To meet a King
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(Circa 289AC)
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One of the carriage wheels bounced, likely from hitting a stone on the road, jolting me from my slumber. I winced as pain shot up my leg as my foot banged against the wall of the carriage.
“Cregan, are you alright?” I turned to look at my mother. Both she and Arianne were looking my way, though from how Arianne’s hands were positioned, it looked as though they’d been discussing something before I’d awoken.
“Yes, mother.” I did my best to keep any annoyance out of my voice, but since I’d been asked some variation of that question at least a dozen times every day for over two moons since I’d woken, I was beyond sick of it. I understood why she and others were asking, but I was no longer confined to a bed and could move around under my own power if allowed.
I glanced out the window of the carriage, seeing the mountains we were passing through and a knight riding nearby wearing the black and grey of House Banefort. Going by what I knew of the continent, we were passing through the mountain range that separated the Banefort and a few other keeps from the rest of the Westerlands. At our current pace, we’d reach Casterly Rock in about half a moon, though perhaps quicker if we met up with any other Lords and their force.
It had taken us some time to move as the Ironborn were raiding the coast and, from what I’d been told, Tywin Lannister hadn’t summoned his banners until he’d been assured King Robert was on the way. Of course, knowing where we were heading had made Arianne, my mother and the snakes nervous and angry in equal measure. With no love for either Tywin or Robert, having to meet them was something Arianne wasn't keen on. Thankfully, it seemed my mother had ensured Arianne would behave herself with there being hints that this was a way to impress Doran; if I was following the snippets of conversation I’d heard once it’d been decided we were leaving the Banefort.
While Lord Quneten wasn’t a powerful lord – or at least didn’t seem to be – he was still able to muster a few thousand soldiers; though only about three dozen were mounted and a third of that were knights. The rest were guards or conscripted serfs. To augment that the few remaining Martell guards were riding with us – in a moment of serendipity, one passed by the window I was looking out of – along with Benjen and Ser Myles Manwoody, the only other noble survivor from our ship.
Lord Quentyn Qorgyle had died before we’d made it to shore, and while Ser Myles was missing one of his feet, he still insisted on escorting the princess. The man had been enraged about what had happened and had promised Arianne that Dorne would raise an army to burn the Ironborn to ash for attacking her and her family. While I doubted the latter part, a Dornish army in Lannisport was something that concerned me. Particularly when Oberyn would arrive from Highgarden to lead it.
Having Tywin, Robert and Oberyn under one roof was going to be like juggling wildfire, and while my mother was confident her husband would know who to direct his anger at when he arrived, I had my doubts. About as much as I had about Lord Quneten Banefort.
While we were all grateful for his shelter after the attack, the fact I’d taken Red Rain from the Drumms had been discovered. It was only the threat that ravens sent to Dorne, the Reach and the North by my mother and Benjen carried news of this that I felt stopped him from trying to take it. While that behaviour irritated me, I could understand it, his attempted matchmaking however had come close to making my blood boil.
Something I’d learnt even before I’d been allowed out of my bed was that Stephas, the younger son of Lord Quneten, had been trying to woo Arianne. When I’d first been told this I’d almost lost control of my Wolfs-blood perk, but Tyene had explained with a snarl of her own that Stephas had decided the best way to win Arianne was to continually put the Sand Snakes down to make himself look good. He’d tried the same thing towards me when Arianne had been helping me (by all but playing nursemaid) by suggesting I was lying about what had happened, which was to be expected of a bastard. Arianne’s words towards Stephas were only just within acceptable norms when speaking to a hosting family (at least to me) but made it utterly clear that, unlike the Westerlands, Dorne did not fear or shun those born out of wedlock; instead treating them as family and she even quoted names of lords and ladies of Dorne who’d married bastards, though I did note that none of the figures she’d named had ever been the lord or lady of their house. After that Stephas had been conspicuous by his absence.
“Cregan,” I turned to look at Tyene at the opposite side of the carriage, Nymeria beside her, “I was wondering…”
“This is not the place for this, Tyene!” Mother’s words cut through Tyene’s question, one she’d been trying and failing (due to timing and possibly fear) to ask ever since I was able to walk around. While it was clear that everyone who knew the full details of what happened with the Drumms was curious about what I’d done, Tyene had been unsettled. That made perfect sense since she was the most devout follower of the Seven in the family, and while her early interactions with me since my recovery had been timid, almost as if I frightened her, she’d returned to her normal self around me in the last month and had grown bolder in probing about whether I could or couldn’t wield magic.
“This is about as safe as it's going to get for moons.” The remark came from Nymeria, accompanied by that customary smirk of hers. “The driver is one of our house guards and no one outside will be able to overhear us if we keep our words quiet.” She leaned forward, one hand coming to rest on my knee and gave me a smile that, in about six or seven years would’ve made me weak. My mind snapped back to my awakening in the Banefort, and the smell of her when she’d kissed my nose. I may lack the physical maturity to react to her actions for now – thank the Gods – but that didn’t mean her teasing wasn’t influencing my mind.
“But…”
“It’s alright mother.” I cut off my mother, making her eyes snap towards me; along with everyone else’s. “Everyone’s got questions about, well, that night. This is as good a time as we’re going to get for several moons.” While I wasn’t comfortable bringing the topic up, avoiding it ran the risk of the people closest to me misunderstanding what I had done and could do. To calm myself, I ran a hand through my hair, though that had me wanting to wash it as my fingers became caught in a knotted patch.
“During the attack, when you and Arianne were… attacked, I, I wasn’t thinking clearly.” My gaze stayed on my mother, save for a glance toward Arianne as her brow creased at having to remember that night. “I saw the candle, I felt my blood boil..”
“Is that the Dornish or Northern blood in you, I wonder?”
“A bit of both, I guess,” I answered my mother’s question vaguely. While that was certainly a possible reason for it, I wondered if it was the Wolfs-blood trait that was the main driver of my rage; or at least how quickly it seemed to grow. “Anyway… I saw the candle, my blood boiled, and I wanted the man to burn.” I looked over to Tyene and Nymeria. While they hadn’t been in the room, they knew what had happened and Tyene’s devotion to the Seven was a major concern; though since my awakening, she’d always said she’d pray to the New and Old Gods for me, which was a subtle change in her wording. “I didn’t expect anything to happen, but then the flame leapt up… that man’s clothing. Did I will it to happen? I don’t know.” I shrugged and turned back to my mother. “But it did, and in the chaos, I used that moment to attack. If I did make the flame move, then good as it helped save our lives.” Arianne’s smile for me brightened the carriage. “If it was just by chance, then I thank the Gods that it happened.”
