Chapter 37
Time in King’s Landing had a strange feel to it. Days with Margaery had been joyous. The soft touches and chaste kisses made him long for more. The horror of the near assassination of the king had shocked him. As had the near loss of Sansa. His niece puzzled him at times. She had a sweet disposition that bordered on the overly mild, but with the mind of maester. Tragedy followed in her wake, despite seeing the famed Demon of the Trident, the Bold, and her wolf bring down half a dozen men in an orgy of violence, she seemed to have put it behind her. That day she had appeared more pale than normal, with a quaver in her voice, but since then she seemed no different than when he had first come to King’s Landing.
Cat was always the strong one.
Margery was off with her ladies and so he decided to spend some time with his nieces. Only, they all had other engagements. Though why Sansa was talking with the Alchemist’s Guild would be something he would have to inquire about later. Arya had her dancing lesson, but she invited him to watch her. It was not something he would ordinarily take interest in, but they were his blood, and he had no duties to attend to within the city.
“Syrio this is Ser Edmure Tully, my uncle. Uncle, this is Syrio Forel, my dancing instructor.”
The small Braavosi man was not much to look at, but it was still odd that a noble lady would be alone with a man, let alone one from Essos. He knew Arya was safe with her massive wolf at her side. She had gone out with two Winterfell guardsmen as well as two Baratheon guards. They waited outside, but could come easily if she called.
“You wish for him to watch the water dance? No longer is it needing to be kept secret?”
“When Sansa heard he wanted to spend time with us, she encouraged it. He won’t tell other people though.”
The Braavosi looked at him for a moment then shrugged and produced two wooden practice blades.
“A girl wishes to show off. Come then.”
He threw the blade at Arya who deftly caught it.
What’s this?
The two clashed and Edmure could only gawk as the clack of wood upon wood echoed in the wide chamber they were in. Arya was on the retreat but she interposed her weapon with a swiftness and surety that belied her age. She spun, ducked, and then cut at Syrio’s leg who moved it just in time while simultaneously striking out at Arya who in turn parried the strike. The dance continued for the better part of a minute of furious action, until Arya’s wooden sword went tumbling away and she cradled her wrist.
“Arya! Are you harmed? What is this? Does your father know?”
“This?” She raised her hand. “Just bruised. Every hurt is a lesson. Yes, my father knows. He is the one who found him to teach me swordplay. Jon gifted me Needle. It’s a true sword, castle-forged even. Want to see it? I have it in my rooms back in the Royal Apartments.”
Edmure was still more than a bit flummoxed. Girls weren’t trained to fight with swords. It felt wrong. He also knew that north of the Neck things were different. There were even stories of the Mormont women who wrestled bears and fought by their husband’s sides. He was also aware enough that Arya was very pleased with herself and genuinely excited. He may disapprove of something that might draw mockery to his sister’s childrearing, but that was not for Arya’s ears.
“I would be honored to see your sword, Arya. That was an incredible display, how long have you been at this sort of training?”
“Half a year now,” she said with a grin.
Edmure was startled. She was exceedingly good from what he had just witnessed. It didn’t look like proper training for a knight, but then it was clear this Syrio fellow wasn’t a knight or a master-at-arms. He was something different.
He congratulated her and sat back to continue to watch. He found the lesson interesting, if a bit too rough for a noble lady. He would talk to Jory about his concerns, but it was hard to argue with the results. It was hard to imagine that Cat approved of that sort of thing, but perhaps it had been Eddard’s decision.
After the Trident, I cannot say it was a wrong one. I mislike how rough it is, a noble lady should be wearing marks of favor, not wounds.
He had come to King’s Landing for Margaery, but there had been other reasons. He had hoped to sway the king and share the frustration that the Riverlands had with the decision to keep hostages of Tully blood. His lord father had agreed that what the king had done to his good-son was shameful. A third area he had hoped to accomplish was to help see if a match might be made with Sansa from one of the Riverlands houses. His companions had been ill-inclined to the notion, but he had hoped that perhaps by spending time with the girl Cat had praised in her letters they might relent.
Nothing had come of those two other tasks since Sansa refused to consider marriage pacts so soon and had begged off from Edmure confronting the king. Still, it wasn’t too soon to consider Arya for marriage arrangements either. His sister would appreciate him trying to do right by her daughters. Alyn Blackwood was just a little older than Arya and the Blackwood family had some famous female warriors in their past. Most famously Alysanne Blackwood, a famed archer during the Dance of the Dragons, married into the Stark family. While it was more than a little queer to have a woman be trained in arms, the Blackwood family would not view it as scandalous as others would.
