Chapter 43
Winterfell’s great hall was almost as full as it had been when the king had been hosted. The smell of roast boar, fresh bread from the ovens, and a hundred other savory scents made his belly growl in anticipation. Jon was given a place with his family during the feast, but other guests were intermingled so he could not sit next to Robb. He found himself between Theon Greyjoy and Benfred Tallhart, the eldest son of the Master of Torrhen’s Square. His father, Helman, was seated next to Catelyn.
I’d rather sit next to Helman than Roose Bolton any day!
Jon was not easily unnerved, but something about the pale man set his teeth on edge. Roose was next to Robb and for once, Jon was glad at his lesser standing amongst the Starks. Though having to listen to Theon snipe at Benfred was draining his patience. What Robb had told him about the Reeds, combined with Sansa not getting in contact with them, caused a growing burn in his belly.
“I am of course grieved at your loss,” Robb told Roose, sharing his sympathy for the death of his son, Domeric. The fact that it was his only trueborn child to have survived the cradle must have made the blow even heavier. It was near two years ago, but it was not often that Lord Bolton left the Dreadfort.
“The gesture is unnecessary, I have grieved, and now I must look for a new wife. My natural born son has command of the Dreadfort while I go to join your father.”
Theon whispered to Jon, “Two wives dead and now he wants a third? Still, bastard, it must give you some hope that even a bastard can hold a major castle, no matter how temporary.”
Shadow growled, but Jon sent an impulse to quiet him down. Ghost also felt his anger, but as always, no sound came from the direwolf.
“You are a right shit, Greyjoy, care for another go in the yard?”
Benfred caught that and lifted his cup. “Aye, include me. Would love to knock the squid on his arse a time or three.”
From further down the way Torrhen Slate, the heir to Blackpool, also heard the challenge.
“Count me in, say, why don’t we make a tourney of it, not a proper one, but just a play at it. Anyone who wishes to fight can join and we draw lots and fight each other, winners go on.”
Jon welcomed that. He was getting quite good with the sword and with so many of the best fighters going north, he might have a shot at winning even though he hadn’t had his full growth on him yet.
The rest of the feast had no noteworthy moments in Jon’s eyes. Roose Bolton would be taking another thousand men to the Wall along with a great train of supplies, horses, and ravens. In truth, Jon wished to go with them. He wanted not just to try his steel in sport, but in the real thing. He didn’t just wish to test his will and talent at skin slipping with Bran, but against that mysterious warg who had fought off Sansa. He wanted to do something.
When the feasting was done, they did receive good news. Sansa was back as Anna. Lady Stark was most relieved, but the meeting was also not a pleasant one. Tales of dark sorcery worried the Lady of Winterfell as did Sansa’s insistence on sending her new bonded raven to the north. On the other side was Anna’s marked frustration at the Jojen siblings claiming they knew for certain that Bran was a warg and that Robb probably was one as well.
Probably not the best time to mention Bran and I have been sparring.
He didn’t mean to keep it a secret, but there was tension in the air. Sansa was getting a lecture from her mother and Jon could tell that it would fall on deaf ears. From within the cat’s body, Sansa made it extremely clear she was sending a bird north. She was also demanding that the Reed children be forbidden from leaving Winterfell lest they potentially speak to others about their guesses at Bran being able to warg.
Bran finally cut in. “Sansa, Jojen knew. He dreamt it and it came true. He says I can dream too and I have.”
Sansa was not impressed. Instead, she suggested that it was possible Jojen, Meera, or someone else at Greywater Watch was a warg. Or that the tales of the Stark family of direwolves led them to make a guess and then the reaction confirmed their suspicion. Nothing was truly decided before Sansa had to leave and Jon could tell Lady Catelyn was displeased.
Robb was frowning. “The Reeds don’t seem to wish to leave without Bran, regardless. Why did you argue against Sansa, Mother?”
“She cannot dictate what we do from King’s Landing. If the Reeds wish to leave, we have no call to hold them against their will.”
“Yes, but it seems it won’t come to that. Bran will not be leaving and they seem to think he is important and don’t intend to leave without him. Why seek a quarrel when it could have been more easily resolved?” Robb said patiently.
Jon furrowed his brow, thinking about it some more. Robb was looking at the interaction beyond what they should do and into why his mother had chosen to do something. The difference was distinct.