As I finished, Arianne leaned toward me. Her hand slid on top of mine as she spoke. “I don’t care if you used magic or not. I’m just grateful your actions saved me…” her words trailed off and she glanced past me to her cousins. “Saved us from those monsters.” Her hands slid from mine and her smile shifted into a smirk. “Though I think we’d all prefer it if you didn’t act so rashly in future.”
I heard the snakes chuckle, but my focus was on my mother. One hand had slipped to her belly, where the young life that had only begun growing had been snuffed out by those Ironborn cunts.
“We all are.” Mother said slowly, a hint of remorse for what she’d lost easy to see in her expression and hear in her voice.
I felt my anger at what the Drumms had taken from her, from us, flare up once more. While it didn’t burn as powerfully as when it was confirmed my sibling had been lost, I knew that if I could, I’d happily climb on a ship, sail to the Iron Islands, and burn them all to ash. As for the people… The Ironborn would join their lands in oblivion, though I’d attempt to save the children untouched by their madness and those taken as slaves.
What had helped settle my rage was hearing that Oberyn was marching to Casterly Rock from Highgarden with an army from the Reach while Dornish forces would be further behind. While I knew he would be as furious as I was about what had happened, as twisted as it was, I was positively ecstatic to see how he made the Ironborn pay for killing his unborn child. That rage should, I hope, keep him from doing anything rash while in the presence of King Robert and Lord Tywin.
“Still, if what you are… suggesting is true, you, we need to be careful.” Mother continued, helping to distract me before my anger seeped into my expression. “Many would be frightened of what you may have done, others would whisper lies about you.” Her hand circled her stomach as she spoke. “Others would want you dead, fearing you were consorting with a demon. I will never let that happen.”
“None of us will.” Nymeria’s words drew my attention to her. Her conviction was clear on her face, though my focus shifted to Tyene. She was the most likely to turn on me. Our eyes met, and as the seconds drew out, I started to worry, yet eventually, she gave me a small, hesitant nod.
“The Gods, old and new, watch over you.” Tyene’s voice was so quiet it was hard to hear her over the sound of the carriage moving that I had to guess what she said by reading her lips. It wasn’t something I did very often but was a handy thing to attempt when combined with my Emotionless Recall trait. If I’d read her lips right, and judging by the way Nymeria’s focus shifted to her sister, that was probably the first time Tyene had placed the Old Gods before the Seven.
While that didn’t make me more willing to believe her, trust was something she and the others would have to earn before I would reveal I could wield magic.
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I gazed across the hall, taking in the sights as the forces of the Crown and the Westerlands enjoyed a feast and let my mind review the day so far.
We’d arrived at Casterly Rock this morning, about a week earlier than I’d expected, as the River Road was better maintained than I’d expected and when we’d passed near the Ashefort and Golden Tooth, their lords had joined their forces to our party.
When we arrived, we were escorted to the main hall of Casterly Rock by Kevan Lannister. Entering through the main gate (The Lion’s mouth) was another shock to me in regards to just how impressive certain locations were in Westeros. I mean, I’d seen Casterly Rock, Oldtown and other places from above during my magical dream, but to stand at their base and stare up at them was another matter entirely. Particularly with Casterly Rock which was more a castle built into a freaking mountain than a castle on top of one. After being led through that gate – which was wide enough to take several tanks side by side at the same time while a flight of Apache helicopters flew overhead – and the caverns that made the lower levels of the keep, we’d been escorted directly to the King. Or more accurately, Arianne, my mother and the other lords and nobles were. Tyene, Nymeria and I were taken to our quarters, which was fine with me as I’d rather avoid walking into the lion’s den.
Once Arianne and my mother had returned from meeting Robert, and Arianne had calmed down at meeting the man she held responsible for her aunt and cousin’s deaths, we’d been given a tour of the Rock. It was conducted by Gerion Lannister, someone I knew of only in passing while studying the houses of Westeros. The man had the distinctive blond hair and green eyes of all Lannisters but was far more personable than Tywin; though Arianne kept her interactions with the man to a minimum which was probably for the best as his flirting with her kept drawing out my temper.
I really needed to learn to get a handle on my Wolf’s-blood.
The various rooms he showed us were impressive, though the two that drew my attention most were their Stone Garden – the Godswood of Casterly Rock which was just one massive twisted weirwood tree that had driven out every other tree – and the Golden Library. Gerion had caught my eyes lighting up at seeing the rows of books within and joked that it reminded him of his nephew Tyrion. When Nymeria rather bluntly asked about the Imp, and after my mother had scolded her, Gerion had requested that we didn’t use that term and that Tyrion was busy with duties given to him by Tywin.
After the tour, we’d returned to our rooms, and I’d enjoyed sitting on the balcony taking in the view over Lannisport and the Sunset Sea as the wind cooled the air and enjoyed a book Gerion had sent to our room for me to browse detailing the glory of House Lannister. While Arianne and my (step) sisters had scoffed at the book and snarled at me reading it, I’d explained that a well-read mind was like a well-kept sword in that it would fail less often as well as how learning about the history of a house was both useful to understand how they saw themselves and a good way to pass the time.
As of now, I was sitting at a table near the back of The Lion’s Feast - the great hall of Casterly Rock - and I was trying very hard to concentrate purely on my food and not the looks and comments the various squires nearby made towards Tyene and Nymeria.
Being bastards, we were given a table near the back of the room with many of the squires and while a few Dornish guards were standing nearby, they were heavily outnumbered by guards from the Westerlands and Crownlands meaning I had to sit and try my best to ignore the comments. Though at least Nymeria was more than capable of holding her own in a verbal joust. That girl had a vicious tongue and had already embarrassed three squires from minor houses.
Reaching forward to spear a chunk of succulent honeyed rabbit on my fork, I marvelled at how nice it was to have something different from the spicy meals of Dorne; I still wasn't used to grilled snake or sauce with a drop of venom in it. One thing that stuck out was that even though the regions on Westeros were much closer together than on Earth, there was far more variety in the food I was eating here than I had tried in my former life.
“Can’t they just shut the fuck up?” Tyene hissed in a low voice, having slid closer to me in an attempt to hide from those nearby. While it hadn’t worked as well as Nymeria’s barbs, it had resulted in her legs rubbing against mine.
“All they can do is talk. They’ve got no deeds to prove their worth. Not like our little wolf.” Nymeria’s hand slid into my hair and ruffled it. I growled in annoyance, which given to the light chuckle that came from both of them, was Nym’s intention. “He’s worth a dozen of them already.”
“What’s that little shite ever done?” The question came from a squire wearing a robe marking him as either from House Swyft or the squire of someone from the house. He looked to be in his mid-teens but was very scrawny and I wondered if he was able to even lift a sword and shield. “Wet the bed and suck from his mother’s tits.”
