Chapter 15: Stannis Visits
If the Mountain’s ambush had taught me anything, it was that I needed to improve my capacity to block archers. Developing a new shield spell and better survivability enchantments moved up in importance. But those were difficult; something easy was going around King’s Landing and bonding every source of Red Mana I could find.
Rhaenys’ Hill, Visenya’s Hill, and two from the Dragonpit gave me a total of eight Red bonds, double what I had started the week with. Then I took a few days to visit the Alchemists Guild. They were more than happy to have me visit; Robert was not a fan, and they needed every bit of help they could get at court.
Although they weren’t willing to teach me how to make what the called the substance, known to the rest of Westeros as wildfire, they did let me use a small amount of it. I even got them to show me a comparison, one teaspoon of recently created substance versus one of the older, aged stuff. I used Blue to accelerate my thoughts and activated Mage-sight to look deeply into the structure of the wildfire. It was more than just chemical; the rites and spells they used to make it gave it a subtly woven pattern of Red. That pattern was weak in the newer liquid, but grew thicker and stronger with age as it slowly fed on available ambient mana.
It was clear that the Alchemists had some knowledge of true magic, and I wanted it. Just that small glimpse, a few minutes of flame, had taught me how to create a much more efficient and deadly evocation, a wildfire bolt that only needed a single Red mana and a Colorless to kill. I could even pump more colorless mana into it, turning into a massive fireball. Or, with a slight twist, I could make a wildfire flamethrower, again with only a single Red needed to spark the flames then make them hotter, larger, with more Colorless mana to back it up. In short, a teaspoon of their knowledge was enough to make me a dangerous if crude pyromancer.
I had no idea what gains my spellcraft would make if I could get more of their knowledge, but I wanted to find out. Unfortunately, while they were happy to share the lesser mysteries, really just antiquated but quite clever methods of chemistry, especially after I proved my own reasonably advanced knowledge on the subject, they kept the knowledge of their magic locked up tight. I bonded their Guildhall while I was there, gaining another Red and a Blue mana source, and began to plan how to gain access to their knowledge.
And then it came to me. It seemed that as soon as I was properly free, rather than taking a vacation, that I’d be starting to make paper and print books after all. And the Alchemists, with their ability to make small industrial scale amounts of acids, alkalis, and other chemical substances, were just the people to help me.
I continued to do the tourist thing though as printing and paper were for the future, paying a visit to the Great Sept. I visited and bound the library there, for a Blue mana, and the Sept itself was enough of an object of veneration to grant me a pair of Whites.
I was preparing for my trip to the Kingswood, where I planned to pick up some more Green mana before performing another series of personal cultivation upgrades and experiment with my magic, when I was given some worrying news by Arya.
Her first recounting of events was hurried, confused, even a little panicked. But I got her some water, hit her with a bit of White for calm, some Blue for memory, and went through everything with her until I had all the details.
During one of her escapades, something involving searching for a cat, but then running from the prince and princess, then being lost in the tunnels, she heard a pair of people speaking. She didn’t recognize them, not even when I helped her recollection with a bit of Blue, but one of them was somewhat familiar, likely from within the Keep. The other sounded foreign, though Arya was too young and inexperienced to tell from where.
The fat foreigner was trying to get the familiar one who at the very least looked like a guard to delay Lord Stark’s investigation of Lord Arryn’s death, preferably by killing Ned. Apparently he was getting close to some truth, something that they hoped to use but that might be lost if Ned uncovered the secret. The bastard boy and a book, both within Ned’s knowledge, were defined as essential clues.
They talked about a princess and a khal, and how they would not move until their child was born; from that I understood they meant Daenerys, who had recently married or was about to marry Khal Drogo. They were worried about Renly bringing Margaery Tyrell to court and helping her seduce Robert. I could see why; this would firmly bind the Tyrells to the Crown, and leave the Targaryen pretender with only Dorne’s support in the event of an invasion.
What Arya had heard about this plot was both good and bad news. The existence of the plot, the reach of it; that was bad. But the fact that apparently the conspirators were looking at an ever-more precariously balanced tower of cards, that they feared being defeated by the actions we were already taking; that was good. Until the conspiracy was vanquished though we needed to take certain measures.