“We need Sansa and Arya back in Winterfell. Your father has written that it is too early to say yea or nay to the match between her and Tommen. I will add my own words in a secondary letter and indicate that I do not feel a match should be made while Sansa is in King’s Landing. The king can return her to Winterfell if his earlier word sent to us is true. Let her be with us, where it is safe, before she lives the rest of her life in that city.”
Maester Luwin let go of a weary breath. “The king may not like those words, my lady. Sansa has told us that she is influential on him and that he seeks her counsel. I share your concern for her wellbeing, especially if he is correct about falling under sorcerous assault by a witch from Asshai, but if your words do not lead to action, is there a purpose in writing them? Your lord husband has stalled the issue; my counsel would be to leave it at that.”
Catelyn wiped at her eyes. “I can’t protect them from Winterfell. She no longer feels like my daughter. She counseled us to agree to a betrothal that she intends to find reason to escape later. That is not how Ned and I raised her. It isn’t just that she is in danger from all sorts of peril, she is also losing her way. Where is the honor in such a ruse?”
Jon thought she had a point. He had been shocked as well. Sansa had, in turn, in the careful but slow way she did within the skin of a cat, suggested that what she was doing was necessary to ensure the stability of the realm. It felt weak to Jon, the very point of being honorable was to always act to its tenets. The only time where it truly mattered was when acting with honor led to a disadvantage.
Nothing was decided that night, but Jon had a feeling there would be many more frustrated evenings as mother and daughter clashed. His thoughts were already turned to the contests of the next day and who might prove a challenge besides Robb.
***
“This is unseemly, Your Grace,” Kevan said stiffly, much to Renly’s amusement.
“Unseemly? Unseemly?” Robert thundered. “Your nephew and niece tried to murder me! They did kill my squire and nearly killed my ward. Be glad you were there that day and proved yourself, otherwise the Westerlands may now be burning!”
Renly did think it was tawdry, but that was Kevan’s own fault for not rubbing two gold dragons together to get three like Littlefinger had somehow done. The crown needed coin, and allowing people to bid on the effects of Jaime and Cersei was a way to do it. The gilded armor and bejeweled weaponry came from Jaime, while the jewels and dresses came from Cersei.
Tyrion was chortling, his mismatched eyes alight with amusement. As the new master of mysteries and once more a member of the small council, he seemed to be enjoying his return. Renly was still bemused by everything and more than a little unnerved. Sorcery was something he didn’t understand. He was sure his brother was exaggerating some as to the danger Melisandre had posed with her cursed jewelry, but that his brother’s bed had been occupied by someone who meant him ill was a problem in itself. How easy would it have been for a whore to drip poison into his wine?
That might be what has Robert so angry. The Kingsguard want to clear his bedmates as part of their new protective duties. I’m sure there is a jest I can make about it somewhere.
“And amends had been made, great amends, Your Grace.” Kevan reminded.
The new Grand Maester, Gormon Tyrell, was attending the small council session for the first time.
“It is not without precedent that the royal family has raised sums during times of extreme difficulty. The crown of Jaehaerys the first was sold, though under very different circumstances at the height of the Dance. While our position is far more secure, it seems there are grave difficulties facing the realm.”
Renly grimaced. A raven had arrived from the Manderlys. Ser Guyard Morrigan claimed nearly everyone he took with him to explore Lord Stark’s concerns did not return. Accounts were written in a panicked hand, claiming that the dead truly had risen and that their strength was beyond that of mortal men. He had fled and managed to escape with only two companions. The entirety of the knights and men-at-arms of Tarth had not made it, including Lord Tarth’s only child, Brienne. She had always been an ugly thing, but a few soft words had made her loyal to him for life. It was such a waste.
The Hand looked troubled. “You mean the reports from the beyond the Wall? We now have two trustworthy sources claiming the wights are real. The Night’s Watch and the men of the Stormlands. In addition we have wildling accounts, though I hold little weight with them.”
The new Grand Maester was not as old as Pycelle and was swifter in his responses.
“Yes, my lord. The Citadel’s position is that magic is a relic, a bygone source of power that is spent, if it ever existed. While I had once agreed with that assessment, I trust His Grace’s word on what befell him as well as the noble knights who have provided their firsthand account.”
“Good man!” Robert said, pleased by his new Grand Maester.
He’s parroting what you wish to hear, you fool. Of course, since it works…
“Aye, the Citadel has sent us with proper wits. I dare say it has made these meetings much less a chore to attend,” Renly agreed with a smile. “But now we must decide what to do. That is if we are done with prideful objections from our master of coin?”