Edmure was quite pleased with himself. He would write Cat and see what she thought of the idea.
***
Seven help me.
Catelyn felt adrift without her husband. Her hands went to her belly as they oft did these days. Their reignited ardor had led to her being with child again. She wished her Ned was here with her, for she wasn’t sure what to do with their eldest daughter. It seemed as if every time she updated them through skinchanging Anna, some new madness was shared.
She realized Maester Luwin had been trying to speak to her and she pulled herself from her thoughts.
“Forgive me, what did you say?”
“I asked if you wished me to give you something to help you rest. Nothing harsh on the body that would affect the babe, of course.”
Catelyn shook her head. “No, that is fine. I am just concerned about Sansa. Robb is pleased that Sansa will be queen. Jon and Bran though, are concerned. Bran had some sort of dream of a wolf and stag burning. He’s not sure what it means. My boys are all trying to interpret dreams now,” she said with a mirthless laugh. “Robb says that means they might be in danger. Jon agrees, but goes on to say it is proof that Tommen is a stag. Bran says that’s the wrong stag, but doesn’t know why. Are we all mad, Luwin?”
The old maester shook his head. “No, just in uncharted territory. Dreams… well, we know the Targaryens put great stock in them. It was said that many of them dreamed of important events and by following those dreams the realm suffered tragedies such as Summerhall. The more I consider the powers your children have, this skinchanging, the more I come to believe that there is more than a little truth in all the stories.”
Catelyn shook her head. “Seven help us if Old Nan’s spiders are real.”
The maester fiddled with the Valyrian steel link on his chain. “I used to think this was a waste of time, but I do know all the old stories, all the old forgotten lore. The way of song and sorcery, of nightshade and nether keeping. I cannot believe all of it is true, but more than one story speaks of the power of dreams. But that is not what troubles you now, is it, my lady.”
She shook her head ruefully. “No, it is my daughter. She has spread her wings and no longer heeds us, if indeed she ever did. Despite your years, she may well be as knowledgeable as you on many matters. Sansa is sure of who she is and does not doubt what she is capable of. I am proud of her, but she has no humility. She humors my concerns and thinks nothing of ignoring her father or me. I fear she will suffer for it one day.”
The maester nodded. “Eventually, all children must learn of the world firsthand and not through the lessons of their teachers. What will you do when the king’s letter comes asking for House Stark to grant approval for the match?”
Gods, who would have thought that she would still marry a prince after everything? Any other mother would thank the Seven for this unanticipated blessing. But how can I when fear grips my heart so?
“Delay. I will remind His Grace that my lord husband is north of the Wall and it is difficult to get word to him in the field.” She gave a brief shake of her head. “’Tis even true. Ned wishes for his daughters to be home, but he has told me about the book Sansa read. If we deny such an incredible match, what does it say? That we believe the mad accusations of the former queen?”
“Are they mad?” Luwin asked softly.
“What mother would want their children dead? What else could it be, but madness? Sansa was clear in her account, that the woman was raving right up until they took her head.”
“As you say. But if she was mad enough to try to damn her own children, might she have been mad enough to lay with her brother? Sansa may not believe it… but as you said before, she does not pause to consider she could be in error.”
Catelyn shivered, despite Winterfell remaining warm. It would be time for the Harvest Feast soon. Some bannermen would arrive, though in these troubled times it would mostly be heirs and other kin. Roose Bolton and Hellman Tallhart would be exceptions. She knew Ned’s three thousand and the Manderly fleet was only the start. A second host would move, but the size was not yet determined, as the biggest worry was enough provisions.
At least more food will come to White Harbor and then on to the Wall once we have the gold from the Lannisters.
“If Tommen is a bastard, the Seven will not bless his rule,” Catelyn said sadly. “Regardless of the truth, lords will mock him in their cups. The bastard king, wed to an ill-used wife, is what they will say. I fear the Seven Kingdoms will suffer a rash of rebellions as he will be tested once Robert is no more.”
She and Luwin talked long into the night. It felt good to share her burdens with someone else. She couldn't do that with her children, for she had to be strong for them.
***
“No, the crown does not have the option of borrowing more money from our house,” Kevan said stiffly.
Tyrion seemed surprised by that.
“How is that possible?”
Kevan was bound by the secrecy he had promised Sansa. Tywin knew of the deal, since he had to agree to it. Trusted knights and ship captains knew gold was being sent north, but they did not know any of the particulars.