“I’d love to suck from those.”
That comment from another squire drew a round of laughter from the squires and, if not for Tyene’s hand pushing down on my thigh, I’d have likely jumped on the table and charged that motherfucker to gouge out his eyes with my fork.
As I struggled against her grip, my free hand slid around the hilt of my knife. I might not be able to reach that fucker, but I could still wound him with it.
“And here I thought those wishing to be knights understood the concept of honour.” The words came from behind me as a hand on my shoulder kept me firmly in my seat. “Mayhaps I should speak with your lords about your disregard for a member of a Great House and the disrespect shown towards my nephew.” Benjen’s words, and the tone that made it clear he was fucking pissed, had the group of squires sink into their seats. While it wasn’t as satisfying as teaching those fuckers the error of their ways personally, it was enough to clear the slowly forming could of anger that was threatening to overwhelm me. “As for what Cregan has done, the king is aware of what happened on the Sunchaser and wishes to speak with him. An honour I doubt any of you will ever be worthy of. Come along nephew.”
The hand slid from my shoulder, tapping my arm as a hint to drop the knife. I did that and let go of the fork, though before standing I gave the dumb fuck who’d commented on my mother one last look. While I doubted I’d have to deal with him ever again, if by some fluke of nature he survived the Ironborn, I’d make sure to add him to my list of dumb shites to kill when I could.
Nymeria and Tyene both gave me smiles of encouragement, though Nym accompanied hers with a wink that, as it had for the last few moons, drew my thoughts back to her hints when I’d woken up in the Banefort. While I was still years away from puberty, thank the Gods, my mind kept linking her friendliness with that moment, which was a fucking nuisance.
As Benjen led me from the table, though not before leaving two of the three guards that had come with him through the crowded hall. Some of the nobles scattered around looked our way, and I spotted the sigils of three dozen houses from the Westerlands and Crownlands – though thankfully not that of House Clegane – but the majority were more interested in talking among themselves than looking up as the only Northerner present – Benjen was wearing clothing made in Dorne bearing the Stark direwolf – escorted a child through the hall.
“Why does he want to see me?”
Benjen glanced down and smiled before patting his waist. The sheath where he’d carried Red Rain wasn’t present, as with this being a major feast walking around with a sword on your hip was considered a mark of disrespect to the host and guest of honour, but the gesture was enough for me to understand why I’d been summoned.
Robert wanted to meet the boy who’d killed Ironborn, taken a Valyrian steel blade and saved the life of a princess. That I was a Stark by blood likely also played into his interest. However, meeting the king meant being in the presence of Tywin Lannister. While he wouldn’t consider me a piece in the Great Game, I’d now be known to him as more than just a bastard of House Stark being raised by House Martell.
Soon enough the king and his table came into view for me. Robert was sitting in the central seat which was, like almost everything in Casterly Rock, impressive to the point of being obnoxious and not a chair meant for him. Robert was swinging a large mug around carelessly and even at a distance, through the crowd of servants moving between tables, I could see mouthfuls of drink – probably wine – being sent flying every which way.
To his right sat the man who would normally be seated in the ornate central chair that was backed by a lion’s head, Tywin Lannister. The man was bald but he made up for that with bushy sideburns that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the 1970s on earth.
Before I could see anything else, two Lannister guards approached with one of the Kingsguard behind. I didn’t know which one it was, though that wasn’t surprising as the only two I’d be able to pick out at a glance would be Barristan Selmy and Jaime Lannister with the latter likely not here as I didn’t see Cersei at Robert’s side. All I did know about this Kingsguard member was that he had blond hair, though not Lannister blond, and was shorter than Benjen by about half-a-head.
The two Lannister guards started searching me, while the Kingsguard watched. While I understood the reasoning for doing so, the chances that a seven-year-old boy would be a threat to someone like Robert were slim at best. Still, the search gave me time to look around the main table and those on either side of it.
The lord’s table was raised above the floor onto which Benjen would’ve led me if the guards hadn’t stopped us. To Tywin’s right sat his brothers Kevan and Gerion – who gave me a mocking salute with his goblet when he saw me – followed by other people that were either members of the extended house or had married into it. At the table to my left – the king’s right – were other nobles wearing proudly the sigils of houses loyal to House Lannister and at the very end, closest to me, was Tyrion Lannister. His appearance was, as I’d expected, more in line with the book description than the show, with mismatched eyes of green and black. As his eyes saw me, I didn’t shy away from looking at him, though I tried to not make it clear I was watching him above the others. I wasn’t sure if I failed or not, but he smirked at me before our short staring match was cut-off by one of the guards.
Returning to the lord’s table, I saw two Kingsguard standing behind Robert, one of which must’ve been Barristan Selmy as he was the only member of the guard to have white hair. While Benjen and Oberyn had often talked about which knight was better than which, they both agreed that Barristan was one of, if not the, best in the Seven Kingdoms. To Robert’s left sat, going by his age, location and the distinctive badge he wore over his heart, was Jon Arryn, Hand of the King. Behind him, just as with Tywin and all the other nobles stood a guard of House Arryn, though my attention shifted from Jon to the person to his left, Arianne.
She was given the next seat of importance, which made sense as even if she was female, she was the heir to one of the Great Houses of Westeros. Her face was tense, likely from having to sit so close to men she blamed for her aunt’s and cousins’ deaths, but a gentle nudge and whispered word from my mother – who sat to her left – had her eyes find mine. A smile erupted on her face and the room felt more inviting and beautiful for it. Next to my mother was an empty chair, which given the Stark guard behind it, would be Benjen’s.
For him to be seated at the king’s table was a great honour, but given the brotherhood between Ned and Robert, it made sense Robert would want Benjen close. And given Benjen’s reddening face, it also meant my uncle was being forced to drink at something close to the king’s pace.
The table to my right – the king’s left – seemed to be for the lords from the Crownlands and Stormlands that had come with Robert to Lannisport, and I picked out houses from both with ease. I was slightly surprised to not see any lords from the Riverlands, but given Ned wasn’t here, it was likely they would arrive with the Northern forces soon.
The two guards stepped back and the Kingsguard member walked into the central area. “Your Grace.”
The simple comment drew Robert’s attention from the female servant who was refilling his mug. As he looked towards us the girl, who looked to be not much older than Nymeria, scampered away. A flash of something passed through Tywin’s eyes before his focus turned from Robert to me.