Kevan grimaced.
“My brother will not be happy, but if the king and small council have clearly decided on this course, I’ll waste no more words into the wind.”
Robert was happy, both in knowing it would needle the Lannisters, and in the council moving on and agreeing with him.
“Well, Lord Tyrion? This is your realm, what should we do about these wights? How can we fight them? How many men will be necessary?” Robert demanded to know.
“Your Grace,” Tyrion said with amusement, “It has only been a week since you have honored me with this position. Other than sending word by rider and by raven and beginning to collect the resources I need to advise you properly, I have nothing firm to tell you.”
Varys tittered. “Surely you have some suggestion how to proceed.”
Tyrion shrugged. “I’ll know more when Oldtown has delivered all the records I requested. I’ll know more when Qarth, Volantis and Braavos give me what I wish. In the meantime I would suggest that the Wall be reinforced. Stark and the Night’s Watch should return from their ranging and use the Wall as the bastion it is.”
The Hand disagreed. “Lord Stark knows what he is doing. Lord Tyrion correctly points out what we need is information. If the wildlings have managed to survive with the dead rising, they must know some countermeasure.”
“Assuming the necromancer is not working with the wildlings,” Renly pointed out.
It was Lord Paxter Redwyne’s first small council session as well. The new master of ships frowned.
“I know little and less of the problems of the Wall, but Lord Stark is Warden of the North. If we now believe his and the Night’s Watch’s claims of the dead rising, well, let us ask him what he needs of us. If it is absurd, we can deny him, but if it is reasonable then let it be on his head what is done. In the meanwhile, we have other concerns as well.”
Robert grumbled. “Aye, we do. Varys, you cockless wonder, what can you tell me of the three cunts?”
Renly and Tyrion both chuckled a bit, though the rest of the council was silent. The three cunts were Melisandre, Raya the whore, and Daenerys Targaryen.
“For the first two, I fear my little birds are silent. A strange thing, but one I can only assume has much to do with their… abilities. We must put our faith in Lord Tyrion to resolve that mystery.” Varys smiled and gave a friendly nod to the dwarf. “As for Daenerys, I fear I owe Lord Stark an apology. He was right in that we should not trust the likes of Jorah Mormont. It seems he is not just a slaver, but a true traitor and has pledged his sword to the Mad King’s daughter.”
“What of your sellswords?”
“They remain watchful, but they will not ride openly in the Dothraki Sea. Should the Khalasar approach a major city, I will have word quickly. If Daenerys shows herself anywhere between Astapor and Braavos, your coin will be well spent and she will be dead,” Varys promised.
“Have men waiting all the way in Yi Ti if that’s what it takes!”
“Your Grace,” Paxter said diffidently, “the last of the Targaryens is important, but I was referring to the piracy that had plagued our western coast. It was once thought these were the actions of the Lannisters, but it seems that they too have suffered predation. It becomes clear to me that the Ironborn have grown more aggressive, and a reminder must be made.”
Robert groaned and dragged a hand through his hair. “Do my problems do naught but endlessly multiply? Lady Arryn continues to ignore my summons! The North faces both wights and wildlings. The threat lingering in Essos remains like a knife at our back. Sorcery threatens my reign and now we have Balon fucking Greyjoy stirring up trouble?”
Yes, Robert, grow weary of attending these councils. Drink wine and fuck whores, and leave the ruling to us.
***
Vaellyn watched the gathered Archmaesters. The masks concealed their expressions, but not always their reactions. Fear had crept into the chamber, more than Vaellyn could recall in recent memory.
“Was His Grace drunk when he sent this request to us?” Archmaester Ryam said with disdain.
“Better drunk than mad,” Archmaester Perestan replied. “Sobriety can be returned, but madness cannot.”
‘Tis a good thing that His Grace will never know how we speak of him.
That caused a lengthy side-discussion on whether madness could or could not be cured, before the group of twenty-one returned to the matter at hand.
“Wise of him to come to us,” Archmaester Marwyn said smoothly, “it shows that he respects the Citadel.”
Vaellyn disagreed. He fingered his bronze ring while trying to decipher what Marwyn was planning.
Ryam, however, was nodding. “Yes, we can’t let King Robert go further wroth with us. With Pycelle being dismissed… his patience must be thin. We’ll collect some works and bundle them up and send them on their way.
Vaellyn watched as Marwyn suggested otherwise.
