Chapter 35
“You could have allowed me the satisfaction of watching ‘et,” Tyrion said angrily as his uncle gave him a look of disgust.
“With the way you have been acting? The last thing our house needs is more shame heaped upon its name. How much have you had to drink?”
Tyrion scowled at his uncle. The day of the trial for Jaime and Cersei had dawned and he had not been allowed to attend. He had reacted poorly, but he had already been more than half-drunk.
Any man would, given the dreams I’ve had of late.
For all his rage and hate toward Jaime, all of his justified rage and hate, he had still wept half the night before falling into a drunken stupor. He knew Jaime would not survive. One could not try to murder the king, confess to murdering the heir of an important house, and more and expect otherwise. But perhaps that was why he was so angry, because it was Jaime. The sibling who had comforted him. Who had allowed him to survive the horror that was his life.
Gods know I have no tears for Cersei.
“Not near enough. Did Cersei confesh… everything?”
“Yes, and more. She accused half the realm of treason, including me. Worse, or perhaps better…” his uncle trailed off and then continued, “somehow, she said the children were Jaime’s.”
That jolted him as he rushed to his feet in a stumble, mind grasping at anything he could think of.
“Tommen? Myrcella? Gods… are… are they safe? How long ago was it, there may be time to get them from…”
Kevan lifted a hand. “For the moment, they are well. The king has taken a queer view on the subject. He believes if they were Jaime’s, that Cersei would never admit that. But because she did admit it, that must mean they are his. It seems in his eyes it was some final means of revenge against him. To make him an unknowing kinslayer.”
Tyrion laughed. “Not his own thought, that.”
Kevan eyed him. “Sansa. She is fond of them both and he listens to the wolf girl.”
Tyrion grinned and felt another wave of affection for Sansa. Given her influence over the king, that also meant his own situation might be resolved favorably. Kevan confirmed as much. Cersei had not given any specifics. Kevan had spoken with the king and Tyrion was no longer confined to the Red Keep and could go where he pleased, though Kevan was now master of coin.
“I’d normally be angry with you for stealing my position, but I have other business I need to be about. I want a dozen guards and some gold. I’ll be returning to the Westerlands.”
Kevan’s eyes watched him carefully.
“I have need of you, Tyrion. You were the prior master of coin, and from what you have said, Littlefinger left a labyrinth that will not be easy to decipher. More than just that, I will be busy attempting to restore our reputation and minding the court. I have no time for the intricacies of this. I also need you to discover who has been advising Sansa.”
Tyrion let out a drunken giggle. No one knew that it was Tyrion himself who had taught Sansa much of the ways of court.
“This is no laughing matter. Sansa is in the King’s good graces and I am fumbling in the dark as to who could possibly be commanding her. That old fool Pycelle swore there were no ciphers or hidden code in the letters to and fro from Winterfell. He had mind enough to be trusted with that much. You are very close to her. You can help me ferret out that information. Through your influence with Sansa, we can in turn influence the king. I cannot let you leave.”
Tyrion looked at him darkly. “Cannot? If you are correct that I can influence Sansa and she can influence the king, then I have my own means of being able to leave, uncle. I’m done doing as I’m asked by the monsters of my family.”
“Monster? You plotted regicide beside your brother and sister. You nearly helped bring out the ruin of our house. To throw all the good works of your father away, he deserved better from his children.”
“Does he?” Tyrion scoffed. “The man who sets his guards to rape his son’s wife is deserving of something more? Hah, your jests have finally surpassed Gerion’s.”
Kevan’s face twisted. “That was over a decade ago. Why do you still care about a whore from so long ago?”
“SHE WASN’T A WHORE! That was a filthy lie my father made Jaime speak. And I mean to find her and care for her. No doubt, she will want nothing to do with me, but I owe it to her to make sure she wants for nothing for the rest of her days.”
Kevan groaned. “This is foolish. You don’t even know if she lives! You have duties to your house. Your participation in your siblings’ madness could still be brought to the fore.”