“Hmm, so this is the bastard wolf, Brandon's little pup?” Robert’s voice boomed around the hall, making a lot of the conversation and his table and others quieten as a smile came to his face. “I met him once. Big man, though not as big as me.” He laughed and several others laughed with him, though most I suspected were doing so to get or stay in his good graces. Though neither Tywin, Jon, Arianne, nor my mother laughed.
“Come closer, let’s get a good look at you.” A wave of his goblet accompanied the instruction.
I followed Benjen’s lead as we approached the main table. Robert was tall, impressively so, with arms that looked thicker than tree trunks even under loose-fitting robes. Though what caught my eye was the fact there was none of the bulk he’d gained by the time of the books and show. Either that hadn’t happened yet, or this Robert had better self-control; though I was leaning to the former as the goblet in his hand and the redness of his cheeks were tell-tale signs of a drunk.
As Benjen dropped to a knee, likely to formally present me, I decided to make things interesting.
“Fuck, you’re big.” The words slipped from my mouth loud enough that most of the nearby tables could hear. I heard my mother inhale sharply and saw Arianne bring a hand to her mouth as both Tywin’s and Jon’s eyes narrowed, but I kept my focus on Robert. From everything I knew about him from before and had heard in passing in this life, he had no interest in formalities, so deciding to do away with such things now should, I hoped, put me in his good graces.
As I hoped the smile on his face grew though the booming laugh he then sent echoing in the suddenly quiet hall caught me off-guard. Fuck was he loud. That had others joining in, though most seemed hesitant, which made sense since I'd just intentionally caused a faux pas and seemingly insulted the king.
“Aye, they don’t grow them this big in Dorne.” Robert got out as his laughter subsided. Arianne’s eyes narrowed at the probably unintentional slight, but she wisely kept quiet as Robert continued. “Though if you take after your father, you’ll be the tallest man in Dorne by the time you’re a man.” That drew more laughs from the other tables, though I did note the Westerlands table was louder. Another wave of his goblet signalled his desire before he gave it voice. “Well come on. Let’s see the Wolf of Dorne.”
I stepped forward, climbing a few steps until I was on the level below the table. While I’d made an impression with my comment, I wasn’t going to ignore all decorum and try to stand on the other side of the raised table of the king like an equal. While Robert likely wouldn’t give two fucks, Tywin would take it as an insult and pissing him off was something I had no desire to do.
“You’ve got your mother's eyes, but that face,” there was a pause where he chuckled at some private joke, “aye, you’re a Stark alright.” His gaze shifted to Benjen for a second. “Though I hope you take after your father more than Ned. Man wouldn’t know a good time if it tied him to a bed and had its way with him.”
While I couldn’t argue that Ned came across – in the books and show – as far too serious/honourable at times, insulting one of the Wardens was not a good look for a king; even if they considered each other as brothers.
“Your Grace, mayhaps you might not… jest about Lord Stark, the Warden of the North, when speaking with his brother and nephew.” Jon Arryn’s comment suggested he agreed with me.
“It’s fine, Lord Arryn. I love my brother, but his Grace is correct in saying my brother is far more… restrained than most Northerners.” Benjen’s words were soft, but I thought I caught a hint of something in his tone; perhaps blaming Jon Arryn for Ned acting more like an Arryn than when Benjen expected of a Stark. Of course, I only knew one Stark/Northerner well. The few guards that had come south with Benjen were standoffish with me still, or at least the two remaining ones were.
A chuckle from Robert, though it sounded more like the roar of a bear than that of a man, returned my attention to him. “When Ned gets here with Hoster Tully and their forces, we’ll have to work on getting him to unwind.” The twinkle in Robert’s eye as he spoke had me worried the king was going to try and drag Ned to a Lannister brothel – or worse – but before I could let my mind wonder/worry about that, Robert’s massive frame focused on me once again. “For now though, I’d like to hear from the boy.” He waved his hands, gesturing for me to do something, which sent wine flying from his goblet onto the lavishly decorated table. Tywin’s brow tightened near his eyes, but he said nothing as Robert continued.
“Your Grace, I…”
“Bah! None of that fuckery!” Robert cut in as I bowed when I spoke. “Your uncle is my brother in all but blood. That makes you my nephew as much as his! Now tell me of your battle to save a princess and kill those Ironborn cunts!” Fire came to his eyes in what I felt was anticipation as he dropped down into his chair, making it creak at the sudden influx of weight.
“Surely Princess Arianne, my mother and uncle Benjen have already told the story, your Grace.” I’d rather not have to speak the whole story in front of everyone, as, to an outsider it would seem fantastical that a child of seven had killed four men, including a Lord and his heir, to save a princess. Hells, even I would doubt it if I hadn’t lived it and reviewed it heavily.
“They have, but I’d rather hear it from the wolf’s mouth.” A chuckle slipped from him at his joke. “Tell me how you gutted those fuckers as they threatened your princess and mother.” I clenched my fists, trying desperately not to feel the anger about what had almost happened surge through me once more. That, however, drew a single booming laugh from the King. “Aye, there’s the famed wolfs-blood of the Starks.” He leaned closer as he kept speaking. “There’s no shame in being angry about what happened, nor wanting to kill them again and again. I dream of doing that to that fucker Rhaegar Targaryen every night for what he stole from me and your family.” The smile fell, replaced with a mask of anger that proved Robert, for all his faults, was Baratheon through and through. His fist tightened on the goblet, and I swore I heard the expensive cup groan under the pressure being applied to it.
Before it gave though, he took another large, long gulp, then slammed it down on the table. “More drink! And one for our young hero!” I avoided gulping at that as whatever he was drinking would likely be too strong for me even with having had a few sips of Dornish Reds that Nymeria, Obara and Oberyn had slipped me from time to time.
“Your, Grace, Cregan is but a boy of seven…”
“He’s sent men to their graves already.” Robert’s words cut off my mother’s complaint before she could give it, “he can handle a bit of drink.”
“Yes, your Grace.” Mother’s words came a moment later. I knew she wasn’t happy about this, nor – like Arianne – that Robert was showing an interest in me, but there was nothing we could do about it in his presence.
“Hah!” Robert began, though whatever he could’ve added was cut off as the young serving girl from before arrived. As she leaned over Robert’s arm to refill her goblet, she jerked. At a guess, Robert had just given her arse a squeeze but I couldn’t be sure of that. Though the way Jon Arryn’s eyes narrowed, it was likely.
Another servant handed me a goblet and I peered inside. Judging from the colour it was wine, though the dark red I was used to wasn’t there. This was lighter and had a slight orange colour where the liquid was thinnest near the rim. There was a moment where I wondered if someone would try to poison me – images of Joffrey’s death unhelpfully popping into my head – but there was no reason for anyone to do so. Still, learning how to detect poison in drinks was something I’d have to learn. Both the more mundane way and with magic.
