Chapter 39
Some days brought no word. At other times it seemed to Ned as if everything was happening at once. The latest dispatched rider from the Wall came with a wealth of news. Some good, some ill. Some preposterous.
The first letter Ned opened was sealed with the spare seal his Lady Wife had. He rubbed at his eyes before reading it a second time.
Others take his eyes! He means to do what?
Robert had sent conciliatory words. Words that no king should write, but they were for Ned and his family’s eyes only. Nonetheless, apologies aside, he wished to wed Tommen to Sansa. He wrote that Sansa had eagerly accepted such an arrangement and he just awaited Ned’s approval. He also was more than willing to send Arya back home, but that he encouraged Ned to let her stay and keep Sansa company.
‘For the love we each bore your sister, let us truly wed our houses. It failed twice, but it will not falter this third time.’
He didn’t know what to think. Sansa claimed that it was necessary to at least agree to the betrothal, but that didn’t make it true. His wife warned that Sansa had grown independent and was deep within the intrigues of court now. Cat claimed that caution had been thrown to the wind and she could not be sure of what was right.
“Ill news, my lord?” Ser Rodrik asked.
“Who can say? You are a father as well, ser, tell me, at what age would you trust your daughter to know best?”
The grizzled man smiled at him. “For my Beth? Most like, never. She’s my pride and joy and a father will always know best.”
He put the letter aside and took out the next one from the bundle. An older letter from Sansa, with old news and full of girlish talk of dresses and time with the princess. He knew these letters served a purpose, but it made his head spin at times. These letters contained a simple cipher, one that was not too difficult to break, something even a child could remember. But the true message was equally frivolous and merely spoke of certain figures at court she thought were their allies or not.
She thinks someone is reading her letters, so instead of sending a rider with them to somewhere else with ravens and have them sent, she communicates via skinchanging and then creates an even more obvious trail of bread crumbs to mislead others around her. Who thinks like this?
He sighed and put the piece of subterfuge aside with the first. The next letter was from the Night’s Watch. They had finally finished their vote and had chosen Ser Denys Mallister to be the 998th Lord Commander. He had written Ned and said the Night’s Watch would continue on its current course with him. Denys also said that over two hundred new Black Brothers would be coming from King’s Landing including three disgraced members of the Kingsguard.
The realm is in turmoil. Four new Kingsguard, small council members being shuffled in and out, three Hands in as many years, and Sansa there in the heart of it all.
Sansa there and thriving. What she had managed to do beggared belief. Help save the king’s life. Get the Lannisters to fund the marshaling of the banners to confront the threat north of the Wall. Put the first Northman onto the Kingsguard in history. Potentially become betrothed to a prince, again. By all rights, her achievements bordered on the impossible. In less than a year she had gone from being the daughter of a disgraced lord and hostage, to somehow making all dance to her tune.
Bemused, he set that aside as well. Next came word from Ser Wylis Manderly and his expeditions on the eastern regions north of the Wall. They had encountered wildlings and taken some losses, but killed over a score. Two survivors had claimed there was talk of whole villages being massacred and that there were rumors of the dead walking, but neither wildling would claim they themselves saw it. It was good fortune that Ser Guyard Morrigan and his troop of men from Crow’s Nest and Tarth had joined with Ser Wylis and been part of the questioning before the wildlings died of their wounds.
The testimony of wildlings is slim evidence, but it is something.
It troubled Ned that there had been no further sightings of the dead. Something had caused wildling behavior to change. Something with clear intelligence had acted to assassinate the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. Sansa had suggested their foe may have underestimated the North’s response due to potentially having planned this before Ned had resigned the Handship. But now that the Seven Kingdom’s response, or at least the North’s response, was robust, it might mean the enemy would ‘turtle’ and not present more evidence of their necromantic abilities.
The labyrinth of Sansa’s mind was a dangerous place. The number of theories and stratagems Sansa had considered from the perspective of a potential wildling necromancer or group of necromancers seemed excessive. Even one stray assumption being different could spawn a whole slew of different possibilities and trying to predict what an opponent like that could do would drive one mad. The best thing to do was to face the threat openly and with resolve.
Ned would wait to respond to the letters. The entire quagmire of the south filled him with nothing but frustration, but either way he turned, there would be risk to his daughters. He bundled the letters together and kept them on his person as he went out to continue their march toward the Frostfangs. Hopefully, more wildlings would be encountered before they pushed too deep into enemy territory.
He shared the news with Ser Beric.