“We called the banners. Tywin summoned sellswords to his cause. We’ve lost three merchant vessels that hailed from Lannisport. Your father had already recently lent the crown money as well. The king wants to host another tourney and has demanded even more coin be sent to Essos to bring down the ‘dragonspawn’ he is so concerned with. What other options are there to obtain coin?”
Tyrion winced. “The Faith of the Seven will lend out money, but their rates are ruinous. There is also the Iron Bank, or we could try to raise more money. Unfortunately, Littlefinger left us in a bad way. He found the coin but duties were paid in advance at a discount rate to do so, among other fiscal games. One of the tasks I was doing before I was put to the question was trying to reconcile the merchants’ own ledgers with the crown’s.”
Kevan rubbed at his temple. As the new master of coin, he did not want to disappoint the king so quickly, but Tywin was loath to lend the crown any more coin after everything.
“I will speak to the High Septon. We can squeeze the merchants if need be. With Littlefinger having completely disappeared and him using Janos and the City Watch to extort coin and cripple rivals, we could make the case easily enough that they were in a conspiracy for a suspected traitor. The heads of the City Watch officers and Cersei’s personal guards serve as a reminder of what His Grace does to traitors.”
Tyrion grimaced. The merchants had played the game they had to survive under Janos and Baelish, and now their past deeds, done with what they thought was the crown’s blessing, would lead to further suffering. Trade could well be harmed by it, but things should stay afloat for the moment.
“Perhaps an additional fee for participating in the tourney or even upon entry to the city can be levied. We could also look to scale down some of the king’s extravagances. The king employs many huntsmen and whole kennels of hounds,” Tyrion suggested.
Kevan sighed. “List out what you can and how much savings it will be. I will not have the king think I am a miser. Have you made progress with Sansa?”
Tyrion snorted. “What am I supposed to say? I suspect you are someone’s puppet, but I don’t know who and you’ve kept it secret so well that I must simply ask you directly.”
Tywin is humorless. Why then did his sons have to treat everything like a jape?
Kevan’s expression was unamused. Tyrion waved aside the concern with his hand. “I’m working on it. You’ll know soon enough who had advised Sansa of the ways of court. Before I leave you’ll have the information you desire.”
Kevan had theories of his own, but was uncertain. Was there a hidden alliance between Winterfell and Highgarden? Or were the Tullys making use of their niece’s influence on the king? Edmure had been invited to sit with the small council right after Jaime’s fool attack, under the guise of comforting Sansa. Gold may be going to the Starks, but that might not be the final recipients, perhaps they were only the middlemen. It made Kevan restless, the not knowing. He had no good means save for Sansa, and he dare not try to threaten her, not with Robert so protective these days. That meant his oft drunk nephew was his only resource.
“See that you do. Tywin is weary of being in the dark and met with disappointing surprises. Cersei’s poisoning and the damage done to your fingers remain an unpleasant mystery. Someone has targeted our house. He even wonders if the attack at the Trident was not part of a wider conspiracy against our house.”
Tyrion narrowed his eyes. “Clegane obtained confessions forced through torment, which means I have my doubts as well, but I don’t see it as all that likely. If we were to entertain that notion, my thoughts are this. A blunt tool can make a mess of it, but if anyone with sense used someone competent they would have ensured Sansa was truly dead. Though, if they did make a mess of it and the conspirators discovered she yet lived, they probably slew their tools the first chance they had and we’ll never know the truth regardless.”
He’s a fine mind for these intrigues, even when drunk. A pity he wishes to waste his years searching for the foolish girl he wed.
“I will speak of it in the small council regardless. With the king’s renewed interest in ending the Targaryen line for good, I can bring up the notion that it was Targaryen loyalists who could have taken all of the actions against our house. Plant the notion that maybe there was more to Joffrey’s death than some brigands. Suggest they were the ones who tried to poison his queen. What greater vengeance could they have than to strike at his wife and heir? The fool is so obsessed with them; he might even believe it.”
“And thus, my mighty father no longer looks weak now that he has called down his men without shedding Tyrell blood. If Varys’ sellswords do slay the girl and her babe then Tywin can claim his vengeance through the king’s justice and Lannister gold. All tidied up neatly and no one will ever mock him again. It really is too bad that until the end of his days men will mock him for what Jaime and Cersei tried to do.” He grinned wickedly. “And me of course, we cannot forget about the jests people make about him having sired a dwarf.”
Kevan let out a tired sigh. “I’ve no interest in hearing this talk. Present me the monetary solutions and continue to work your friendship with the Stark girl.”
