Chapter 27
Kevan was weary of his journey. The city had the same stench it always had. Riding through the city, he saw it prospered well enough, though there were street urchins everywhere. For a moment he thought he and his house might be responsible for the swell of so many children, but then he realized it was near fifteen years since the sacking of King’s Landing when the city’s people were ravaged by the Lannister muster. Any bastards born of that day of rapine would be nearing adulthood.
I’m old.
He felt every one of his fifty-four years. He was not a spry man and days of hard riding with his small company of men had been most discomforting. His brother had pressed the importance of learning if Cersei truly had some sort of madness born of grief, or if she could be counted on to continue being the active queen of the Seven Kingdoms.
Nonetheless he needed to know what was going on and the state of Cersei as soon as possible. He sent one of his guards ahead to announce him and then made for the Red Keep directly. The instructions were to have Cersei, Jaime, and Tyrion meet with him as soon as their duties allowed.
“Make it clear. I want all three of them, today.”
Kevan made it to the Red Keep and a Lannister guardsman guided him to quarters in the Red Keep. As kin to the queen, he was entitled to stay there, but not the Royal Apartments. After an hour of waiting, a page summoned him. He walked through the dry moat and past Ser Arys Oakheart who gave him a slight inclination of the head.
He followed the boy into the Royal Apartments themselves. His eyes widened as he saw an enormous direwolf take up much of the space ahead of him. Kevan’s hand went to his blade as he took a step back and the page tucked his head.
“Lady Sansa."
Kevan had heard rumors of the massive beasts, but the sheer size of it threatened to unman him. It was nearing the size of a gods-be-damned pony! His eyes finally found their way to the aforementioned Lady Sansa. The Stark girl was dressed in a blue gown with black accents. Silver baubles caught the light at her wrist and finger. Her auburn hair was rich and thick, and she looked every inch the noble lady.
“Ser Kevan Lannister, I am delighted to meet you. Do not worry over Visha, she is quite well behaved. Come now, girl, give him room to pass.”
To his shock, the wolf pressed herself to the side of one wall, allowing his easy passage.
“You have my thanks, Lady Sansa. I am honored you recognized me.”
Her lips curved slightly. “You have the Lannister look, and in truth, Lord Tyrion told me of your coming. I am sure the king will want to feast with you, until then.”
She bowed her head again and Kevan looked back at her for a long moment. With a frown and a start, he realized the page was waiting for him and he continued on. He arrived in one of the sitting rooms adjacent to the royal bedroom.
“Nuncle Kevan,” Jaime Lannister greeted him with a broad smile, “this may be the furthest you’ve been from my father in years. How does it feel? Or does his shadow reach you, even here?”
Tyrion raised a cup of wine in his direction and gave a mirthful laugh. The dwarf was seated and looked amused. Cersei, however, was pacing. The years had been kind to her, and the rumors that she was distraught and had failed to adorn herself in proper Lannister fashion seemed to have been mere rumors.
“Why are you here?” she said directly.
“Your father is troubled by what has occurred in King’s Landing. He inquires after your health. He wants to make sure you are well. He also wants to know what has been learned about your poisoning.” Kevan gave Jaime a steady look. “And what possessed his son to make a direct accusation that may not be true.”
That wasn’t the whole of it. But he wanted to see how they reacted. Cersei said it was clear that it was the Tyrells. Who else would it be? She ranted about the plot of Renly and the Tyrells to see her removed as queen.
“This is known? For certain?”
Tyrion guffawed. “From his lips to the king’s ear in front of all of us. Renly Baratheon admitted to it openly, but it was a day for confessions, isn’t that right, sweet sister?”
Cersei’s glare of pure spite did not bode well. They were family, why was there discord?
“Tell me what happened.”
Jaime let out a sigh. “My brother and sister, who I love very dearly, have never seen eye to eye.”
“My pardons for never growing tall enough to do so,” Tyrion quipped.
Kevan felt a stab of rage through his entire body. This was no laughing matter!
His nephew grinned at his brother’s jest. He continued, “Cersei and Littlefinger were warning Sansa Stark about how vile my brother is. Meanwhile, Tyrion was telling her to be wary of Littlefinger. The girl thought Robert might somehow be able to ensure they could resolve their differences and become fast friends.”