“Wildlings… superstitious lot,” the young lord said, “but I believe the women were honest. I’ll say as much in my report, but I would like to come to grips with these wights myself.”
“As would I, in truth, but we must be careful. We don’t know their numbers or full capabilities. Good men of the Night’s Watch were slain, and that was only against two. We will need to be careful.”
“Careful. Careful. Careful,” Mormont’s old raven cawed.
“As you say, I am just… ready to kill something. The news from the south is most grievous.”
Ah, his squire. House Dayne seems to know nothing but suffering.
Old memories rose within him and he ruthlessly pushed them aside.
Ned nodded with understanding and they rode on north.
***
“Seven hells! My prickly brother spits on my every effort.”
Robert was angry with Stannis. The generous terms, which I had helped push for, were rejected. Stannis brazenly refused to swear to support Tommen’s claim. He also argued bitterly against going north to help my father. The perceived ordering of duties in Westeros was a terribly unorderly mess. In the modern world, we had beaten to death the question of when it was and wasn’t appropriate to follow dubious orders, but here it seemed that everyone just interpreted things willy nilly.
Were the Kingsguard right and proper in enforcing the Mad King’s will to make a mockery of the trial by combat with my uncle and grandfather? Why, yes, of course they were. The oaths the Kingsguard took to the king superseded their knightly oaths to the Seven. It took all my willpower not to ask the Lord Commander what the expectation of the Kingsguard would be if the king ordered one of his seven to rape a septa. But I had no desire to antagonize him. The thought had been less hypothetical than one would think as Jaime had claimed Aerys had ordered him to become a kinslayer. Which taboo was worse?
Stannis was sworn to obey the king. But that oath did not seem to require his obedience to swear to uphold the chosen heir of the king? He would almost certainly put a holdfast to fire and sword if Robert commanded, but mass murder was deemed less onerous than breaking his word. Except here. Just ridiculous. The medievalesque mind was stupid and full of annoying contradictions. Worse, they didn’t examine said contradictions, they just did what they wanted and never even attempted to defend their illogical contradictions!
“I am sorry, Your Grace. It is indeed frustrating. You’ve made your terms, if he refuses them, then he knows he will not be included in the succession.”
Robert took a drink from his cup, watered wine, rather than his usual drink up until recently. I was glad to see he had eased off significantly from his drinking.
“Others, even those who initially believed Cersei’s madness, are urging me to make a pronouncement. That any man who speaks the falsehood that Tommen is not mine will lose his tongue.”
E pur si muove.
“Even though I am to be wed to Prince Tommen, I would say this.” My voice took a slightly different cadence. “When you tear out a man’s tongue, you are not proving him a liar. You would only be telling the world that you fear what he might say.”
And I did believe that. In all the history of the world, there was never a time when it was good for debate and discourse to be stifled. The eminently quotable John Stuart Mill had more eloquence, but I feared that would have been lost on Robert.
Though all the winds of doctrine were let loose to play upon the earth, so Truth be in the field, we do injuriously by license and prohibit to misdoubt her strength. Let her and Falsehood grapple; whoever knew Truth put to the worse, in a free and open encounter?
Only the tyrant attempts to suppress open discussion of any idea. It was right up Being X’s alley to not just attempt to stamp down on speech that would offend him, but even thought. I had been punished for merely thinking my doubts of the situation I had found myself in. It still burned even to this day the injustice of it all. What sort of charlatan ‘god’ would not put himself to the test? Would not an all-powerful being be able to match wits with his creation?
At least the communists, fascists, and theocrats hadn’t made thinking a crime. They banned speech they disliked because they were able to, there would likely be no limit to their tyranny if they had the same powers that Being X had.
What a dreadful thought.
Naturally, the great irony here was that the truth I was defending wasn’t the truth at all. Tommen was a bastard, but the best defense here was confidence. Allowing people to doubt and wonder and hide their true beliefs would only allow festering. Getting it out within the sunlight identified the individuals that we might need to still convince, and if nothing else, be watchful for if the king grew ill or suffered another attack.
Robert frowned. “You would have me take no action against treasonous talk?”
I shook my head. “No, I would have you approach genuine questions about his parentage with utter confidence. There is a difference between a man who says, ‘Your Grace, I fear you have been betrayed’ and a man who says, ‘Come, let us rally behind Stannis or Renly and take up swords against a bastard.’ One is earnest and providing counsel and the other is conspiring to commit future regicide and treason. They are not the same.”
Robert’s brow furrowed. “In this, you may have had your head in your books too often. You can’t expect a man to not strike at someone who claims he has been given horns. What works in faraway Essos may not work here.”