Tyrion left and Kevan returned to his task of trying to salvage the Westerlands’ standing in the realm.
***
Robert knew that Sansa knew about the whores he indulged in. For some reason it made him feel tawdry to have her see them, so he tried his best to avoid having them traipse around the Royal Apartments when she was not abed. Fortunately, Sansa regularly turned in around the hour of the eel.
I’m not even wed anymore and a man has needs.
Littlefinger used to be a great supplier of whores, but the man had fled to the gods alone knows where. Others would suffice and as the woman in silks entered, he wished he had realized Baelish may well have shortchanged him!
The whore moved with a dancer’s grace. Gray eyes flashing with desire in the candlelight as she drank in Robert’s half-robed form. Whores were good at that, he knew. The woman before him was so beautiful it hurt to look at her. Her face spoke of more than a bit of the North in her as well.
It is more than that. Gods be good… she could be Lyanna’s older sister, if she had one.
That was not to say she was old; the brothel owners well knew his preference. She could be no older than twenty, but his Lyanna had died before ever reaching that age. The hair, eyes, and face reminded him so much of her it made his chest ache. His vision blurred for a moment at the memory.
“Your Grace,” her small mouth was strangely musical, each word lingering just a heartbeat longer than normal. “I am here for your pleasure.”
Robert felt ardor rise in him. He swallowed.
“Aye, pleasure. Tell me… no, it matters not.”
Robert was uneasy but not displeased by how similar she looked to the woman lost to him. She warmed his bed, and they spent much time together. Between bouts of lovemaking, they talked. She wanted to hear about the battle, of how he defeated the Kingslayer.
“It was Ser Barristan. He pressed that traitor. I couldn’t keep track of everything with my own foes but mayhaps Barristan struck his head at some point for the Kingslayer faltered even as he turned to try to slay me.”
She ran her warmer than expected fingers down his hairy chest. “You give yourself too little credit, Your Grace. I am sure you stood above all there.”
Robert chuckled. “I’m not as I once was. You should have seen me at the Trident. That’s where I forged this kingdom. No, if it wasn’t for the Bold’s skill and Sansa with her wolf, I would not have made it out of there alive.”
“I’ve heard of the Stark wolves. So many stories. Some claim the Stark lords ride them into battle. Others say they don’t use a headsman in the North. That they just throw their enemies to the wolves.”
Robert guffawed. “Stories. Ned doesn’t use a headsman, because he believes in taking the heads himself. The wolves don’t eat people.”
She giggled. “My apologies, Your Grace, the stories are growing wild in the streets.”
Robert shifted. “Aye, they always do, but what are the people saying?”
The girl hesitated. “People say all sorts of things.”
She told him of the various stories. Some were outlandish, some were only truthful in part, and others were quite beyond the realm of even singers. It angered him that some were openly speaking of Tommen as being an abomination, but the girl was honest and made it clear she was only repeating what others had said.
They made love again and Robert asked that she tell the brothel that he wanted her to return the next night. Those gray eyes flashed with pleasure again.
“I will return as often as you wish, Your Grace.”
Robert fell back and let sleep wash over him, her soft whispers following him into dreams.
***
Much and more was being decided in quick succession. Renly was delighted to help play his part. Seeing Ser Loras clad in his handsome whites was a treasured sight.
The first time I slowly removed it from his glistening form…
It was a meeting of the small council and he couldn’t afford to be too distracted. Mace Tyrell had been rather upset by not being able to have Margaery wed the king now that Cersei was gone. Margaery herself, as well as Olenna had both sent separate ravens to the man explaining why it was impossible. If Sansa was not so close to the king, mayhaps something could be done, but breaking the betrothal agreement to Sansa’s uncle would upset Robert greatly.
Still, the man was appeased at least. Paxter Redwyne, Lord of the Arbor and Mace’s good-brother was being made the master of ships. He would be arriving alongside Grand Maester Gormon, once Gormon Tyrell before his vows. That maester was Mace’s uncle.
The flowers have taken root and are blooming. Loras is happy. Mace is satisfied by a Kingsguard appointment, his daughter wed to the heir of the Riverlands, and two seats on the small council held by his kin.
Robert was in a very pleased mood. He was coming to the small council meetings regularly, but was oft showing impatience or boredom. Today he was focused and animated. His good humor and praise for his councilors were unexpected.
“Another matter for you, Ser Barristan. The Kingsguard has always had seven and has been supported by household guards as well as at times the City Watch. I don’t need the High Septon wringing his hands over tradition, but I do intend to make some changes.”