“Precisely why I mean to leave the city. Someone is holding the Hound’s leash. Someone knew of my involvements, the gods alone know how. I was careful and never used my own name. Men I hired did not know it was I who hired them. I can only believe Cersei let something slip at some point, but even then, I kept her in the dark on the specifics.”
Kevan asked who he thought it was.
“Varys would be my assumption. Though why he would not share that information is beyond me. Perhaps as leverage over me in the future. I don’t know, but Others take him, the Hound, you, and my father! I’m done. I wish to find Tysha, no matter how long it takes.”
I’ve angered my uncle. But he is no Cersei.
“You want gold and men to aid you in your search. Six months, perhaps a year, and then I will arrange for that. Until then, I will ask Dorna and Genna to look for her in the Westerlands. For all we know, she may not be there any longer, but if she is, they can make a better start than you could.” Kevan looked directly in his eyes. “Help me understand Littlefinger’s leavings and uncover who is advising Sansa Stark and your fool aim has much more chance of success.”
Tyrion stewed in his hate and frustration. He had already wrestled with leaving in the first place, should he not be killed or sent to the Wall. Sansa had been the chief reason not to leave, for he was eager to repay her kindness. But for all that Sansa had suffered, none of it was due to Tyrion, whereas Tysha had arguably borne far greater misfortune, and that was upon his own head.
He is right. What do I know of how to find a woman who might look very different? Genna knows every minor scion and landed knight of the Westerlands. Her aid would be invaluable.
“Fine. But I want coin to hire my own sellswords to protect me. I’ll not have the Hound accost me again.”
Kevan leaned back. “Good. Then sober up and get to work on the books. Stay in the Stark girl’s good graces and be ready to convince her of the wisdom of one thing or another, as I need.”
Tyrion would keep it to himself that he had been the one to teach Sansa about the ways of King’s Landing. At least for now. As far as being able to convince her… well, that might not be possible. Sansa would listen to a cunning argument, could have her heartstrings played, but attempting to pull the wool over her eyes would be near impossible. If something ran counter to the interests of House Stark, she would not be moved. Tyrion was not so starry eyed that he believed she would ever choose him over her own blood.
***
Ned and his men had finally come to Craster’s Keep. He had laid eyes on six different abandoned wildling villages personally and his far-flung outriders had found three more, all the same. The most notable in Ned’s eyes had been Whitetree.
Nothing about the village itself was impressive. Just a small sheepfold, a well, and four tumbledown one-room homes made of unmortared stone and roofed with sod. What had caught Ned’s eye was the enormous weirwood tree that dominated the little village. It was not as large as the one in Raventree Hall, but this one was still alive. They found burnt bones in the jagged hollow of the tree. At least two skulls. The wildlings burned their dead.
A tradition that has extended for living memory. Was it from the time of Bran the Builder? Were memories fresh of the dead rising again?
He had left Robett Glover and a hundred men to build a proper fortification there, a sort of waypoint where supplies could be gathered north of the Wall. When he had left, Lord Glover’s son had begun setting up a dyke and proper shelter.
“They call this a keep?” Lord Medger Cerwyn said softly in disbelief.
Ned agreed it was not much to look at. There was a midden heap, a pigsty, and the ‘hall’ was simply a windowless daub-and-wattle structure chinked together from logs. The door to Craster’s Keep was made of two flaps of deerhide.
“What can you expect from wildlings? Savages, one and all.” Ser Rodrik said with a scowl as he went in first, behind two of the Night’s Watch. After a few moments, Rodrik stuck his head back out and beckoned, indicating it was safe. Ned entered himself.
Craster sat on a chair before the fire, and the only other seating was a common bench. Ned could have brought chairs that were in the baggage train, but he would not waste time on trivialities. The wildling wore a sheepskin jerkin and cloak of sewn skins, but around one thick wrist was a heavy ring that had the glint of gold. He looked to be a powerful man, though well into the winter of his days now.