I gave a delicate shrug and then went in for the kill.
“Westeros had known near three hundred years of Targaryen rule, Your Grace. King Viserys tore out the tongues of several members of House Velaryon when they claimed his daughter’s children were bastards. Would you style yourself after the House of the Dragon?” I lowered my voice as I saw his outraged features redden. “I believe history holds the key. A lesson can be learned through personal failure, or in the failure of the past. King Viserys brutally maimed those who spoke ill of his family, and when he died, his children tore themselves and the realm apart in the bloodiest war Westeros had known since the Conquest. If you do as the Targaryen rulers would do, people will fear to speak, but after you are gone… war will come.”
Robert cursed. “Gods, no wonder Ned warned me of you. What was it he said when I offered to have you wed my Joff… ah yes, ‘It will take a very particular kind of man to sit next to her as assured as she is, and I worry that will cause offense.’”
I had to gently laugh, both at my father’s words and as Robert’s terrible impression of his voice.
“No mummer are you, Your Grace. That was terrible, but nonetheless, I speak true. What I would do is invite the question openly. Speak of the proofs, of the bastards that Varys has reported that bear hair unlike your own. Use my family as an example. Use the Baratheons who wed into the Velaryon line. Speak of how your most loyal and honorable knight never saw hide nor hair of such an affair by Cersei. Openly turn aside their accusation with a jest.”
Robert did not respond right away. A rarity. I was impressed that he had learned to truly ponder my words instead of just accepting or rejecting them out of hand.
“I have little stomach for letting such foul slander pass. I would not style myself as a Targaryen king, but even before they arrived on the shores of Westeros, kings would take tongues for less.”
“Kings that were conquered by Targaryens, meaning their wisdom and prowess is in question.”
“They had dragons!” Robert replied with a laugh.
“As if dragons could not be felled by a clever mind. Dorne slew one and they were just one kingdom. But it was not just Meraxes who was slain in the history of Westeros. Stormcloud, Vermax, Syrax, Dreamfyre, Tyraxes, Morghul, and Shrykos were all slain by means other than another dragon. Men feared the dragons and that let their wits fail. Fear, even the semblance of it, can be the downfall of many great powers.”
Robert roared with laughter again. “Gods be good, girl, you’d drive even a maester mad! Haha, truly Tommen can have no finer queen than you. I will consider well your words, Sansa, fear not. It is a great joy to hear what you say, knowing that you truly think this. You will be bound to Tommen’s fate, so even did I not know the kind of lady you were, I can be certain that this is no false councilor’s trick. You truly mean what you say and believe that it is the best way to secure Tommen’s rule.”
I smiled, pleased that he would at least consider my words carefully, and for being able to string along a proper logical causal chain. I would have no reason to try to weaken Tommen, so my counsel could be trusted to be truthful, if not effective. He could not say the same for the likes of some of the small council.
We talked a bit more about the comings and goings of court and I brought up the issues of the matching bracelets that would be ready soon.
“I had a lovely time with Myrcella. We invited Margaery and her ladies as well. I must thank you for the suggestion, and in truth, I would also extend my thanks from whomever you received the notion.”
Robert coughed. “Uh, well a lady friend.”
I tilted my head. “One of the ladies of court? Next time I will invite her to an excursion.”
The king looked away. “Not that sort of lady.”
A whore. Did this guy take advice on how his daughter and future daughter-in-law should adorn themselves from his prostitute?
Good advice was good advice, no matter the source, but… come on.
“Well, pass along my thanks regardless. It truly was a lovely time.”
***
Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell had returned to Dorne with great frustration. He bore no ill will toward the man who knew horses as well as he did, for a son must obey a father’s commands, but the chance at vengeance against Casterly Rock had been snatched away, again.
Oberyn’s lean form was a sharp contrast to his stout brother’s. No sooner had he arrived home than the summons came. He had first taken his satisfaction with Ellaria, but come he did. If his brother was irritated by the delay, he hid it well. His brother reclined with his swollen leg propped upon a stool. The only other in the chamber was his faithful white-haired guard from Norvos.
He finished reading the letter that Lord Renly Baratheon had sent to his brother, Doran. The young stag wished the hand of Arianne Martell. The words were not subtle, though perhaps they might pass as such in the Stormlands. That Stannis Baratheon had been removed from the royal succession was a surprise to Oberyn. More surprising was Renly subtly casting doubt about the parentage of his niece and nephew.