Ser Barristan bowed. “As you wish, Your Grace. What changes?”
“Seven is a good enough number, but let us expand it. Create an order, led by you, whose duties extend beyond the simple protection of my person. The numbers you can work out yourself, but Cersei’s poisoning and the treachery of some of the household guards has exposed how vulnerable we are. The protection of my person both from direct threats as well as those from underhanded means will be yours.”
Barristan frowned. “You wish the Kingsguard to be in charge of food tasters and other men-at-arms?”
“Aye. The hiring of servants, maids, cupbearers, and the like could fall to one of the Kingsguard. Ser Alyn of the North has been around smallfolk so he might be best. Ser Arys could oversee the selection of the Sword Tower guards. The security of both myself, my family, and my wards will be your task. The providing of suitable squires, pages, and cupbearers as well. I trust you completely, Ser Barristan. I would be a fool not to ensure you kept me and my family protected against all possible threats.”
Renly thought that was wise if a bit disappointing given the current situation. Men loyal to him from the Stormlands had quickly replaced all the red-cloaked guards that had taken on the household duties of protecting the Red Keep and Maegor’s Holdfast alongside those of House Royce. Now it seemed whoever Ser Barristan found would replace them.
“More coin must then be found,” Ser Kevan said in a pained voice.
Robert laughed. “There’s always more coin, ser.”
“And what of the two remaining vacancies?” Ser Barristan asked.
“Ser Balon Swann and Ser Gladden Wylde were both suggested by my brother and I find no fault in them. They will also wear the white.”
Good, two more of the Stormlands. The position of Kingsguard will also now have more power. Only through Kevan Lannister does the Westerlands hang on to any prestige in the city.
Other business continued and soon Robert spoke of Stannis, his children, and Sansa.
“My brother has levied harsh accusations and failed as a lord, as a knight, and as a brother. He was wrong and has been removed from the succession for it. Amends can be made should he be willing, before I present it to Stannis, I would hear from my advisors.”
“We stand ready to provide counsel, Your Grace,” Yohn said solemnly.
“Good, good. First, he must swear to uphold Tommen’s claim to the throne. He can go on believing whatever he likes, but Tommen is my named heir. Second, if he truly is enamored with this notion of being some great hero of prophecy,” Robert laughed, and the small council joined him, “then he can go join Ned, north of the Wall. I would charge him to take men from Dragonstone and the Narrow Sea and go fulfill his destiny. If Eddard Stark determines the threat is vanquished and Stannis did his part, I will see him forgiven. His place in the succession will be behind Tommen and Myrcella, and if my slow-moving youngest brother fails to wed and provide an heir, the line of Stannis Baratheon will have claim to Storm’s End again.”
Renly kept a smile plastered on his face, though inwardly he was angry. Only the idea of Stannis being gone again gave him some satisfaction.
“Your Grace,” the Hand of the King spoke, “do you think that your brother will consent to swearing such an oath? He is a hard man and since he truly believes Tommen is not of your body…”
Robert gave a sharp nod. “Aye, that is the way of it. An open oath before the Iron Throne, with the lords and knights of the realm who gather for the next tourney. If he cannot do that, then I in turn cannot trust him to be my heir behind my children. He would then have cause to proclaim himself king upon my death.”
“But if he remains removed,” Kevan spoke, “it would mean that if he tried a similar move after your death, it would mean he would have to throw his support behind Renly. Something he might not be inclined to do.”
Renly laughed. “Can you imagine? Stannis kneeling and swearing fealty to me? I jest, but even though my position is diminished if my brother does what he is bid, I have no objections.”
I have many, but making them would serve no purpose.
Renly wouldn’t mind being king, but such a thing would only take place after Robert finally drank himself to death. That could be ten or more years, and the landscape of the ever-shifting alliances could be quite different. He wouldn’t plan on overthrowing Tommen unless he was certain he could succeed. Which brought him back to the question of who he should wed.
A Frey girl wouldn’t offer me much in terms of power. Either Margaery would have bent Edmure to her way of thinking or I would most like have to write off the Riverlands as a whole. The Martells hate Robert, but I did them no ill. I was merely a boy during Robert’s Rebellion. If I could wed Arianne Martell and secure Dorne and their spears… many options exist.
He could see it now. Robert dead before fifty. The incestuous bastard claim brought up again. Renly could rouse the Stormlands, the Reach, and Dorne for certain. Much and more would need to be done to make ready for it, but for now he would smile and act as if he still doubted their parentage but obeyed his king.