Happy 4th for those in America! I've got some family stuff planned this weekend so the next chapter won't be until Monday at the earliest.
Chapter 38
I was disappointed with the Alchemist’s Guild. They refused to share their secrets and even implied that their alchemy was mystical! When I tried to get specifics, they shut me down hard. I was wondering whether it would be worth seeing if Robert could throw his weight around with them. I liked understanding things in general, but wildfire could also be a potential weapon for my father. Transporting wildfire was dangerous, but what if they just gave me the ingredients and the process and then just had some of my father's carefully chosen men produce and use it? It had its risks, but Lord Umber’s report said the wights had to be smashed to literal pieces before they stopped being animated. Burning them with regular fire would likely take too long, but wildfire burned with far more fury.
I really don’t have time for this.
I didn’t want to miss a single small council meeting or important social events. Many of the crownland nobles had come around to my way of viewing Tommen and Myrcella’s heritage. I also owed Jon a chance to test our warg abilities against each other, but wanted to pick an evening when I had no other arrangements the following day.
On the positive side, Robert had taken my ideas for the Kingsguard and put them into action. Ser Alyn would be tasked with the hiring and supervision of every servant that would be within steps of any food, drink, or clothing intended for the king. He looked a bit wrung out after I explained to him my expectations, but I told him I would help. At the very least I’d have a detailed roster of everything I knew about them, when I had them tested, and anything I overheard. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t have people handling the daily management of staff, it was that he just needed overall oversight.
He’ll be fine. Still, I will be checking.
My priority was still spending time with Robert and making sure he wasn’t backsliding too much. It seemed that my decision to be honored by the idea of marrying his son had lifted a burden he was carrying since he heard his brother’s accusation about their parentage. The bags around his eyes had disappeared and he seemed to have far more energy. Tommen's improvement in the yard even had him offer some genuine words of encouragement for his son. Tommen’s proud grin would create its own positive feedback loop.
The large feasts were still not occurring. Instead, more private dinners were held. Robert would be joined by his children and their septa. I would go alongside Arya and Jeyne. The seven of us would eat. Tommen and Myrcella were slowly starting to speak more during them. I wondered if Cersei had done some sort of alienation of affection when she was alive with her children. Robert, when not angry and overheated, wasn’t terrible around children. As a noble, he had been taught restraint and refinement, but he did not enjoy that. I saw that Tommen was beginning to laugh freely at some of his broad gestures and jests. Even Myrcella had some soft smiles for her father.
While they weren’t his biologically, he was still their father. Blood could matter, such as with the Stark skinchanging power or the Targaryen dragon bonding history, but there was nothing special that I could tell about the Baratheon bloodline. Who raised you mattered more than some biological marker, and since Jaime and Cersei were now dead, only Tyrion and I knew for sure that they weren’t Robert’s. I was not planning on telling my family about it either.
Cersei must really not have been much of a mother to them, given how swiftly they recovered from her death. Myrcella seemed more upset about Jaime dying.
After the meal was done, Arya, Tommen, Jeyne, and the septa were sent away and it was just the three of us.
“Myrcella, you should know that I intend to marry Sansa to Tommen when he’s older. I want you two to be as close as sisters. Tomorrow, Ser Boros and Ser Alyn will take you into the city. I’d like you to pick out some designs for a jeweled bracelet. Write down what you like and I’ll have the best jewelers and metalsmiths design something that will be identical.”
Myrcella smiled shyly. “Thank you, father.”
I was instantly suspicious. Not because Robert was planning something untoward, but because he rarely had unique thoughts of his own. He was also not a man to worry about things like his daughter’s attire and what adornments she wore. Maybe it was just paranoia, but I got the feel that someone wanted us in the city at a specific time.
“You are too kind, Your Grace. But I would like to think about it before we go see them. Does it have to be on the morrow or can it wait for a few days?”
Robert shrugged. “Sometime soon, is all. If you have other obligations, it does not have to be then.”
Hmm, maybe it is benign. Either way, I’ll instruct Jory to put watchers into place at the likely places we will visit, and it won’t be the next day.
“Nothing too gaudy,” I told Myrcella with a smile.
She grinned. “You had best be nice to me then or I’ll pick up something heavy.”
“I’m always nice!” I protested with my own smile.
“Then tell me who you favor. There’s nothing wrong with talk!”