Arya and I spoke to Ned, and we improved the security again. All laundry was done only by Winterfell servants, food prepared and served by Winterfell servants. All non-Winterfell servants were forbidden from the Hand’s Tower, and Togo and I went along looking for and locking off any secret passages. At all times outside of the Hand’s Tower either Togo or I escorted Ned, and Arya and Sansa were only allowed out in the presence of their direwolves and at least a pair of armed guards. Similar measures were taken for the king, but with Baratheon loyalists substituted for Starks.
Then two days later, Stannis Baratheon decided to finally come back to King’s Landing. Though he had a seat on the small council as the Master of Ships, I hadn’t yet met the man, not in the three or so months that we’d been in King’s Landing. His ship was sighted in the morning, and he was on time to make the afternoon meeting of the council.
It was mostly business as usual except for three things.
First, Robert was present. After I cured him of his poison and restored some of his vitality, he had been spending less time drinking. After seeing the tournament his martial spirit had been kindled and he spent much more time in the yard training. Far less unfit and more energetic, he had started to attend the small council meetings at least semi-regularly. I think that the fact that things were going well with the realm, and that his terrible fucking shrew of a wife wasn’t there to bother him helped.
Second, Varys smelled of fear to Togo’s senses.
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Third, Stannis asked Lord Stark, Renly and Robert for a talk afterwards.
I looked to Ned, to see whether I should come inside a smaller study with them or guard the door.
Robert rolled his eyes at me. “You may as well come, Odysseus,” he said. “I think that if you weren’t loyal I’d be fucked anyways, and I know how you worry these days when Ned’s out of your sight!” He laughed a bit, to show that there were no hard feelings with the mockery.
Stannis gave me a considering look, then nodded himself. “Yes. And it was his actions more than any’s which gave me the freedom to broach this subject,” he stated.
Stannis was a bit of an odd duck. He was tall and strong, the sort of man that might be seen as handsome in the Seven Kingdoms if it weren’t for the fact that his face was locked into a permanently dour and grim visage. He was obviously uncomfortable in social situations, even more so if they involved women. Honestly, I thought he might be a bit Asperger’s. That or he had a negative charisma score.
Robert had the Lord Commander as his kingsguard for the day, so he joined us too.
The six of us went to a room that the king was relatively sure was secure. Togo and I checked to make sure, then I left him outside to ensure there weren’t any eavesdroppers.
Stannis looked somewhat faltering, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to say what he wanted to. “There’s no easy way to say this. I know why Lord Arryn was killed, what secret he died to protect,” Stannis stated.
Robert was suddenly immensely serious. Arryn had been like a father to him. “Well, speak then,” he ordered.
“It was Cersei Lannister,” Stannis spat out finally. “She was unfaithful, Robert. None of the children are yours.”
And suddenly it all clicked. Genetics. I hadn’t been thinking of fucking genetics, too happy trundling along through this fantasy land to stop and analyze the way I should. What were the odds that the children of a blonde woman and a man with black hair are blonde? Not just once but three times?
Robert’s face was white with rage.
“This is the secret,” I said as everyone turned to me. “Arya overhead someone talking in the tunnels beneath the dungeon the other day. About how Lord Stark had the book and the bastard, and would soon figure things out. That it would have things falling apart much too soon, too soon for Daenerys or some future child with her husband Khal Drogo to press a Targaryen claim. If this had come out at just the wrong time, if Joffrey and Tommen had already been married into great houses, allied with them, if the king was too old to have more children… the realm would have burned in the fires of war.”
“Who,” Robert growled. “Which traitor slept with my slattern of a wife!”
Stannis looked him straight in the eye. “Her brother. Jaime Lannister.”
I dodged out of the way as Robert stood up, heaved and flipped the massive solid oak table over in his rage. The thing must have weighed four hundred pounds. He stood there panting for a moment.
“Incest,” he snarled. “That fucking bitch was going to put the product of incest on my throne! Ned, draw up a proclamation. I want her here with all haste to stand trial for her crimes.”
Renly decided that then was a good time to stoke the flames a bit. “And what of the children?” he asked slyly. I interrupted. I may have been a cruel bastard sometimes, and put more blood on my hands since coming to this land than I had ever expected, but I wanted no part of sentencing children to die.