He had been warned by the Night’s Watch that Craster obeyed no laws of gods or men. He slept with his own daughters. They had begged him not to act, for this was beyond the purview of the Seven Kingdoms and one of the rare places a ranger might seek refuge from the snow or from more hostile wildings. He trades with the Night’s Watch and gave them provisions that helped them on more than one occasion.
His acts are an abomination, but this is not my land, nor my home. King Robert’s writ ended at the New Gift, let alone beyond the Wall.
“So the Old Crow is dead and now the wolf leaves his lair. Off to find your brother are you? Well I’ve not seen hide nor hair of him for three years now.”
“I am Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. It would gladden my heart to find Benjen alive, but I have already mourned him. He is a man who knows his duty, and only death would have stopped him from returning from his ranging.”
“He could have been captured by wildlings, my lord,” Ser Mallador said diffidently.
Craster waved one of his thick hands. “If that were true, Mance’s dogs would have bragged of it. Capturing the First Ranger, they wouldn’t be able to resist.”
“You speak with the men of Mance Rayder often?” Ned asked.
Craster spat into the fire.
“The man who calls himself the King-beyond the-Wall? Not often, in days past, most paid little mind to him and his, and those free folk would guest under my roof from time to time. There’s much I could tell you o’Rayder and his doing, if I had a mind. The empty villages are his work. You would have found this hall abandoned as well, if I were a man to scrape so such. He sends a rider, tells me I must leave my own keep to come grovel at his feet. I sent the man back, but kept his tongue. It’s nailed to the wall there.”
Ned looked to the ripped tongue and frowned.
“You are but one man, do you not fear that he would take his vengeance? This place could be taken easily enough.”
“He wouldn’t dare. I’m a godly man.”
Ned frowned. There was confidence in the man’s voice, but whether that sureness was justified, he could not say.
In the silence, Mallador spoke. “You know how this works, Craster. We have wine and more if you give us something useful.”
“Might be that I could tell you where to seek Mance Rayder. I’ll take you wine, but I also have need of a sharp new axe. Provide those and I’ll tell you where he is and some of those who have joined him.”
Ned gave a small nod and Mallador voiced his agreement. It wasn’t as if they were short on supplies. Much had been prepared, and now that House Lannister was sending a fortune of gold to the North, more could readily be acquired and shipped to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. As furious as Ned was with his daughter’s schemes in the south, he would still make use of the bounty.
“There’s more,” Ned said, and then told the tale of the wights rising to kill Lord Mormont. Craster’s thin wife that stood by his side shivered, but remained silent.
“I know nothing of that… and I’ll thank you not to tell such evil tales under my roof. I said it once before, I am a godly man, such things are not my concern.”
Ned leaned forward. “Have your other guests spoken of it? The dead walking? Did Mance’s messenger speak of it?”
“No. Now leave off if you still wish to hear what I have to say o’Rayder.”
He let the matter rest for the moment. Craster offered his hall and food for twenty and no more and that no man was to lay hands on his wife.
“Ser Mallador, the Night’s Watch is welcome to accept Craster’s hospitality, for my men and myself, we will make do as we already have.”
Craster scowled. His mouth was hard, but Ned smelled fear beneath it. Godly man or no, he feared the ‘kneelers’ south of the wall, all the more when they numbered not just in their hundreds but in their thousands.
The Night's Watch would learn what they could with an open hand. Silver and honey first. Vinegar and lash if need be.
***
Ser Davos escorted Lord Stannis, Lady Selyse, and Lady Melisandre to the Queen’s Ballroom. Maegor’s Holdfast was an interesting choice of meeting ground. They had to cross a much more heavily guarded drawbridge than normal. Ser Boros Blount was there with nearly a score of guards.
A mixture of Royce and Baratheon men.
“Your brother is scared, look at how many guards he has,” the wife of Stannis remarked.
No one replied as they continued their march. Melisandre, as always, moved with a confident grace, but there was something different about today. She seemed more preoccupied than normal. Davos had glanced at her more than once. The ruby set within her choker seemed to almost shimmer in the light of day.