“To Cregan Sand, the Bloody Wolf and killer of Ironborn!” Robert called out, lifting his goblet high into the air, sending the liquid flying around. I shifted slightly to one side to avoid some of it landing on my tunic. Around me, I heard and saw others stand.
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“To Cregan!” Others called out. Most didn’t sound enthusiastic, though I easily picked out Arianne’s soft, musical voice through the crowd and looked at her. Her smile was massive, and her eyes looked at me with immense warmth.
Beside her, my mother was trying to look happy, but the lines near her eyes and on her brow made it clear she wasn’t happy about something. Likely a combination of me having to drink with Robert and me being front and centre in the Westerlands. Jon and Tywin both raised their goblets respectfully, though I could only hope that neither saw me as anything more than a pawn of Doran Martell’s in the Great Game. One day I would be a player, but for now, I needed my anonymity and irrelevance to prepare.
I lifted my goblet to the king, and then took a small sip wanting to both savour the taste and avoid coughing if the drink was stronger than I expected. The wine was far weaker than those in Dorne, though there was an unexpected hint of spice mixed with honey. While I wasn’t sure, this was likely the honeyed wine produced in Lannisport and it wasn’t half bad. Not as strong or as rich as the Dornish wines I’d had, but pleasant all the same. Thus, I took another, slightly longer gulp.
“See! A wolf who can handle his drink!” That drew laughter from the others in the hall even as Robert smiled. “Now Cregan, regale us with the story of how you fought and killed those cunts, won yourself a Valyrian steel blade,” that comment drew a few gasps and I heard one person start coughing, “and saved your mother.”
My gaze shifted towards my mother and Arianne “And my princess, your Grace.” Arianne’s smile somehow grew bigger, which drew a hearty chuckle from Robert.
“Aye, you’re your father’s son.” He downed another gulp from his goblet. “Now, a story.”
Mother gave me a nod, letting me know she was fine with me retelling the story, though I knew she wanted me to keep the more fantastical elements of the story out of it. On the way here, after I’d semi-confirmed I could use magic without ever stating such, she, Arianne and I had come up with a brief story of the candle on the table falling onto Lord Drumm’s clothing, then catching fire. That was believable enough, if unlikely, that it wouldn’t be questioned too much.
Benjen gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze as encouragement, and after taking in the faces of the various lords and ladies that all now seemed interested in how I, a bastard from Dorne, had gained a Valyrian steel sword. And in many cases, were already plotting how to steal it for themselves and I’d kill anyone who tried. I’d paid the Iron Price for that and would only give it up to someone I didn’t trust by them killing me for it. Though, since I was seven, that wouldn’t be too hard for most of them.
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The following morning, I broke my fast on apple cakes and blood sausage in a quiet hall – since most people were recovering from the feast the previous night – and had left not long after my mother and the girls had come into the hall. While me wandering Casterly Rock wasn’t something my mother was happy about, she doubted anyone would try anything against me to gain Red Rain. After I’d retold the story to the king, Lord Quneten, probably in an attempt to curry favour with Tywin, had said boldly that a child had no right to a Valyrian blade. Robert had all but snarled at Quneten, confirming that his comment about me winning Red Rain had been him stating he had no issue with me taking it. Robert even spat the Ironborn’s concept of the ‘Iron Price’ – the same logic I’d used internally regarding my ownership of the blade – to scold Quneten. After a whisper from Jon, Robert had then stated that if anything happened to me before I was old enough to wield the blade properly, then it would become the possession of House Martell; on the caveat that I didn’t die in their care.
Arianne had been incensed at the suggestion House Martell would kill a child – a less than subtle barb at Tywin and Robert, but one neither responded to – only for Jon Arryn to explain it was merely a precaution to ensure my safety. Before Arianne could say anything to further inflame the issue, my mother stepped in and accepted Lord Arryn’s explanation; along with a veiled threat that anyone who thought about hurting me would have to deal with Prince Oberyn when he arrived in a few days.
That had been the end of that, and I’d been able to return to my table not long after. Tyene and Nymeria had teased me about what had happened – after I’d explained as they were too far to have heard everything – then Nym took great pleasure in boasting that I was proof why the Dornish and North were superior to any from the Westerlands.
Still, my mother had only allowed me to wander the halls of Casterly Rock – outside of travelling to and from our quarters to the main hall – with an escort, which was why one of the House Martell guards, a younger man named Erac who was one of the few to survive our encounter with the Ironborn, was walking a few steps behind me.
I’d initially thought of going to the library, in some small hope of meeting Tyrion, but decided against that as entering without Lord Tywin’s permission would be a breach of etiquette. Even if Tyrion had been there, which was unlikely as he was probably passed out somewhere drunk like most of the keep, getting his permission wouldn’t have been enough. Thus, I’d just started wandering, passing a few servants and guards on the way. Some I’d spoken to, asking for general directions and while the servants had been willing to help, the guards had either ignored me or given very blunt replies.
I wanted to head down to Lannisport, mainly as I could see it from the balcony of our room, but the city was still recovering from the damage done by the Ironborn and sorting out provisions for the retaliatory strike. Plus, my mother had banned me from going to the city without either her or Benjen to accompany me, and with Benjen, as far as I knew, still sleeping off the effect of trying to keep up with Robert’s drinking and mother having her breakfast, that idea was also struck from my list.
Thus, as I’d been walking, I’d found myself drawing ever closer to the sound of steel clashing against steel. While I hadn’t formally started any sword training before we’d left Sunspear I’d started using a bow. While I lacked the strength for it, I had some experience from my former life to draw on and was strong for my age, thus I’d quickly stood out in my age group.
Rather expectedly, given our brief history, that had the effect of increasing the distance between myself and Quentyn Martell. The second-born of Prince Doran had never warmed to me, and after my accidental striking of him when his friends had attacked me, a rift had developed between us. Thank the Gods Arianne was due to inherit.
Rounding one final turn I found myself entering, what I assumed to be, one of the many training yards dotted around Casterly Rock. Inside there were two members of the Kingsguard. They were both in their splendid white armour and helms but lacked their cloaks. It was only thanks to the unique clasp worn by one that I’d seen last night that I knew that fighter was Barristan Selmy; the current Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. As I watched him spar with his fellow Kingsguard, it was clear that not only was he not taking the fight entirely seriously, but that he was more skilled than even Oberyn and Benjen had suggested.
There were a few parries, ripostes, and attacks that I didn’t even understand why he’d made them until after they were made. Hells, most of them came in ways I’d never considered, though given I’d yet to formally start my sword training and my previous experience was with knives in CQC, that wasn’t a huge surprise.