“He writes truly that he was but a boy during the usurper’s rebellion. You will say yes or you will say no. What is this to me?”
His too-careful older brother held out his hand and Oberyn handed back the letter.
“It is an opportunity. Tragic news has arrived from Essos. Viserys is no more.”
Oberyn shrugged. He cared little and less about that. The boy had not had any of Elia’s blood. While his sister might have had some fondness for her good-mother’s son, it was the least of Oberyn’s concerns.
“You know what I desire. The Lannisters. Tywin, his brother, the other captains and bannermen at the sack of King’s Landing. Above all, Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch.”
His elder brother exhaled wearily. “I want the same as you, you know this.”
“Do I? You asked for patience. You demanded caution. You sought Dorne’s ascendency and our blood back on the throne. You wished to do both and you will sit and wait until Tywin is an old man on his deathbed before you stir.”
It was an old argument. Not one that Doran wished to entertain.
“The Old Lion’s shadow is in King’s Landing. Renly is in King’s Landing. Your niece will need an escort. Renly bears only a little more love for the Lannisters than you do. My friends share with me he wished to throw down the Lannister rule of the Westerlands and agreed with his brother that Cersei’s children are not the king’s. He hungers for the throne and we do not know if Daenerys even lives. If she does, my son could marry her. If she does not, then Renly could seek the throne ahead of Tommen after Robert’s death. Our blood through my daughter would then rule Westeros.”
Oberyn considered his brother’s words. He truly did not care who sat upon the Iron Throne. Kevan was lesser prey compared to the ones he burned to slay.
Better than doing naught at all.
“Very well. How much freedom am I given?”
Many would have doubted that Oberyn adhered to any restraints at all, but that was not true. He had been patient as the ruler of Dorne had demanded he be. Had he not, the Old Lion would already have been skinned.
“Try not to start any wars or poison anyone. Ser Kevan mysteriously dying shortly after you arrive will do our cause no good.”
“Your cause.”
”Our cause. I know you well, brother, for all your words.”
Do you?
Oberyn just stared and Doran continued.
“However, satisfaction for House Dayne is only partially assuaged with the deaths of the golden twins. Should evidence of treason by Ser Kevan be unearthed, you would serve well as the accuser. If the king’s brother, as master of laws, could perhaps give the impression the king may rule against House Lannister…”
Oberyn’s sun-bronzed skin wrinkled at the edges of his mouth as his lips curled.
“He may well choose trial by combat and select Ser Gregor Clegane as his champion.”
“Perhaps. The Baratheon brothers are a quarrelsome lot. I will arrange suitable evidence, but it will not hold much weight. I know you are impatient after all these long years, but I must ask you. Can you promise me that you would win such a battle? The Mountain is a fearsome foe.”
Oberyn nodded confidently. He would not fail Elia.
“Then go with my blessing. Keep my daughter safe. Seek what vengeance you may. Try not to make more enemies for our house.”
I can grant no certainties.
***
White Harbor trades with Braavos. Could that be the connection? The manifests of ships are known, but they could be falsified.
Kevan was impatient with his nephew’s work and had made his own inquiries. Lord Stark had hired the former First Sword of Braavos, the equivalent of Ser Barristan Selmy, to tutor his daughter in dancing. The North was a strange kingdom, but he had a hard time believing that was true. It seemed too ridiculous, even if dancing was in truth the water dance, the strange Braavosi form of fighting without armor.
The trouble was, what would even be the purpose of a North and Braavos alliance? He had a passing knowledge of Essos, but when he looked into the history and character of those cities more, he learned that they were particularly opposed to the slavery the other Free Cities practiced.
And Lord Stark went after Jorah Mormont for selling poachers into slavery. Jorah is the Spider’s informant that he is using for the Targaryen whelps. Coincidence? I think not.
Then there was Jorah’s father being murdered by ‘wights’ or some other superstition those north of the neck might believe in. These things had to be connected somehow, but none of his theories made sense. By all accounts the Old Bear on the Wall and Stark were on good terms.
He felt as if he was on the cusp of piecing it all together, but the details and the why of it all remained elusive. His ruminations were interrupted. A Stokeworth guard had arrived with the raven. Kevan was not fool enough to have ravens delivered to King’s Landing any longer. Instead a solution had been devised before he even left the Westerlands. The Stokeworth family was not bold enough to try to break a Lannister seal nor likely skilled enough to hide it. Tywin sent ravens to Castle Stokeworth. From there they went by rider to King's Landing and then on to Casterly Rock. Kevan’s own personal maester handled the ravens going from Kevan’s hand to his brother, so that was less circuitous.