“Lore, yes, let us send that to King’s Landing. But that is not all, we must appease the Protector of the Realm. I will go and help explain what those ancient texts mean.”
“No,” Ryam said waspishly. “You will just further embarrass the Citadel with your ridiculous beliefs.”
Marwyn’s stout form did not react to the insult.
“Men have sworn oaths that they saw the dead rise. The king himself was the victim of sorcery. How can this body continue to collectively bury its heads in the sand? Sorcery is real, no matter what you wish.”
Outrage filled the room as more than half of the gathered maesters angrily opposed the very idea. Many talked of how extremes in temperature could addle the wits and the tales of the Wall had talked about a sudden cold the night the wights were said to have walked.
It was finally called to order and Vaellyn spoke.
“We should send Archmaester Marwyn, but not alone. We must rebuild the crown’s trust. Also with copies of volumes and scrolls, we should send a small group of Archmaesters. Three at least, along with another four maesters. Seven is the number the septons always extoll.”
Perestan’s features could not be seen behind his mask, but just looking at his body language made it clear he was outraged.
“Why Marwyn?”
“Because if he was not officially part of the gaggle we send, he would almost certainly go anyway.”
Marwyn bit off a laugh.
“His Grace will not be pleased when all who attend him claim he was a lackwit or drugged. Sorcery has existed, does exist, and will likely grow evermore strongly. I will attend, but I will not be censored by whoever you choose to command. I will tell the king my beliefs.”
“See?” Perestan said angrily.”
How can such a fool have risen so high in our order?
“It is better that he be one voice among a sea of maesters working in concert, but with differing opinions, than if he is separate,” Vaellyn explained. “Let us make our decision and begin preparing with all haste.”
Who to send along with ‘Marwyn the Mage’ would be of the utmost importance.
***
Recon, my newly bonded Raven, had made it to the Wall. From there it would need to find where my father was, but for now I’d have it stay there and wait a few days and see if the other skinchanger tried to start something again. It would be good to communicate with Father directly and not have to deal with the filtration of my mother. She was trying too hard to get me back to Winterfell. Something I eventually wanted, but right now there were too many balls in the air.
I have the ear of the king and the resources to do an exhaustive survey of what magic actually exists. I may never have such an opportunity again.
Father not agreeing to the betrothal was infuriating, because it kept the door open to doubts for Robert. My father had not said no, only that he wished for time to consider the request and to wait until after he was done with his task north of the Wall. I had to wonder if he had phrased that specifically in order to encourage additional aid, if so, brilliant, but it made my situation a bit more precarious. Being able to ‘talk’ with him directly may reassure him.
The king had said Ned was probably still upset about the hostage situation and the bad blood of his departure, but that he would ‘come around’ as he always did. Robert seemed more concerned about my reaction, so it seemed I was still on good footing and no doubts were creeping up. My encouragement of Tommen and some additional positive reinforcement had him doing much better with his training. A prodigy he was not, but even someone with average coordination could improve remarkably when motivated and given the best of instructors.
After fully clearing Thoros as having no knowledge of Melisandre's schemes and having provided a wealth of knowledge about how the faith of R'hllor operated in Myr, I had given my blessing to have him released from confinement. Returning from that meeting, I had a very annoyed Arya waiting for me. Still unsure of all the capabilities of the likes of Melisandre, we whispered into each other’s ears.
“When are you going to tell the king about the hidden passages. When you watch over me while I’m in Ser Pounce I’ve found several entrances. I’ve seen little children three more times. Father would never approve of not saving them.”
This likely had been going on for years. What difference would several more months make? Unfortunately, I was starting to worry about Arya’s reliability. Not just in the sense that she might go behind my back to the king, but in the possibility she might send a letter to our parents and have them insist upon it.
Thank goodness she doesn’t have a bonded animal at Winterfell!
I did owe her. She may well have saved the king’s life, as there was only so much mental influence I would have been willing to tolerate.
“I need to make it seem natural. Remember, if we just alert someone, there will be questions asked. Not only that, if they start investigating, then those children you wish to save will disappear before they can be saved.”
“You’re stalling!” Arya accused in a louder voice.
Cursed with a sibling who has a brain. Damn it.
“The master of whisperers had been useful. We also know the places that he will often have his ‘little birds’ listening, which means if we ever needed to we could deliberately plant wrong information. Or even make sure the right information that proves our loyalty or view of certain individuals is overheard.”
Arya gave me a very disappointed look.