If I was tracking the spar properly, Selmy would have killed the other knight a dozen times in less than a minute if it had been for real. Either growing bored of the spar, having spotted me watching, or for another reason, Selmy decided to end the spar. He stepped forward, parried a powerful two-handed strike with incredible ease then, moving so fast I barely managed to track his sword, grasped the blade with his other hand and drove the point forward stopping right before the eyeslit. A single thrust would end with the other man taking a foot of steel in the face.
“I, I yield,” the other man croaked out, his breath heavy and laboured. Since armour wasn’t as heavy as I’d believed in my former life, that made it clear the man had been pushing himself hard to even last as long as he did against Selmy, and it was clear the older fighter wasn’t even trying.
Selmy accepted the surrender with a nod then stepped back. Once both were far enough away, they handed their blades – which I could see now that they weren’t moving were blunted training blades – to a pair of servants who I’d missed standing on the far side of the yard, then removed their helms.
While the other man, who I now saw was the same man who’d stopped me from approaching the king’s table last night, was sweating profusely with a reddened face and his hair matted in clumps to his skull, Selmy’s white hair, which fell to his shoulders, looked fresh while there was barely a hint of rosiness to his cheeks.
As the other Kingsguard all but stumbled to a bench on the far side of the yard, Selmy turned towards me, a small smile creeping onto his face. “Good morning… Cregan was it?”
“Yes, Ser Barristan. And the same to you.” I replied as his eyes seemed to search my face for something, which I assumed he found as the smile ticked upward. “I hope I didn’t disturb your training.”
Barristan took a flagon given to him by the same servant who’d taken his training blade and took a long drink. As I waited, he returned the flagon to the servant and then took his sword from them.
“No. Ser Preston and I were simply taking time away from guarding his Grace to sharpen our skills,” Barristan explained as he reattached his sheathed blade to his waist. “Though I am curious why you are here so early.” The question came as he finished securing his weapon.
I shrugged, “I was bored.” That got a small chuckle. “Most mornings my father, uncle, or Ser Devron Spicer. He’s, um, the master-at-arms in Sunspear. Well, most mornings they train me in the yard; at least before I have lessons with a Maester. But here…” I trailed off as I shrugged again, making him chuckle.
“You’ve got nothing to do.” He stepped closer still and one armoured hand lifted my chin so he could look at my face. The other hand came up and brushed some bangs before he laughed softly. “You have her eyes; well both hers and Brandon Stark’s.” A slight edge came to his voice as he mentioned my father making me wonder if there was some bad blood between them, I didn’t know about. “And that hair is darker than either of theirs or your uncle Arthur’s. Yet from what I heard last night, you are well on your way to matching him as a warrior.”
“Some warrior. I heard he died like a bitch in an alley.” That comment came from Ser Preston Greenfield who’d crossed the yard in the time I’d been talking with Barristan. The smirk on his face as he referred to my father (since I doubted he could know how Arthur Dayne died) fuelled a growingly familiar pool of rage deep inside.
“Mind you tongue Preston!” Gone was all the kindness in Barristan’s tone as he turned to his fellow Kingsguard member. “You were not there when Brandon Stark rode to the gates of the Red Keep and demanded the return of his sister and challenged Rhaegar Targaryen to single combat. Nor as the Mad King made him strangle himself in a vain attempt to save his father from the flames consuming him.” Barristan stopped and the anger he’d directed at Preston slid from him. “I am sorry for your loss, young one.”
“Thank you, Ser Barristan.” My anger was ebbing after Barristan chastised Ser Preston, though it hadn’t fully subsided. “Though I never knew him, he died trying to protect his family. If he had lived, I’d have likely been raised in Winterfell instead of Sunspear.” Which would’ve been all sorts of fun if Brandon had married Catelyn Tully as intended instead of my mother, meaning I’d have had to endure everything that Jon Snow had, though probably worse as my mother wasn’t a random woman but one of the most beautiful women in Westeros. Yeah, I dodged an arrow on that one.
“Aye. Lady Ashara marrying Prince Oberyn was an unexpected announcement.” The slight pause in Barristan’s words, when combined with how he’d spoken of my mother earlier when saying I had her eyes, made me wonder if he had feelings for her.
“Eh, the Dornish prince is well known for his love of loose women.” I felt the fire that had driven me on the Sunchaser return in earnest at Preston’s comment about my mother. I leapt forward, wanting to rip out his throat, only for an armoured arm to latch down on my shoulder. With it coming from above, I was able to wriggle free by dropping low, but before I could take advantage of my freedom, it was taken away as the same arm slid around my midsection and lifted me off the ground. Preston’s laugh only inflamed my rage and I swung wildly in the hope I might strike him even as I struggled against Barristan’s grip.
“If you ever speak about Lady Ashara, or any other lady, like that again in my presence, honour will demand blood.” Barristan all but snarled at Preston, making the younger Kingsguard member blanch and step back, as he held me aloft to stop me from attacking the dumb motherfucker who’d just insulted my mother.
Preston’s face twisted in shock, though that soon turned to anger. He snarled, and I all but dared him to attack as I flailed around in Barristan’s arm. A step forward by Barristan seemed to make Preston reconsider, and after giving me one last, infuriated look, he pivoted then marched away. While my anger was still surging, seeing him retreat helped ease the tide, and I slowly stopped struggling against Barristan’s grip.
Once Preston had left the yard my anger ebbed away faster and eventually Barristan lowered me to the ground, though he kept on hand on my shoulder. “While I understand your desire to protect your mother’s honour, you are far too young to engage a knight, and certainly not a member of the Kingsguard.” The words were said softly and slowly, but they did little to clear my remaining rage.
“I could take him!” My eyes bore a hole in the passage through which Ser Preston had left. “My father’s been teaching me, and I’ve already killed bastards like him!”
“While Ser Preston was far out of line, do not refer to my fellow brother nor any other knight in such a manner.” Barristan’s tone turned sharper, though nowhere near close to how he’d just spoken to Preston. “Mayhaps Prince Oberyn hasn’t given you enough training to focus your fire.” He removed his hand from my shoulder and stepped forward, cutting off my sightline of the exit I’d been staring at. “Let us see what you can do.”
I blinked as my mind processed what he’s just said. “Wh-what?”
A smirk spread on Barristan’s face. “Let us see what you can do.” He waved to one of the servants waiting around the yard. “Get the boy the smallest training sword you have.” The servant bowed and raced off to a door nearby. At a guess, that was an armoury of some form, but my focus was on the realisation that I was about to have a training session with Barristan the Bold. That left me both excited and concerned.