Kevan eyed them, making certain this wasn’t some foolish and elaborate bit of mummery done to vex him. After a time he got the truth out. It was even rather simple. Robert in one of his rare impulses to take matters into hand himself, had decided to get to the truth of the quarrel. From that conversation stemmed the knowledge that Bran Stark had nearly been slain while he was already at the Stranger’s door. No one had seen fit to tell the king, and that had sparked his wrath. More revelations were made and Littlefinger had attempted to pin the attempted murder on Tyrion Lannister. Since then, he had lost his position of master of coin and Tyrion had been placed there in his stead.
“What rank madness is this? Tywin will have Baelish’s head.”
“No,” Cersei replied. “He is useful. He was toying with Stark, sharing all sorts of untruths in order to get him to trust him. Ned Stark believed the worst of us from the beginning. We weren’t even in King’s Landing when Lord Arryn died. We owe him a debt, and as Lannisters we repay them.”
“Aye, a Lannister must always pay their debts,” Tyrion said darkly.
This entire city is full of fools. What is Varys doing? What was Littlefinger thinking? My brother would never allow such nonsense to continue.
He further questioned them and learned that Cersei still believed it was the Tyrells who attempted to murder her.
“What does the king think? What has Varys told him?”
“The king thinks it is a Targaryen loyalist plot to weaken the realm. He blames Jaime and Father for falling for it. Varys says his whisperers have turned up empty,” Tyrion said. “It might even be true, who’s to say? My sister has always had the gentlest of temperaments, there is no chance someone could wish her harm due to how she treats those around her.”
Kevan felt a deep weariness come over him.
“Say what you mean, Tyrion.”
“Only that this was a rather tawdry and pathetic attempt. They failed to use the proper amount of poison. You know how often Cersei goes through maids, and how she treated the servants within Casterly Rock. For all we know it may have been some petty act of vengeance for her harsh tongue. I think if the Tyrells had acted, they would have done so before Margaery even arrived in the city, or at the very least would not have botched the task.”
Kevan thought there could be some truth to that, but who was to say? Nobility wouldn’t have risked themselves in using the poison. They would have to have someone do the deed for them. When one entrusted such matters to lesser men, there was no surety they would be done properly.
“Nothing is certain then. Wonderful. Now explain to me why you had my son give the king strongwine. What madness possessed you? Explain yourself.”
Cersei stilled. “What did he tell you?”
“The truth. I would have the same from you.”
Cersei studied Kevan for a long moment before she looked toward Jaime and nodded. His nephew gave a shrug and addressed Kevan.
“Robert needs to die. He has grown less fond of Cersei and if not Margaery we fear it will be someone else eventually. Renly constantly whispers in his ear and encourages him to set his queen aside. If it was an accident, all the better, but since that failed, we’ve decided to try something else.”
Kevan’s face paled. It was worse than he thought.
***
Jon could not help but grin as Bran, wearing Summer's skin, frolicked and ran around the room. Bran’s broken body lay on the cot, but the attempt to warg into his direwolf had been a success. Robb laughed with joyous mirth as Bran played with Grey Wind, Ghost, and Shadow. Shadow was what he had named the pup.
Sansa, wearing the skin of Ana, flicked her tail back and forth. She seemed somewhat impatient for them to all settle down so she could impart knowledge. The tidings that Sansa had brought were concerning. Another skinchanger had fought her and wrested control over Eyes. The idea that someone could do that filled him with fear, though Sansa seemed to think that it would have been far more difficult to break the bond with their direwolves.
Communication with their father on the Wall was delayed and required more mundane means. Sansa also was upset about not being able to see the wights with her own two eyes. Well, her borrowed eyes. They had talked about having one of their wolves make the trek, to test Sansa’s theory but she was cautious. Sansa’s argument was that she thought it would be difficult to break that sort of bond, but that was an assumption and had not been tested. She also explained there was true danger in the test of wills, and if things truly went awry, it could mean more than a lost companion.
She fears for us, but does she not realize we fear for her? Sansa is still a child, while we are grown men.
Jon knew that technically it wasn’t true, he had not reached the age of maturity, six-and-ten. And even then, there would still be some growth left to him, but still. She was only a girl and much younger. What to do about this skinchanger, potentially a wildling skinchanger at that, remained to be seen.
The wolves and Shadow eventually tuckered out. Bran at first refused to leave Summer’s skin, but Robb’s voice became authoritative, and Bran relented. Jon breathed a sigh of relief when his younger brother opened his eyes again. He still wondered if it were possible to get lost between bodies.
“It was like a dream.” Tears leaked from his eyes. “I could walk again.”
“You’ll do more than walk, you’ll run, and if Sansa is right, you might even do more. She’s flown and says it is even better,” Robb said confidently.