Oh all the…
“I’m to be wed to your brother, it would be inappropriate.”
Robert started one of his belly laughs. It wasn’t funny! I did not want to gossip about what men I liked with a nine-year-old, especially since I didn’t think I even liked men! It was hard to say exactly when inherent biological characteristics came to the fore during puberty, but I didn’t think I had feelings in that direction.
“It’s just talk.”
Robert continued to laugh as I began to internally curse Being X.
***
Sansa had said it was Arya’s hard work and practice over time that had allowed her to get better at slipping her skin. She thought that might be true in part, but she didn't fully accept it. She could now easily slip into Ser Pounce’s skin and was now truly bonded to the cat. Being a cat was still uncomfortable, though it grew less so with time.
It helps my quickness and balance too.
Syrio had praised her talent and agility. He said that if she kept at it for years, she could be one of the greatest water dancers of the Narrow Sea. That made her happy, and she hoped she could show off what she could do to more people.
If being in a cat’s skin helped her lessons with Syrio, then she would just have to do it more often. Arya could tell Sansa was a bit frustrated at having to watch her warg more, but Arya had watched her far more often! When Arya pointed that out, Sansa had agreed that it had been unbalanced, though only out of necessity. That said, she would stay up later and work on her book while Arya slipped into Ser Pounce.
Being a cat elevated everything. The ability to leap up to something that was so many more times her size was thrilling. Sansa spoke of flying as a bird, but she couldn’t imagine it could ever be as fun as this. Arya had always wondered about things, but that feeling of wishing to know seemed to expand when she was in Ser Pounce. There were many parts of the Red Keep she had never seen, and she wanted to. And so she wandered out of Maegor’s Holdfast and into the rest of the holdfast.
Arya explored and explored, looking around different nooks and crannies, and happened upon a small crack, large enough for Ser Pounce to fit through. With a start, she realized she was in between two parts of a wall. Fascinated, she continued roaming. For the greater part of an hour, she wandered through the silent maze between the walls, where the darkness swallowed everything more than a few paces away. Then a shape shifted ahead of her. With Ser Pounce’s superior eyesight, she saw a thin child. The figure jerked in surprise, their mouth opening in a silent gasp.
With Ser Pounce’s keen eyesight in the gloom, Arya could see that the child had no tongue. As the child scrambled away, her mind stuttered for a moment.
Sansa thought it was another warg. She was wrong!
Arya loved her sister, but she took great delight whenever perfect Sansa was truly incorrect about something. She returned to Maegor’s Holdfast as Ser Pounce and then returned to her body. She felt a little tired, but was pleased with herself.
“The Spider isn’t a warg.”
Sansa stopped writing. She moved closer to her so they could whisper silently.
“How do you know?”
“There are passages in between the walls in the Red Keep! I was exploring and found one. There was a child there, without a tongue! I think he uses them instead of birds. They are the little birds, not actual birds. Not rats like Weiss, but children!”
Sansa frowned. “Describe for me where and I’ll look with Weiss. Note, that just because he may be using children for one means of gathering information, doesn’t preclude him from still being or hiring a warg as another source for information.”
Arya huffed a bit at her sister’s stubbornness and then looked at her bed mournfully. This was likely going to be a long night.
She sighed. “Be careful, there are some other cats around that area too. And please don’t take too long. I have a lesson with Syrio in the morning and I won’t get much sleep now.”
Sansa gave her a look. “I know, but this is important. If this is how Lord Varys has been spying and learning of things, this could explain a lot. It also gives us an opportunity for additional ways to gather our information.”
“I know,” Arya said, stifling a yawn. She knew that the sooner Sansa got the information she needed, then maybe they could help the child, or maybe children who were doing the spying. She shuddered at the idea of someone taking her tongue.
Though why take their tongue? How are they passing along information? If they are just writing it down anyway, what is the purpose? I’ll ask Sansa after she gets back into her own body.
***
“How are you faring, Lord Tyrion? Despite their crimes, I know your siblings’ deaths must not have been easy for you.”
Easier than you think after Jaime confessed to his lies.
Only that wasn’t quite true. Sleep sometimes eluded him unless he was in a drunken stupor. Even then, dreams chased at him. Jaime sharing what had tipped him into killing the Mad King had led to wildfire caches being found all over King’s Landing. Little wonder he had dreams of the city being doused by fire of late.