There was no doubt that while my training in Sunspear had been good, Barristan was levels better than Oberyn, to say nothing of the master-at-arms or Benjen who were further below my father than he was Ser Barristan. Thus, even a single session with Barristan would be useful. Yet, a part of me was worried that this would be far, far harder than anything I’d so far experienced in my new life.
… …
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… …
“Can we at least stop for a drink?”
“Lord Tywin is expecting you.”
Even though I knew it was coming, I grumbled at the reply. It was the third day we’d been at Casterly Rock and this morning, just like last, I’d been in the yard with Barristan Selmy. To say the man had exacting standards was much like saying dragons were big. Yesterday he'd made me go through basic footwork for two hours, only after he was satisfied I had the footwork down had I been allowed to practise simple strikes with an iron-cored wooden blade, and even then a single misstep ended with a blunt blade on my shoulder and being told to start over, still I felt I'd learned more in a few days than a month under the master-at-arms.
After what felt like days but was probably only an hour or two later, my mother had come and collected me, and while she wasn’t happy that I’d found my way into the yard, she was comfortable with Barristan training me. The way he spoke to her further hinted to me that he had feelings for her, which explained a bit of why he’d been so willing to not only start my training yesterday but arrange with my mother that I’d have a session with him each day, as his duties allowed before the army sailed to the Iron Islands.
About an hour into this morning’s session, two Lannister guards arrived stating Lord Tywin wished to speak with me. While Erac – who was once more watching me – had stepped between myself and the Lannister guards, Barristan enquired if my mother was aware of this, and when he learnt she wasn’t, offered to come with as an adult escort. The guards were uncertain of this – likely as their orders said nothing about bringing others with me – and before it could become a scene, I asked Barristan if he would let my mother or Arianne know of my summons. I’d also voiced that I doubted Lord Tywin wished to harm me, not least when he’d just summoned me in front of the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Barristan had agreed with that, though he stared a hole through each guard making clear the unsaid warning that if something did happen, he’d be investigating the matter personally.
We left the yard after I’d cleaned and returned my training blade and the guards had ensured I wasn’t armed; I’d allowed the Lannister guards to escort me into the keep; Erac at my side. Of course, since I’d been summoned in the middle of another tiring session, I’d not been allowed to grab anything to drink, and the guards were moving at a decent pace that was forcing me to all but jog to keep up with them.
I realised this was likely intentional, either because they were scared of taking too long to fulfil Tywin’s orders or he wanted me tired and off-guard when we met, but I wasn’t going to let it get to me. Already I suspected as to why I’d been summoned as there were only two or three reasons Tywin would wish to speak to me, and since it was implied that it was only he who wished to speak with me, only one made sense. He wished to discuss my plans for Red Rain.
When I’d been taught about the various Valyrian steel blades in Westeros, the story of Brightroar, and how it’d been lost during King Tommen II’s expedition to Valyria just after the Doom. Since then, House Lannister had been without a blade and it was known that Tywin had tried to buy Valyrian Steel from various other houses to no avail. Since I was a bastard, with no historical links to Red Rain, trying to persuade me to sell to him made perfect sense, though with what I knew was out there, I was reluctant to even consider it.
Apart from the threat of the Others, there was whatever I’d sensed in Volantis during my dream – and I used the term loosely – with the three-eyed-raven. To say nothing of the other threats that were much further afield. I’d need every Valyrian steel weapon I could get a hold of for the wars to come but to outright deny Tywin fucking Lannister in his keep was a dangerous thing to do.
The guards let me through the Hall of Heroes, the tomb in Casterly Rock where kings and great lords of House Lannister were buried. Resplendent armour – some far too decorative for me to think they’d ever seen combat – hung beside many of the tombs, showing off the wealth of the house, which was why I suspected they’d taken me this way.
After leaving the Hall of Heroes, the corridor we entered was more spartan and functional. There were guards every hundred metres in the corridor until we arrived at a large but simple-looking steel door where four guards waited. These four appeared to be better armoured and armed than the pair who’d escorted me.
“Cregan Sand to see Lord Tywin.” The words came from the same guard who’d spoken in the yard. One of the guards at the door glanced at the others. A pair stepped forward and I was subjected to another search, though this time they searched my pockets and inside my boots. While a touch invasive, I had no issue with it as they appeared to be Tywin’s personal guard and had much higher standards to maintain.
Once the search was done the two gave a nod to the lead guard. He turned to Erac. “You are permitted to wait here, however, Lord Tywin is to speak with the boy alone.” I turned and gave Erac a nod. While this meant he’d be breaking the order given to him by my mother to never let me out of his sight – bar bathroom breaks – she’d understand. I hoped.
The lead guard extended an arm and pushed open the door. I stepped through, entering a large, dimly lit room save for the central area where I could see Tywin standing near some bars. I approached slowly, making sure to not come at him from directly behind as that could easily be interpreted as a threat. As I walked, a loud yawn came from behind the bars, and I paused mid-step. The last time I’d heard that sound in person I’d been in my teens and on a date at Edinburgh Zoo as we’d watched the lions there lazing around in the sun.
Sure enough, out of the shadow in the cage stepped a fully grown male lion; its mane glittering like beaten gold as the light shone down on it.
Once I was over my shock at seeing a lion that deep inside the castle, I resumed approaching. Eventually, I came to a stop about three metres away and off to one side of Tywin so he could see me from the corner of his eye if he looked. There, I bowed deeply, showing him the same respect I would to Doran Martell, then without waiting for a command to rise – which was only required when in the presence of the king, though it might be asked for from some insecure lords – I stood back to my full height.
I waited quietly for him to begin our conversation, though his focus remained on the cage. The sound of metal sliding back drew my attention into the cage in time to see the remains of a butchered animal – a pig from the looks of things – slide down into a trough-like object. The male lion moved over quickly, joined by a female and two cubs, and began to rip the meal to shreds. I’d seen this sort of thing in documentaries but seeing it up close was something else entirely. Without the bars those beasts would rip me apart and eat me with ease, which was likely why Tywin was having them fed now; a method to intimidate me and make me more inclined to agree to whatever he wished to speak about. A smart play and while it didn’t work on me – at least not as effectively as he hoped – I’d make sure to remember the lesson.
“They are powerful animals, aren’t they?” The words were spoken gently but I heard them easily over the sounds of flesh being ripped apart and eaten. “Yet remarkably docile until threatened or they see something they desire.”
“Yes, my lord.” My response was simple on purpose. While I suspected Tywin knew I was smart for my age – something I’d been unable to avoid during the retelling of the battle on the Sunchaser, I didn’t want him to know just how intelligent I was, nor let him think I didn’t understand his hidden meaning.