Sansa, in her cat form, had begun to easily communicate through their shorthand. She spent the next few minutes making sure Bran understood that he could not tell anyone. Jon, Robb, and their mother were the only ones that knew. After he swore Sansa turned her attention on Jon, asking why he had fully bonded Shadow instead of something more useful.
“It just felt right.” Jon sighed. “I… I don’t know. I’m uncomfortable wearing the skin of other animals. I tried a raven and it felt awful. I quickly retreated, not even attempting to fly. I did the same with a horse. That was better, but it still sent shivers of… of… wrongness, through me.”
Robb nodded in agreement. “It feels as if we were meant to be with the direwolves, not other beasts. I tried with one of the pups as well, and it rejected the notion. I didn’t have it within me to try to force it to accept my presence.”
Ana flicked her tail in annoyance. With graceful but clearly agitated movements, she tried to convince them that it was necessary to push through such feelings. That this was too potentially useful a talent to squander because it was uncomfortable.
She doesn’t understand.
“I will try again, Sansa. I want to be useful, but I won’t abandon Shadow. He’s a part of me now.”
The feline head bobbed in a nod. Jon hesitated.
“I… I’ve had some strange dreams. Robb had them too. Have you and Arya had oddities in your slumber?”
The cat questioned them. Jon found that he and Robb were soon talking over one another, eager to explain. For Jon, he had the most vivid dream of his life. A sheep was consuming a horse. For Robb, he had a dream of a giant spider shepherding a stag through the woods.
“The shadows were hunting the stag, but the spider, the size of a horse, stopped them somehow. It was as odd as Jon’s.”
Sansa explained that Arya had a few nightmares, but she hadn’t noticed anything untoward. She went on to explain with their shorthand that the mingling of minds would naturally cause havoc for their dreams. Wolves also dreamt and so everything was jumbled up. Add to that, the stories they had obtained from Old Nan about wights and the Long Night included the tales of the Others riding spiders, so that thread had probably deeply been buried in Robb’s mind.
Jon thought there might be more, but technically Sansa had been doing this for longer. And even though she was younger, she always seemed to know more about… well everything.
Bran excitedly added, “I had dreams too! I saw Hodor carrying an anvil. I saw Robb but from the sky, he was practicing with steel. I even dreamed of the Free Cities and Vaes Dothrak under its mountain, and the lands of the Jade Sea.” His voice fell to a hush. “Of frozen spikes and a three-eyed crow that told me I had to fly. Can I try sliding into a bird? I need to fly.”
Jon patted Bran’s shoulder. He knew his brother wanted to be included.
“Grand dreams no doubt. You might have more now that you can warg, so don’t be frightened. And it is slipping, not sliding. You slip into a beast’s skin. You will try in time, but only after Sansa says you are ready for it. You will need to show you can easily slip into and out of Summer’s skin. Going into another creature is far more difficult than your direwolf.”
Robb approached as well and leaned down. “Remember, Bran. You promised. No trying things on your own, only with our supervision. You made an oath, and no Stark has ever broken an oath.”
Bran picked at his blanket. “I understand. But can I warg into Summer tomorrow?”
They agreed he could. Jon would make time to watch over him while he did so.
***
“I’ll find a way to get you and Arya home, Sansa.”
My uncle was sweet, but his help wasn’t needed. In truth, it could even backfire. Robert was someone who needed to be led to a decision that he felt was his own. The direct approach could sometimes work, but once he got a hold of something, it was like a dog with a bone. Any attempt to forcibly oppose him would fail. But if hints were dropped in a year or two, a few tentative comments on missing my brothers, and before I even reached my maturity the whole thing would be forgotten and we’d be back in Winterfell.
“Uncle Edmure, thank you, truly. My father did leave some specific instructions; I was never to ask the king directly for something like that.” I was lying, of course, but he had no way of knowing that. And if you squinted it was sort of true. “He knows the king better than we do. The best thing to do is ask for nothing. Robert is surrounded by people who constantly badger him for favors. Set yourself apart by not doing so.”
Edmure chuckled. “Oh Sansa, you are very young and Cat hasn’t had time to teach you properly, yet. Kings know people will come to them for things, it is their job to balance the various desires. By putting a word in his ear that the Riverlands is unhappy with what is going on with Cat’s children, it will put pressure on him to do what is right.”