Guarding their meeting place was Ser Arys Oakheart and six additional guards. Two were from House Stark and the other four wore the Baratheon stag. Upon entering, Davos saw a set of tables and even a divan that was once found elsewhere in the holdfast.
Ser Barristan stood guard over the seated king, but it was not just the two of them. Ser Davos had seen the great wolves at the trial of the Lannister twins, but he had been on the other side of the room. Now, much closer, he saw one of those wolves and marveled at the beast’s size. He could well believe such a beast could kill several men.
The beast's mistress was the auburn-haired Sansa Stark. She wore a modest gray dress and sat behind a small table that held a book as well as papers. An ink quill was already in her hand.
“Your Grace,” Stannis bowed stiffly, and Davos did the same. Both Melisandre and Selyse bowed their heads.
The king’s stare lingered on Melisandre.
“Be welcome and sit down. Ser Barristan, Lady Stark, this is my foolish brother, Stannis, his Onion Knight, Ser Davos, my good-sister Lady Selyse Florent, and Melisandre, if I recall correctly.”
“Indeed, Your Grace.” Melisandre replied. “You have an excellent ear, a necessary quality for a king.”
Davos felt the words as much as he heard them. Her voice had always possessed a melodious quality, but the unusual depth seemed to resonate and raise his ardor. The beauty of her full breasts and comely face seemed magnified somehow. He could tell the king was similarly affected.
Robert shook his head after several moments of silence, and then laughed. “I can see why any man, even Stannis, would want to listen to every word that comes from your lips. But, fair your form may be, you seem to have led my brother astray.”
“She has not,” Selyse spoke, almost shrilly. “You must listen to her, Your Grace, she is wise in the ways of R’hllor.”
Davos winced. The voice of a woman like Selyse after the golden harmony of Melisandre was jarring.
Robert’s brow furrowed. “Do you know Thoros of Myr? He also speaks of his red god at times.”
“I know of him, but we have not met. The followers of the Lord of Light are many and we do not know every member of our order personally.”
Robert licked his lips and his hand nearly knocked over his cup as he sought to grab it.
“Well, ah, Melisandre, my brother tells me you are the reason he thinks my children are bastards. Explain yourself.”
“Gladly, Your Grace," the red woman said with a near-purr. "I am a priestess of R'hllor. The Lord grants me visions in his sacred fire, glimpses of what has been, what is, and what may yet come. They are a weapon in our war against the Soul of Ice.”
Robert looked captivated, his eyes lingering on her throat as she spoke. His gaze broke away as Sansa spoke for the first time.
“Soul of Ice? If I understand the beliefs of your sect correctly, that is another name for the Great Other, yes?”
Melisandre’s eyes moved toward Sansa. Davos had felt those red orbs’ attention before and he did not envy the girl, though mayhaps her terrible gaze was softened when she looked at children, for the girl met it easily enough.
“Yes, our foe is known by many names, such as–”
“I’m aware of them, what I am curious about, is if there is a connection in your lore with this deity and the Others legend in the North.”
Melisandre paused for a moment before her red lips curved in a smile.
“Your father hunts the cold children in the north, though he knows it not. Demons made of snow and ice and cold. They are not the Lord of Darkness, but they are his servants.”
The poised girl nodded. “Is this a temple teaching or is it from a text? If from a text, do you know the name?”
Robert laughed, but Melisandre responded that it was from the temple teachings, not from a book. She had also seen that truth in the flames, but so had many of her order. It was no great secret.
“So, these flames, how did they tell you my children are bastards?” the king asked.
“I saw the twins writhing together. I saw the seed quicken, and her belly swell. I have seen her pleasure you with mouth and hand in order to avoid bearing your children.”
Davos saw the king squint and frown.
“It sounds incredible, Robert,” Stannis said firmly, “but it is true. You spoke of duty to me yesterday. Now you know yours.”
Robert let out a growl. “Her saying it doesn’t make it true. She claims she saw it in the flames, well, then she can now name one fruit that I will eat tomorrow.”
