. Seeing himself through the eyes of another creature was disturbing.
“It looks like it worked. Well done, Jon,” Robb praised. “Do you think you will be up to try a different animal? Sansa warned that there may be an upper limit to how many different animals a single skinchanger can ‘bond’ properly.”
Jon retreated from the pup’s mind and for a moment he floundered in the space between bodies. There were two… presences that drew him. Confusion flitted across his non-existent senses that he still somehow had before evaporating as he sat up with a gasp, the stone chill of Winterfell even more pronounced than before.
He rubbed at his head for a moment.
Robb was watching him closely, blue eyes full of concern. Beside him, Maester Luwin stood with his hands tucked into the sleeves of his robe, the chain about his neck glimmering in the candlelight. The room had no windows. It was a small, forgotten chamber deep within Winterfell where few ever came.
“Are you well? Did it cause you to fall ill?” Maester Luwin asked with concern.
“No, not quite. It was almost as if I wasn’t sure where to go after I left him. I think… I think I almost accidentally slipped into Ghost instead of my own body.” He gave both Robb and Luwin a reassuring look. “But now that I’m prepared for it, it should be easier a second time.”
He sat up. Even though it had only been minutes, his body felt strange to him. It wasn’t painful, but it was disorienting.
It will take some time to get used to.
“Will you attempt to bond with this creature? Or will you try something else, like a raven?” Luwin asked.
Jon wasn’t certain he wished to try an even more different creature. But then he built up his resolve. He was no craven, and this was useful. He had outstripped Robb in how quickly he could warg into Ghost. The Starks needed him. A raven was much more useful than a dog.
“I will attempt it on the morrow. For today, I think it is time we show this to Bran and let him begin his own steps on this journey.”
Robb nodded enthusiastically. “If Bran can get it to work… I truly believe he will be more content. It hurts to see him so despondent of late.”
Their father had already begun riding for Castle Black. Winterfell felt emptier for it. Anna, the cat, had remained behind. Sansa would warg into her to discuss events, but her other bonded companion would be with Father at the Wall. A raven she called ‘Eyes’ which Jon thought was a rather silly name.
If I can advance further in this… art, I would like to see King’s Landing. Even if it is just through the eyes of a beast. To see Arya and Sansa again would be grand.
Jon was more determined than ever to push forward. He would master this, he would be of use, and he would see the entire world.