It was a variation of the old adage, that closed mouths don’t get fed. There was wisdom in it, but not every manager or CEO acted the same way. Some bosses wanted their ego stroked. Some wanted to chit-chat. Others preferred a sterile environment where the focus was just on business. What I had learned in both of my prior lives was that while there were general stereotypes of how things were done in military and business communities, there was significant individual variation.
And in Robert’s case, he very much is the one who wants his ego stroked but not the appearance of his ego being stroked. He is someone who does not like to be badgered. He wants simple solutions.
“As you say, but still, I must request that if you do make such demands, that they are mildly presented. Robert’s anger is a fearsome thing, and I would hate to lose some of the leeway he has given Arya and me just to show he will not be pushed by other nobles.” I let a slight quiver enter my voice. “Please.”
Edmure looked uncomfortable. “Well, if your father thinks that would be best… I would not want to anger the king further and make your time here miserable. I just know Cat misses you both terribly.” He let the statement hang for a moment. “Do you want for anything?”
I shook my head. “I’ll not say no to additional money for frivolities, I’m sure your sister has shared with you how much I like my books, and they can grow expensive. But no, I truly do have all my needs met. That is another element to this, His Grace enjoys the fiction that we are being fostered. He states plainly that he is acting in lieu of my father. I dine with his children and he sees that we are safe and secure. Even honoring us with a Kingsguard escort at times when Margaery and I went hawking.”
Edmure chuckled. “Yes, a heavy guard led by his most trusted servants was for your ‘honor,’ I’m sure.”
He thinks I’m naïve. Good, so long as he understands not to call us hostages, he won’t draw Robert’s ire.
I changed the subject. “Margaery seems fond of you. Will there be an announcement made soon?”
He grinned broadly. “Yes, she’s incredible. Her family is… well Ser Loras is gallant, but her grandmother. Gods be good, Sansa. What a shrew! The way she talks about the Lord of Highgarden is almost scandalous. I know she’s his mother, but still…”
Olenna Tyrell was an interesting individual. I was curious about her, and actually spent a few hours listening in on one of her conversations with Margaery. It seemed she was doing much like what Tyrion was doing with me. Attempting to teach someone about intrigues in court. She had her own whisperers in the city now, but I suspected it was in its infancy compared to Varys and Littlefinger’s networks. Her cantankerous conversation style was cover for her actual activity as a sort of Tyrell spymaster it seems. Though I wasn’t sure if it even was her son’s network, or her own creation.
“Lady Olenna? She has a sharp tongue, but I’ve not been on the receiving end of it. Others do step lightly around her. Congratulations then, Uncle Edmure, when will you be wed?”
“When she turns six-and-ten, until then we’ll both reside in King’s Landing, though I’ll be returning home to Riverrun at some point if my father’s health takes a turn. In truth, it would do his weary heart some good if you were to visit. That was part of the reason I wished for the king to release you and Arya.” He leaned closer, sorrow etched on his face. “He’s dying, Sans. Seeing his grandchildren would be good. But… I understand how it is. I’ll not press too hard.”
I didn’t have any feelings toward my grandfather. I had never met the man. It would be a needless distraction to try to get a visit to Riverrun approved.
“Thank you. Margaery is an adventurous sort, I am sure you will be happy together. She was kind to me when she first came to King’s Landing. Several of the other ladies within the city were a bit standoffish, so I am glad she has found a good match.”
Edmure nodded, not able to keep another grin from appearing on his face. He then made mention of some of the houses in the Riverlands and about how he thought he might be able to influence them in order to find a match for me.
Why is everyone trying to get me married! This is getting ridiculous. I swear, I’ll scream if another person tries to play matchmaker. What’s next? Theon Greyjoy suggesting one of his cousins?
I mentally shuddered at that notion. The Seven Kingdoms had various distinct cultural groups. The North was quite different from say the Stormlands. Like most things, there were additional complexities. Dorne for example had three very distinct cultures. The Sandy Dornish, the Salty Dornish, and the Stony Dornish. But of all the cultural groups of Westeros, with the possible exception of the wildlings, the Ironborn were by far the worst culture. In almost every facet their beliefs and practices were strictly inferior. Pirates and thieves, with shockingly poor literacy even among their nobility. Their cultural practices that venerated rape through their ‘salt wife’ tradition made them the least suitable match for my sensibilities.
Not that I even wish to get wed at all, but they would be the worst.