“Cersei had always been cruel to me, but I mourn Jaime, despite knowing I shouldn’t. After what he tried to do to your brother…”
It was a half-lie. Jaime had tried to kill Bran by shoving him to his death, not by sending a dagger in the dark. Sansa had learned from Tyrion’s teachings, but she still trusted him implicitly. That thought soured him, because she should not.
“I do not begrudge you your grief. It is only because of you that my family has any semblance of peace about the attack on him. Now my father knows the guilty parties have paid for their crime and our families can put this wretched business behind us.” She paused. “I am concerned for you, my lord. The maids talk about how you seem to be deep in your cups these days.”
Tyrion wasn’t drunk at the moment and he rather wanted to be. He made it a point not to be drunk when he met with Sansa.
“You’d want to drink yourself senseless if you had to view Littlefinger’s books as well!”
A curious gleam came over Sansa’s face, but then she shook her head.
“Mayhaps, but I admit it isn’t just my concern over your wellbeing.” She huffed a bit. “You did promise you would help me on my glass project. I was hoping we would be further along.”
Tyrion winced. He had done that.
“I’m sorry, Sansa. You are right. In fact, I have the materials already and the different-shaped lens from Myr.” He looked down. “In truth, my fingers are still giving me some difficulty, if you have some time, we can work on the next stage together.”
Sansa’s face remained smooth, but he could detect a hesitation. She nodded. “I would like that, but with the king’s, plans I’ve been spending much more time with Tommen of late so you might have to pick some less convenient times to work on such things. Would shortly after sunrise work for you?”
Not if I want to drink… ah, what’s this about Tommen?
“Plans for Tommen?”
Sansa paused a moment before answering. “I shouldn’t say, as my parents haven’t agreed yet, but the king wishes me to wed your nephew. It is hard to view him in that light, given his age, but he is a sweet boy that I am sure will grow up to be a kindly prince. Please don’t tell others, as it would be mortifying if Father ends up refusing His Grace.”
A knot of fury bloomed in Tyrion’s breast. It wasn’t fair. That bastard would wed Sansa?
The only reason Sansa believes Tommen isn’t a gods-damned abomination is because of me! Me! Others take me, what am I even thinking? It isn’t my nephew’s fault…
“Of course I won’t say anything… but I am rather surprised by our king. I… well, after what happened when Joffrey was murdered…”
Sansa saved him from further awkwardness.
“After I was sullied by the brigands the thought of me marrying so highly was of course unthinkable. However, someone, I’m not sure who, maybe Varys? ‘Tis just a guess, maybe it was even Robert’s own thinking, but he’s made comparison of my own rape with what Rhaegar did to Lyanna. Would His Grace have set aside my aunt if she had been rescued before her death? Given his great love for her, he could not see himself doing so. He would not blame or turn aside from his love in that instance and so will do the same here and now. Even if it might harm the crown’s reputation.”
Sansa looked down. “I feel bad on that account. Tommen does deserve better.”
No, he is getting a prize above all other prizes.
But he didn’t say that.
“What happened to you was not your fault. But it will cause problems for the crown. Lesser men will laugh in their cups at Tommen, but sadly lesser men are the most common sort.”
Sansa’s expression was conflicted and Tyrion continued.
“I suspect the king is allowing his fondness for you to overcome his good sense. He’s dooming his… son to a lifetime of jests at his expense. As someone who has faced that, it is not something I would wish to see for him.” Tyrion forced out the words even while not quite sure why he was doing so. He refused to let himself think of it.
“It will be between the king and my parents. I have always known who I wed would not be my choice, but I cannot bring myself to tell His Grace that I would reject his son. It would be an insult.”
Tyrion was sick of the subject and the unwanted thoughts in his head.
“I’ll say no more, then. I’ll put renewed effort into the glass. Give me a few days to review what I’ve been sent and organize it and then we can meet at some dawn.”
Sansa was pleased with that and Tyrion looked around for wine. He needed it more than ever.
***
Another demand on my time. This was of my own making, but I really did want to create reading spectacles. Introducing proper glasses to Westeros would do a lot of good and would also hopefully spur on more focus in the lens-making and optics fields. I knew a little about a lot of things, thanks to being an avid reader of my first life, but I didn’t know all the details of how things were constructed. I’d rather point people to the direction I knew was possible and let clever minds do the rest.