“Do you know why I’ve summoned you?” That was a test, that I was in two minds about passing. If I played dumb then didn’t take whatever he would offer for the sword, he might feel I’d tricked him, making an enemy I didn’t need or want currently. Yet if I revealed what I suspected I might make a list of pawns to watch. While the better choice of the two, it wasn’t something I was happy about.
“If I had to guess, my lord, I’d say you wished to speak with me about Red Rain.” He turned his head fractionally so he could see me while still watching the lion’s feast. An eyebrow rose, which I took as a sign to explain. “House Lannister has been without a Valyrian steel blade since before Aegon’s Conquest. While you could easily take the sword from me, that would risk angering House Martell and House Stark due to my mother's marriage and my father’s blood, thus I think you want to buy it from me.”
“Hmm.” Tywin turned back to the cage, forcing me to watch as the male lion crushed a leg in its jaws with ease. Suddenly I felt very under-armed and missed having my dagger at my side but that had been given to Barristan to return to my mother or Arianne when he found them. “You are correct in your thinking. Like this lion, I am the leader of my family, my pride. Yet I, and by extension, my house, is missing a blade with which to defend it.” His words were slow, measured as if he’d been forced to consider them more due to my answer. “When forced to do so, like the direwolf of your father's house, you did so. You defended your mother, sisters and cousin; risking your very life to do so if Princess Arianne is to be believed.”
“The princess… was under a great deal of stress that night, my lord. She has exaggerated the story because of that.” I wanted to downplay my actions even as I began to see where he was going with his speech.
“She may well have, but what is not up for debate is that, at the age of seven, you killed four men to defend your pack, killed men far more battle-hardened than some members of my guard, and did so with a blade known to many in Westeros.” He turned, bringing his entire focus to bear on me. “Your actions also, indirectly, played a part in preventing the destruction of my fleet and the sacking of Lannisport. I owe a debt for that, and a Lannister always pays their debts.” I had to fight to keep from smirking at hearing those words. “To defend your family, your pack, you used Red Rain. A Valyrian steel blade at once belonged to House Reyne; a now extinct house in the Westerlands.” No one I’d talked to about Valyrian steel had ever confirmed that, so I couldn’t say that it was true, yet the names did make sense. “Yet at your age, and with your lack of status, I wonder if you realise just how much of a target you have become to the more… unscrupulous people in the world. You are a bastard with a sword of legend. I, however, find myself in the opposite position. I head one of the Great Houses of Westeros, yet a blade of legend no longer guards my family, my pack.”
“I, um… Forgive me, my lord, but are you saying you wish to purchase Red Rain from me?” My hesitation was for show, and I hoped he would buy it. Ignoring all the reasons I’d already considered about selling Red Rain to Tywin Lannister, there was the fact House Martell didn’t have a Valyrian steel weapon either. Yet now that Tywin was making it clear he wanted to purchase the blade, if I later gave or sold it to the Martells – unlikely but still an option – rejecting Tywin here would result in me ending up on the very list of his I was looking to avoid.
“Indeed.” His eyes were fixed on mine, trying to discover the smallest hint of my opinion and intentions. “Any blade of Valyrian steel is worth its weight in gold, but such a price is too low, in my mind, for it. As such I am prepared to offer you one hundred thousand Dragons for the blade.”
“I, uh, th-that is a generous offer, my lord…”
“But you still feel that is too low? Understandable. Let us say half a million Dragons then.” Tywin’s new offer cut me off before I could even consider a suitable reply and forced my mind to freeze for a moment. A hundred thousand Dragons was a fortune to make a powerful Lord, but half a million… Gods, there was so much I could do with that.
As my mind resumed working, I started to play around with figures in my head. The most basic set of armour made with castle-forged steel cost at least three Dragons – something Daemon Sand had mentioned when boasting about his newest armour to Arianne – while the winner of the Tourney of the Hand for Ned Stark would’ve taken home forty thousand Dragons. With half a million I could hire an army and win a war or invest in trying to improve this world so it was ready for all the chaos to come. “Th-that is a lot of money, my lord.” I licked my lips as they felt suddenly dry. “But…”
“Mayhaps you are concerned about the history between my house and that of your new father’s?” Once more Tywin cut me off from making a response. “This is indeed a factor. Very well, I will raise my offer to one million Dragons.” Once more my mind seemed to freeze. I’d only just gotten my head around what half a million Dragons could do when he’d doubled the offer. The only reference I could draw on was the crown being six million in debt when Ned became Hand, with three million of that owed to House Lannister. That made it clear that the Lannisters had that kind of monetary reserves to draw on, so this wasn’t an empty offer.
“I, um, uh.” My mind refused to let me string anything resembling a coherent sentence together.
Tywin held up a hand, stopping my incoherent rambling. “I understand this is something you need time to consider and discuss with your family. With your father and uncle arriving in a few days, I suspect you’ll also wish to speak with them on the matter.” That made perfect sense, though I was surprised he was giving me time to consider the offer until I realised that was more meant for my family as they’d be angrier about the offer than I’d ever be and would need time to calm before they’d even consider discussing the offer. “As such, I’m willing to wait for an answer until the campaign against the Ironborn is concluded. Though I would like an answer no later than the victory feast the king will no doubt call for.”
“Yes, my lord. And, uh, thank you.” Tywin gave me a curt nod, then turned back to the lions. After waiting for a short while to make sure he wouldn’t say anything else, I took the dismissal for what it was and headed towards the doors.
A gentle rap on them had them swinging open, though I only got a few steps out before my mother knelt before me, her hands resting on my arms.
“What did Lord Tywin want?” While the question was loaded, the fear in her eyes and the tight way she gripped my arms made it clear she was concerned Tywin had done something to me. While he never would directly, as that would violate Guest Rights, I could understand her worry since not only was Tywin Lannister an all but declared enemy of House Martell, but with her recently losing her unborn child, any threat towards me would result in her fear being magnified exponentially.
“I-it was a private matter, mother, and while he has given me leave to talk with you about it, I’d rather do so with the rest of our family present to save me repeating the story over and over.” While I’d like that, I knew that wouldn’t happen. Once they got past their anger at his offer, I suspected they’d want multiple confirmations regarding the final price Tywin had offered.
While it wasn’t nice to consider, I would admit that I was looking forward to seeing their faces – and those of Oberyn’s once he arrived – when I told them that.
Still, while I could already guess their positions and opinions on the matter, I wonder if my mother and Oberyn would let me decide for myself. That would absolve them of interfering in the arrangement Tywin had suggested, but it would put me in one hell of a position.
Either accept the offer and lose a weapon with which to fight the Others or refuse and risk angering one of the most powerful and dangerous figures in Westeros.
I really, really needed a third opinion.
… …