I had interacted with Theon. He wasn’t particularly impressive as a person, but compared to someone who had been raised fully in that society he was almost certainly a paragon in comparison. At least he could read, which if I was inclined to be fair, was probably something most ship captains of the Ironborn could also do. The major houses at least still had maesters, though from what I learned from Theon they didn’t do much teaching beyond the very basics. The Ironborn kept them around for their ability to effectively mend wounds, usher children into the world, and the keeping of ravens for communication. Whereas Maester Luwin taught advanced topics such as herblore, history, and the basics of construction, Theon had not had those lessons until he arrived at Winterfell.
“I will not marry or even be promised to another so soon after my betrothed lost his life. Uncle, I cannot bear the thought of thinking of someone in the place where Joffrey stood. He was a gentle prince with a singing voice that put songbirds to shame. I do not even want to give it further thought until many years have passed.”
Edmure frowned. “As you wish, but… well, I know girls all dream of such things. And we all wish for you to feel secure in your future.”
“But I am secure in my future. Do you think I would ever lack a place in Winterfell should I wish it? Would you throw me out of Riverrun if I ended a spinster?”
“Gods no, you will always have a place at my hearth! Any of Cat’s children would.”
“There you have it. My mother raised all her children well. Winter is coming are the words of House Stark, but she taught us Family, Duty, and Honor as well. Fret not, I believe my father has something in store as well, so let us not speak more of any matches. It truly is unnecessary, but it does warm my heart that you have concern for me.”
My uncle didn’t have any great accolades to his name, but I did get the feel that he truly did value family and would be someone who I could count on. He was likely more smitten with Margaery than she with him, but I hoped they would work out. She was a smart girl who no doubt had already lost her maidenhead, but that could be explained away with her frequent riding. Connecting the Riverlands to the Reach had substantial value, and with the Riverlands a close ally thanks to my mother’s marriage to my father, it had some added benefit. The web of alliances and marriages would serve as cement and prevent future conflicts.
And close ties will be helpful if whatever power allowed the dead to walk proves to be a significant one.
***
Ser Davos Seaworth stood uneasily in the Chamber of the Painted Table. The reason for the unease was the woman in red. Despite the majesty of the large round room he was in, his eyes were not upon the masterpiece that dominated the center of the room, but on her. It was not with lust, though she was beautiful.
Lady Melisandre wore red from head to heel. Around her throat was a red gold choker tighter than any maester’s chain, ornamented with a single great ruby. Her hair was a deep burnished copper that shone in the light of the torches. She was slender, graceful, and taller than most knights. Men were drawn to her full breasts, unblemished skin, narrow waist, and heart-shaped face. But for Davos, those red eyes unnerved him more than he could say.
Along with Melisandre was Maester Cressen and Maester Pylos. Lord Stannis had summoned them, and Davos would never disobey that command, but he would rather face the battlefield or a siege than be here. His liege lord, the man who had given him lands and a knighthood. A man as hard as the sea. His bright blue eyes sometimes seemed the only light in him. He was broad of shoulder, though thinner than either of his brothers. No grand muscles like his younger brother, Renly, nor the excessive weight of the eldest Baratheon brother, the king.
“You were wrong.” Stannis said bluntly. “You told me that you saw the ruin of King’s Landing, the lion rampart over every tower and the stag laid low. You said the wolf would be slain and the bastard, Joffrey Waters would wear a crown. Cersei’s wretch is dead, the wolf has returned to his den, and I am to be removed from my office. You have failed me.”
The old maester, Cressen, who looked frailer by the day, wore a satisfied expression.
“One should not trust in prophecies, dreams, and soothsayers. You have lost standing in the eyes of your brother, and the realm. But it is not too late to make amends. Send word to your brother, send word what Jon Arryn believed. Write of it as Lord Arryn’s accusation, not your own.”
The Lord of Dragonstone’s already thin lips thinned further. “It is not merely his accusation. It is mine as well. My brother has sired no trueborn children.”
“We do not know this,” he replied, but before he could say more the melodious voice of Melisandre interrupted.
“We do know this. You advise the lord you serve to play false, to hide the truth behind a dead man’s words. He is the key to our great victory and you would have him act the craven.”
Davos stirred. He misliked this business altogether. He understood why they had left King’s Landing. If the Hand could be killed, Stannis would not be far behind. The Lannisters controlled nearly everyone in King’s Landing. They had the City Watch in their pocket. The loyalties of most of the Kingsguard were theirs, and nearly all the royal household guard was made up of the red cloaked guards from the Westerlands.
He kept silent, but his lord’s deep sea-blue eyes saw through his reticence.
“My Onion Knight, what say you?”