“Joffrey’s a little shit, but the other two are pleasant enough,” I said. “As Your Grace may recall, I have some small achievements in medicine. I could make it so that your future heirs need never fear a pretender from those three, and we could announce that fact; unlike one of the surgeons they wouldn’t even need to feel any pain. Joffrey should take the Black, while Tommen may join either the Citadel or the Faith. Myrcella might join the Faith as well, or retire to Lannister lands if Lord Tyrion will have her.”
Ned nodded. “That would be an honorable solution, Your Grace.”
Robert had sunk back into his chair, exhausted. “Very well. Make it so. Was there anything else? Because I find myself in a sudden need to get drunk and fuck a whore who doesn’t claim to be my wife.”
Renly and I both nodded, so I gestured at him. “Please, my lord, proceed,” I offered.
“Thank you. I don’t know if it’s too soon, but we might want to consider who you might take next to wife. Margaery Tyrell is young, beautiful, pleasant, and likely able to have a number of children. Furthermore, she would weld Highgarden close to the throne which can only help our cause against any future Targaryen pretenders.”
Robert looked at his brother as if Renly were mad. “I haven’t even executed the last one yet, and you’re already trying to marry me off again, brother?” he asked incredulously.
Ser Barristan interjected. “I’ve heard the same of her, and it’s worth at least bearing in mind. Still, there’s no need to make such a decision today, and in fact any agreement should have the wedding at least five or six months after Cersei’s execution for propriety.”
Robert turned to me. “Odysseus. Please, tell me you’re not trying to get me married off too.”
I grinned. “No, Your Grace. I’ll leave that in the capable hands of your brother,” I joked. “I was more worried about the identity of the conspirator within our walls.”
Robert nodded. “I had forgotten about that. Do you have a suspect?”
I grimaced. “I do, but little evidence.”
Robert’s eyebrows raised. “Well, out with it.”
“Varys, Your Grace. He isn’t far enough off of the physical description of the guard that Arya gave to remove him from suspicion, and there are precious few who are well placed enough and have enough contacts to know so much about what is going on. He has numerous foreign contacts, and supported the Targaryens despite Aerys’ madness. We have only his own word that he is true now. Either he is a leader in this conspiracy, or he has turned a blind eye to it, or his whisperers have no word of it. Of those possibilities, I do not believe in his ignorance.”
Robert mulled it over for a bit. “I find I agree with your arguments. Does anyone disagree?” he asked. No one spoke up. “Very well. Then, Ser Odysseus, I charge you to hunt him down. Bring him in alive if you can, but better dead than supporting the fucking madmen who believe themselves dragons.”
I nodded, and with that our meeting ended.
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Immediately after, Togo and I left to track down Varys. His scent trail didn’t leave in the direction of his quarters. It seemed that he had decided the game was up, or at least that he would absent himself on “important business” until he knew which way the wind blew. He was good; he switched clothing, added different layers of scent, moved through secret passages and tunnels. It might have worked against a normal hunting hound.
It was totally ineffective against Togo.
Togo trotted after Varys, and I jogged after Togo, and soon enough we came to him. He had taken a secret passage out of the Keep, and was on a narrow path that went by the water.
He heard me, and looked up in resignation. “Ah, Ser Odysseus. You know, I thought that if anyone would catch me it would be you.”
“Surrender, Varys,” I offered. “Don’t make this harder on yourself than it has to be.”
He smiled bitterly at me. “Really? That’s the best you can do? You and I both know how this ends, Odysseus. With me screaming and screaming as my secrets are torn from me one-by-one.”
I shook my head. “I know better ways of questioning a man than that, Varys. It needn’t hurt.”
His face was full of hatred then. “What, you’ll use your magics on me? I’d rather the torture.” I was surprised, and he could tell. “Did you really think that your magic was a secret? With that animal of yours at your side? I am not such a fool, and I know well the dark acts practiced by your sort,” he spat.
I shook my head. “I very much doubt you have ever met anyone who practices magic the way I do, Varys. But you have my word, on my honor and my lord Stark’s, I will not use magics on you to question, compel, or torture.”
He looked conflicted for a moment, then resolved. “I wish I could believe you. Everything I did, I did for the realm.” And then he jumped, head first, and dashed his skull against the rocks.