Telling Tyrion about Tommen in a private setting was important. I needed to make sure he wouldn’t try to save me by blabbing about his nephew being Jaime’s and not Robert’s. It was touching how he still tried to find a way to avoid me marrying someone he knew to be the product of incest. Unfortunately, thanks to Robert’s stupid test, I had to pretend to be thrilled with the idea.
Having had more time to consider everything, I felt I had multiple off-ramps I could take later to avoid marrying Tommen. Even something as simple as repeated false comas brought on by multi-day skinchanging could lead to maesters and Robert deciding I was too unhealthy to marry the prince. This was going to complicate my life greatly in the short to medium term, but in the long term, I had a lot of ways to avoid actually saying the vows and binding myself to being a target for the rest of my life.
The main struggle was finding enough hours in the day to do everything. Fortunately, my skinchanging abilities were no longer quite as exhausting as they had been previously. I suspected it was due to my regular usage. Essentially, I was exercising my ‘warg muscle’ and that’s why skin slipping and partial slipping was becoming trivial. I had even started to bond another raven, one that I would use when we went on our next hunt as extra security via eyes in the sky.
I still want to rechallenge whatever skinchanger was North of the Wall. Especially now that time and practice have made me more formidable, regardless of what Father thinks. If nothing else, it would be good practice against an opposing warg who knew their craft.
And, of course, Arya's discovery needed to be explored. My early ventures with Weiss told me that the Red Keep was likely riddled with passages, though so far I had not found any within the Royal Apartments.
Today I would be going shopping with Myrcella, but I had invited Margaery, Jeyne, and her cousins. Jory had his own guards, as well as others, along our planned route. Ser Alyn and Ser Loras were accompanying us along with Baratheon and Tyrell guards. It was complete overkill, but I didn’t want to leave things to chance.
Myrcella had truly come out of her shell, and despite being so young she was laughing along with Margaery’s cousins. They were speaking of the various knights and who they might see at the upcoming planned tourney, still a month away.
“’Tis a shame Ser Beric won’t be attending,” Elinor sighed, “he really is a handsome knight. Sansa, can’t you tell your father to send him back swiftly?”
“I fear Ser Beric is wedded to honor and duty, and not impressing young maids he is not betrothed to.”
Margaery shook her head. “There is talk he will not be betrothed much longer?”
“He is to be wed soon?” Jeyne asked and I almost shook my head in despair. I had left Jeyne too long unattended and unaware about even the basic realities going on.
Megga laughed. “Dorne is upset! The heir died and they don’t want House Dayne ruled by a Stormlander, especially since a different Stormlander, our king, took Beric’s squire and it led to his death. But Allyria’s loss might be our gain…”
Margaery’s cousins were obsessed with finding good husbands. That they would be wed was a surety, but there were many, many Tyrells and they each wanted more than minor lordlings or worse a simple knight. Marrying the head of a line like Dondarrion was ever their hope.
“Let the man come back from his quest before you start begging your father to write to him,” Margaery said with a laugh.
“Oh, but he is so brave,” Alla said wistfully. “Going to fight wildlings in the savage North… uh, the savage North past the Wall of course.”
I smiled, showing I took no offense. “The wildlings are savage. And he is brave for going. But that peril may make all the planning moot. Listen to your wiser cousin, for he may not return at all if the threat is truly dire.”
Myrcella shivered. “I know you think it is real, Sansa, but the dead arising again, that is frightful.”
“Yes, I believe it is to be true. The old stories, most like, have many exaggerations, but a seven hundred foot wall was not built for no purpose. It is to keep out wights… and perhaps worse. But the bitter cold and terrors of the Long Night are not here with us today, so let us enjoy our time together.”
We continued with Visha at my side. The knot of soldiers around us meant very few smallfolk even caught a glimpse of my direwolf. A few of the artisans looked at her nervously, but that was the extent of their reaction.
Margaery lingered over delicate filigree that looked fetching. A few jewel-crafters and metalworkers upon hearing that it was to be a twin piece with Myrcella and myself had promised to craft a stag and wolf motif. The princess adored the idea and we each tried on similar-sized bracelets. I preferred something snug over loose and Myrcella was content with that.
I jotted down the name of the merchant, the specifics of the design, and the cost. The king wished to make arrangements and present it to us when it was finished himself.