His brother was still wroth with his eldest, but under no circumstances would Tywin allow Tyrion to inherit Casterly Rock. His latest raven asked Kevan to see the feasibility of wedding Myrcella to Lancel, that way it would be from Tywin’s own issue that Casterly Rock would continue to descend through Myrcella’s line.
That was going to be difficult for Kevan to manage. It had been wrongly assumed that Lancel had been playing some idiotic jape designed to mock the king, not an attempt at murder. But after Jaime and Cersei’s madness, he did not want anyone to recall that unfortunate incident with his son. To make matters even worse, Myrcella would be a prize, and Lancel being the son of a second son and a disgraced squire was, to his shame, not.
That was not the only designs that his brother had for Kevan’s children. With a potential marriage of Sansa to Tommen, pending Lord Stark’s approval, which he wasn’t in a position to refuse, that meant the Starks would end up as their bedfellows. Kevan knew Tywin to be the most capable man in the kingdoms. He clearly saw that the Baratheon brothers would be problems once Robert was no longer around. Despite the bad blood between the lion and the wolf, Tywin wanted Kevan to propose a match between his Janei and Rickon Stark.
I cannot see the Starks accepting, but perhaps just the gesture fits in my brother’s plans.
As for Willem and Martyn, Tywin wished to find matches for them sooner than late. Kevan didn’t wish to bring Dorna to court, despite the comfort her presence would bring, but he might have to. These sorts of discussions were important, and she was good at marriage intrigues.
Kevan rarely thought poorly of his brother, but it frustrated him that Tywin did not take the more obvious choice in all this. Marry someone himself and raise more sons. More than two decades had passed since Joanna’s death.
May as well wish that winter would never come.
***
Jon blocked Robb’s swing and then glided around his sturdier brother. The practice blade scored a glancing blow, but one that, had Rodrik been there, wouldn't have counted. Swords could not go through plate armor, so only a blow powerful enough to potentially bruise or at least knock someone to the ground, counted.
Robb cursed either way and then came on with renewed tenacity. Robb was like that; he never gave up. Jon would eventually get the better of him, but it was touch and go for their extended bout. The air was getting cooler and Jon was panting by the time they finished. His warm breath smoked and twisted away into the chill.
It was good to exert himself in the yard. His dreams had grown fraught. A burning wolf. A burning city. A dragon with purple eyes staring him down. They had made him restless when the sun fell. At times he was almost eager these days to get a mental thrashing from Bran in their ‘warg spars’ so that his mind was too mashed to even recall his dreams.
His brother congratulated Jon on his victory. “Next time,” he said.
“In your dreams, Stark,” Jon replied with a grin.
Robb laughed and turned to the subject of Sansa’s latest visit with them through Anna.
“Can you believe that the Red Keep is full of hidden passages? No wonder everyone thinks the Spider had some unnatural means of uncovering secrets.” Robb shuddered. “But to use children? I suppose he needed someone small enough to get through some of the passages, perhaps?”
Jon absently nodded. “Perhaps. I was more focused on your mother’s… concerns. It is a good thing Father is away from Winterfell.”
Robb snorted. “Uncle Edmure’s letter was horribly timed. Mother… she couldn’t believe that Arya was doing something so unladylike and that Father had approved of it and even hired an instructor.”
Jon’s guilt must have been writ on his face.
“Wait… did you know about this too?” Robb asked.
He shook his head. “No, not all of it. I… well, I gave a gift to Arya before she left. A sword I had Mikken fashion for her.”
Lady Catelyn had been quite angry at having not been told by Sansa, Arya, or her husband. The story of Needle had not come to life yet, but he feared it was only a matter of time. Compared to things like the Old Bear being murdered, the king offering to wed Tommen to Sansa, and the Kingslayer losing his head, a little thing like a swordsmanship instructor just didn’t seem all that important. Or so Sansa claimed.
“Mother was upset, but even more so when our sister said the lessons would continue as they had improved Arya’s mood and the give and take she had with her sister had led to Arya becoming friends with Myrcella and Tommen.”
“Easy to say from King’s Landing,” Jon pointed out.
“Mayhaps, best never to get into a contest of wills with our sister. But also best for Mother to not agonize over everything. With the babe in her belly, she should avoid anything that distresses her. Perhaps she should no longer be included when Sansa slips into Anna?” Robb suggested.
Jon gave him a rather disbelieving look. “I’ll let you bring that up.”
“Craven!” Robb joked, as he shoved Jon.