“Oh, very well. But this may well not lead to any of them being rescued, but I will have Visha clue in on one of the passages you’ve mapped out and we’ll have Ser Alyn lead the investigation and uncover them.”
“Soon, Sansa.”
“Do you want it to be done fast, or right? I can do it tomorrow or we can do it proper.”
“Tomorrow,” she answered immediately.
It works, and most likely it means Varys skates, which is just as well. And when he does, it can be a useful reminder I can bring up with Arya the next time she wants me to rush with something.
***
“Seven hells! Did you know of this, Varys? Did you?” Robert thundered.
“Yes, Your Grace. Though the extent of them… no, I fear I did not know about all the twists and turns that had been created.”
Robert was stunned for a moment. “What do you mean, yes? They could have been guarded! Now those witches have escaped, they must have used them!”
The eunuch smiled sadly. “I don’t believe that is how they escaped. Didn’t Raya leave without anyone seeming to notice? They clearly have some ability to confuse, or at least dull, the senses of the unwary.”
Ser Barristan was frowning. “It is my duty to protect the king. If assailants can bypass all our defenses…”
Varys shook his head. “Red Keep has many hidden paths it seems, but nothing has been found in Maegor’s Holdfast, yes? The king is still secure.”
“And the Hand of the King? Is he secure from would-be assassins?”
Varys spread his hands. “Ah, the passage in the Tower of the Hand? Well… no, that may well not have been secure. However, keep in mind that my little birds must have some way to collect the information. It was convenient and I believed there was little reason to suspect anyone else knew of them. Aside from the keen senses of a direwolf, no one would. Despite others claiming to the contrary, I am no wizard.”
Robert seethed.
I should have his head and be done with it.
He hated not knowing what should be done. In truth, the ability for Varys to find information had been useful. Though he also had failed to uncover knowledge needed in a timely fashion, no one else could have done so either. The master of whisperers knew his craft and dismissing him, or worse, would likely cause Daenerys to slip through his fingers.
“Are we sure there are no tunnels that lead into the holdfast, and specifically into the Royal Apartments?” Robert asked.
“Ser Alyn has not found any yet,” Selmy answered.
“Might I suggest,” Varys said carefully, “that we limit the extent of these passages? That they exist will now be known throughout the city, but if perhaps we had a specific story about how a former Hand from a king long past built a passage in secret, it could still allow me to complete my work. As best I can.”
He gave the Spider a baleful glare. “You are assuming you get to keep your head.”
The man had the gall to titter. “I proceed as if my head will remain attached. Until such a time as that changes, I will counsel as best as I can, Your Grace.”
Sansa asked me if Varys watches others, who watches Varys? What happens if someone takes his head or if he even trips on some stairs. We would be groping in the dark.
“If you want your head to remain attached, you will work with oversight from now on.”
“Oversight?”
“Aye! What should happen if some scoundrel came across you, worried that you overheard a secret they wished to avoid? A knife in the belly and then who would speak for the whisperers you’ve gathered? The king has his Hand. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard has a squire and others of his order who could carry on his duties. What do we know of what you do?”
The eunuch let a smile fill his fleshy face. “Oh, but now I am starting to worry about my poor head.”
Robert guffawed. “Your job is to keep me informed. You knew about these passages and you didn’t advise my Kingsguard or me. That makes you as bad as my brother who sat on Dragonstone and left me in the dark. Should I send you to the Wall to join him?” He let the threat linger for a moment. “I won’t, but no more of this. You will inform Ser Barristan and his chosen Kingsguard of how you function as master of whisperers. Who your agents are, how you get in contact with them, and who can keep us informed if you fall ill or disappear.”
Barristan stiffened a bit. “Your Grace, perhaps…”
Robert shot him a glare. “This is part of your expanded duties now. You are to protect me from all threats not just ones of direct violence.”
Varys bowed his head. “I serve at your pleasure. Ser Barristan seems discomfited by what I do, but I will work directly with whichever of his Kingsguard you feel best suited for this sort of work.”
Barristan looked pained. “This is not a duty most knights would take pleasure in, but we do serve, Your Grace. I will discuss it with the seven.”
“Good, you may leave,” Robert said, but as Varys reached the door, he called after him. “And Varys…”
“Yes, Your Grace?”
“No more surprises. The Seven Kingdoms will be run with a proper… balance. Checks will be put in place so treason like the kind Cersei conspired in will be more difficult. Your work requires secrecy, but if you hide anything from me and my Kingsguard again, I will put your head on a spike.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”