Davos did not put much stock in what Melisandre spoke of after peering into the fires. That she had some power about her was clear, but he followed the Seven. It had never occurred to him to challenge her visions by asking for proof like the king had just requested.
“The flames show what they choose. Time is seldom plain within them. I could see you eating a peach, but it may not be on the morrow, it could be a week, a month, or even a year depending on how swiftly you age.”
Robert nodded, then gave himself a shake. "Well... if I understand you rightly, you cannot prove your gift by any test?"
“Your brother will vouch that I have seen events in truth. The red star bleeding in the sky. The dead rising to make war. Both have come to pass as I said they would.”
Stannis nodded and Davos spoke as well. “She has, Your Grace. I don’t know the truth of what she says, but I swear it by the old gods and the new she spoke of it before Lord Stark’s raven came. The same with the comet.”
The king looked at him, and then at Lady Sansa. The girl finished writing something.
“To the best of your recollection, when did she predict those two events? And when did you see Cersei’s supposed infidelity?”
Davos wasn’t quite sure, but Stannis spoke and gave his best guess in an impatient tone.
“Lady Melisandre, why did you not inform the king before this? Why speak to his brother about it and no other?”
Melisandre sat straighter and her voice took on a different cadence.
“He is the Lord’s chosen, the warrior of fire. I have seen him leading the fight against the dark, I have seen it in the flames. He is Stannis Baratheon, Azor Ahai reborn!”
Davos knew that both Robert and Ser Barristan would feel that stir in their hearts as he did. The heat of it. He followed Stannis not because of some prophecy or the words of the red woman, but he could not say that his words did not make him burn with greater zeal at times.
“Then why isn’t he with my father taking the fight to the enemy? Forgive me,” her blue eyes turned toward Stannis, “Lord Baratheon, why not tell your brother sooner. And why not set sail for the Wall and fulfill this ‘destiny’ she has outlined for you?”
Stannis looked at the girl, and Davos knew he was wondering what gave her the right to ask him that. But Robert seemed interested in the answer as well.
“When Jon Arryn was murdered by the Lannisters I knew my life was in danger. I also knew I would not be believed. Lady Melisandre saw in her vision a stag dying, a wolf dying, and a crown on…” Melisandre inhaled, “Joffrey.”
Melisandre quickly continued after he said the name of the dead prince. “What I saw in the flames I now know to be Tommen.”
Robert scratched at his beard. “Tommen and Joffrey do not look that much alike. And no wolf died.”
“In time, they would have looked alike," Melisandre answered. "As for the wolf... the flames are rich with symbolism. Not every death is of the flesh.”
Sansa cleared her throat. “I am confused. If your vision says he will wear a crown, but you also claim that he is the product of incest, what are you looking to accomplish? If His Grace declares him not of his blood, he will wear no crowns. It seems your visions of the future have several different points of failure.”
“The flames are never wrong, though we priests are mortal and sometimes err, mistaking this must come for this may come.”
Davos saw Sansa smile.
“Ah, so any wrong visions you see, they are your error. Either in determining what you saw because they aren’t apparently time sensitive, or by misreading what is merely a potential future versus a future that cannot be altered. How incredibly convenient, Lady Melisandre. There is no way to falsify what you say, for even when you are wrong, you merely conclude that was just a potential future. A clever arrangement.”
Robert laughed again. “So, you seeing Cersei and Jaime was merely a potential future?”
“No,” Melisandre said firmly. “That was me looking into the past.”
Robert was looking at her with doubt in his eyes. “How does that work?”
“The blessings of R’hllor are many. I can see through stone and earth, and find the truth in men’s souls. Nothing is hidden from the Lord of Light, but not all is shared with his followers."
Again, Davos noticed that Robert looked toward Sansa.
“What would you say the ratio of certain future to potential future is when you gaze in the flames?”
Melisandre laughed. “So full of questions, but perhaps it is best to demonstrate. Your Grace, with your permission, shall we bring a brazier and I can beseech R’hllor for a vision to aid you and your ward’s belief?”
Robert looked intrigued. “Yes. Let us see what the flames say.”