“His Grace’s natural-born sons all look like him. Even if they did not, it would make little difference to me. My lord, you believe Tommen and Myrcella are not your kin, and that is enough for me. I just do not understand why you do not speak these truths to your brother. For good or ill, it is proper.”
Stannis gave one short, sharp nod. “You are correct. I listened to other counsel, who said that it would avail me naught. That by speaking the truth, I would lose my head and my one chance to see those who will betray my brother, brought to the end they deserve. And yet, her sight is flawed. What she foretold has not come to pass.”
Davos looked at Melisandre, who did not seem flustered in the least, despite the biting tone Stannis had used.
“My lord, I am but an imperfect vessel of the Lord of Light. My flames see the past, the future, and the potential future. I am skilled in my art, but the truth of the flames does not account for the passage of days. The when is not assured, only the what.”
“Then what good are you? How can you know that my brother would not believe me?”
“Because he would not, my lord. His Grace will view it as a self-serving lie, done by what he views as a jealous brother who would then be made his heir. My words resonate with you, for you know them to be true.”
Davos winced. There was little love between the brothers. Robert never cared for duty and seemed to hate Stannis for daring to chide him over matters at court. The king regularly mocked his brother, allowed his small council to openly offend him, and had even sired a bastard in Stannis's marriage bed – on the very night of his wedding!
Cressen looked pained. “My lord, I do not hold any value in her words, but she has stumbled on a truth. Your brother may not believe you. But that does not change your duty. Bring to him the words that Jon Arryn believed, if he dismisses them, you have done your duty to your king and brother. You are on Dragonstone, you no longer are master of ships, and you are beyond the reach of the Lannisters. Write to him, for his anger will only grow the longer you delay.”
Davos heard the faint sound of grinding teeth as the muscles in Stannis’s mouth grew tight.
“The Old Lion’s reach is quite long. If I send word, they will know me to be their enemy. They will move and if Melisandre is correct…”
“But she is not,” Davos said. “She said things would happen and they haven’t. At sea, you give a man his chance. If he runs you aground, you find a better navigator.”
Melisandre let a faint smile touch her red lips.
“I have made many predictions, some have come to pass, and others have not. Joffrey and Tommen bear a family resemblance. I believed I saw the visage of Joffrey, but now events have made it clear, it was Tommen, grown older. I tell you plain, within a fortnight, the sign of the Lord of Light will blaze in the sky heralding the coming of his champion to face the Great Other. Let that be the proof any should need.”
Davos saw Stannis pick up the letter from Winterfell.
“You have predicted some things. The dead, what you called the least of the servants of our ‘true foe’ have risen.”
“Surely you don’t believe this, my lord.” Cressen said, incredulity and strain pushing at the frailty of his voice. “That the Lord Commander is dead can be trusted, aught else should not be. This could have been murder with some fanciful tale told to give cover. It could be a false reason to let Lord Stark rally his banners…”
“Enough, old man. She predicted the dead would rise, and then one of the most honorable lords of the realm as well as trusted leaders of the Night’s Watch have vouched for it. Yet it is also true that her visions cannot be trusted, be they false due to a self-serving lie, or because she reads them improperly. My duty is clear. I will not forsake it now when me and my family are safe from immediate harm. A letter will be composed to my brother, detailing that Tommen and Myrcella are abominations born of incest between Cersei Lannister and her brother.”
Davos knew this would lead to bloodshed, one way or another. Cressen did too, his face fell.
“My lord, we need not push the idea of incest without proof.” Cressen reasoned carefully. “You have just admitted her claim of being able to read the future within the flames is suspect and not reliable. If she can confuse Tommen and Joffrey, can she not also confuse Jaime Lannister and some other blond traitor to your brother? It will be more believed that way.”
A muscle twitched on his lord’s cheek.
“No. There is no possible way she could have given my brother horns without the aid of at least some of the Kingsguard. They are not a union of Lannister and something else, they are lions through and through. If you will do as I bid, then Maester Pylos will take over your duties.”
Cressen bowed his head. “I advise, but I will obey your commands, my lord. We can write it together, here and now.”
Davos was chilled as he looked at the great wooden table that depicted the realms of Westeros. The Lannisters had their pride. They would try to take vengeance upon Stannis for daring to breathe the accusation, whether it was true or not. Robert was still king, but had as yet been unable to send home the banners of three kingdoms. The North, the Reach, and the Westerlands had now all called their musters.
The storm is coming. Gods save us all.