I’m just going to ask him where he got this idea from. I’ll just say I had just such a lovely time that I want to thank whoever it was who suggested it. Otherwise it will be impossible to know if there was any plot that I had thwarted by changing the day or by adding more guards to our excursion. For all I know, it meant no harm to me and just wanted a set time where someone knew I wouldn’t be around Robert. Or even just a way for someone to ingratiate themselves with the king.
Somewhat annoyed, but not letting it show, our group continued to buy trinkets and silks for the remainder of the day before finally heading back.
***
Ser Davos had seen less of Melisandre of late. He hoped that would remain the case, but he felt that was altogether far more fortune than he was like to have. Today he found himself in the Tower of the Hand with his lord.
“You’ve heard what the king demands of you, Lord Baratheon. Why come to me instead of your brother?” the Hand replied. The man’s bushy eyebrows were pulled together in irritation.
“My brother wishes to throw me to the North and fight wildlings when the real threat to him is here.”
“The threat was here,” Andar, the Hand’s son, replied with open disdain. “If your woods-witch did have any power, you chose the craven’s course.”
Bronze Yohn put one gnarled hand on his son’s shoulder. “Go easy, my son. This is still the king’s brother.”
Davos could hear the grinding of teeth. Stannis was an experienced battlefield commander. Lord of Dragonstone. A key part in the success of Robert’s Rebellion. And yet, though the Hand was chiding his son to be more polite, he had done so in a way that would offend Stannis.
Andar was not of like mind with his father.
“So men say. It’s been said you’ve even forsaken your knightly vows alongside your duties to your king and brother.”
Davos saw the Baratheon fury spread across his lord’s face.
“Who dares?” Stannis said, his temper slipping.
Davos was confused. Stannis had made no such declaration that he no longer followed the Seven or that he had converted to the red woman’s faith.
Yohn sighed. “Many. It is claimed you have forsaken the Seven and have sworn to this foreign religion. The court is abuzz, and tales of what is done in the red temples have spread like wildfire.”
“It is the eunuch. He spreads these tales to undermine me. Surely you can see that.”
“I hear no denials,” Andar said airily.
“Enough.” Yohn’s voice thundered. “Andar, you will leave us.”
Davos watched as Andar obeyed his father at once. He lowered his head to the older man and exited the solar.
“You will forgive my son, I trust. The stories have been… quite fanciful. They talk of the red temples practicing slavery and worse on the far shores of Essos. A man's gods are his own. I'd no sooner question the likes of Lord Stark for his gods than I would you for yours. And yet, I fear I cannot help you. His Grace has been clear. If you wish to return to his good graces, you have two tasks before you.”
“I will not swear to uphold an incestuous bastard’s claim!”
“Then you will remain disinherited. And be lucky it is not worse. Less forgiving kings would have your tongue removed for your continued opposition. His Grace has always been lenient to a fault. Balon kept his head. Most lords who backed the Mad King kept their lands and incomes. Be glad of your fortune that he does not insist, my lord.”
Davos heard what Yohn was saying. It was true. Almost any other king would have forced the public declaration. King Viserys himself had done as much when he stripped Prince Daemon of his place as heir and named Princess Rhaenyra instead. Even jumped-up smallfolk like himself knew that story. While many lords would abandon their oaths, those forced under royal command, if they thought it violated what they viewed the more proper inheritance traditions of gods and men, Stannis was not like other men. He kept to his oaths and this now put him in a terrible position.
“The king made you Hand. That must mean he at least occasionally listens to you. Make him understand that Tommen and Myrcella are bastards. If you cannot sway him on that front, at least do so here.”
Yohn shook his head. “No. My advice to you is to accept you are no longer an heir of any kind. Go to the North. Serve Stark well, win glory over the wildlings and whatever else is out there. Return home, and then ask the king for a reward for your service. His Grace is rarely moved once he has staked out a position, at least at first. Once the matter is out of his mind, a later recall of the issue is not something he is always stubborn about.” The Hand looked at Stannis carefully. “That is what I would counsel. You’ll find no other help from me.”
Stannis stalked out, and Ser Davos bowed to the Hand before hastily following.
“What will we do now?”
“Not here,” came his curt reply. Davos quieted as they had been warned about their conversations being potentially overhead.
Wherever Stannis went, Davos would follow, but he saw little of this that could lead to what his lord wished to accomplish. Lady Melisandre said that it was his destiny to confront the Great Other, but that the time was not ripe.
He puts too much trust in her, and I have not the words to sway him.