Chapter 56
OLENNA TYRELL
Olenna was old, and while many whispered that with age came wisdom. It was all horseshit. Her son was old, and yet he had nearly led their House to ruin not once, but twice now. No, the only thing that came with age was death, of your friends, your children, and if you are truly unlucky, then your grandchildren.
She had never thought that she would experience the last one. But the Gods had given her an idiot son and an equally dumb grandson. And now, because of them, her most precious rose was a prisoner to the Starks and the Lannisters, along with her son and the sons of a hundred other Reach Lords, all of whom were cursing her son for his decision to support Renly's claim.
She had tried to warn Mace off of this stupidity, yet he had been too blinded by the glory painted by Loras. The fool had ridden forth with more than fifty thousand men, and even the vaunted Randall Tarley could do little to save this lost cause, as Renly and Mace thought of the war as a little garden game, the Starks and the Lannisters fought it as one.
And so now she had no choice but to come to this wretched place once more, and she smelled it before she could see its walls. And even the best of the perfumes and flowers of Highgarden could do little against the Stench of Kingslanding.
"I had hoped that I would be spared this stench before my death," she whispered from her carriage, and the boy riding beside her chuckled at his words, and smiles and laughs had been a rarity for her family in these days.
Most of them were not used to death, and found it saddening. She found it saddening as well, but Olenna had long gotten used to it. She was more saddened by the fate of her precious little flower, Margary, and her only solace was that she was a prisoner of the Starks, not those wretched Lannisters.
"Well, I am afraid you must bear this smell once more for the sake of Highgarden," and she had suffered much for that place, she had given birth which was far more dangerous and painful than a rabid smell, and closing off the window of her carriage may help her, but it would rob her of her grandson's company.
"Will you stop being so stubborn and come ride with me in my carriage?" she asked, and Garlan the Gallant was no less stubborn than her other grandchildren as he shook his head.
"I am fine here," he said, making her roll her eyes.
"Must you make me suffer in my age?" she asked, and he raised a brow.
"You could always close the window," Garlan suggested, and his face reminded her of Loras, as it should, given that they were brothers. But unlike his youngest brother, Garlan was not prone to his proclivities and faults, being a married man already.
"And stop talking to you. Do you wish to kill me with boredom?" she asked, and she was in a far chipper mood than a few days ago, when word of her grandson's demise had reached her ears, and she was perhaps amongst the very few people who had rejoiced when the stupid Ironborn had attacked the North and the West.
"You could always call any of the ladies in the other carriages to accompany you," she said, and her little flock of hens had joined her on this journey, though she wondered which one of them she would have to sacrifice to save her family and which one would be spared.
"You make for far better company than my flock of hens, my dear," and Garlan shook his head at her words, but did not deny them as he continued to ride beside her as the City Walls appeared in the distance, indicating that they were pretty close to their destination.
"Do you really think that the war favours us?" Garlan asked, turning the mood somber, and she nodded.
"I do," she replied, and she had thought that she would have to play Eddard and Tywin off of one another to secure her House's future, but the war gave them a new opportunity.
"War is anarchy. It is instability and chaos," she replied. Although, as a woman, she may not be able to wield a blade or fight men with sticks or spears, she believed that she knew more about war than her stupid grandson and son.
"And both Eddard Stark and Tywin Lannister would understand that the realm needs peace and stability. And stability will come only through alliances and marriages," and thankfully, she had convincing enough offers for them both to stabilise her House.
"The war has also made it sure that I will not have to deal with that gloating Lion of Casterly Rock," and there were few men who understood the game of power and politics better than the Lord of the West.
Her job would have been much more difficult if it had been the Lion of Casterly Rock, sitting opposite her on the negotiating table. Still, thankfully the Seven had taken mercy on her House, and now the roaring Lion had rushed back to his lands to punish the insufferable Ironborn who had thrust the realm into another war.
"Do you think Lord Stark will be more amenable to our offers?" and she had already asked Margary to put down the groundwork, and she had tried to sway the heart of his eldest son.
It was a shame that their time together had come to an end, but Margary had called the boy 'honorable' and 'charming'. Though she was young and could be deceived, the general perception about Stark and his children was that they were of the honorable sort.
"Eddard Stark is a soldier masquerading as a politician," and the Lord of Winterfell was wholly unsuited to the games of politics, yet he had played them well.
"The Northerners are simple beings. They make for good soldiers but bad politicians," and if the realm could only be held together by a politician.
"But he has ruled well as the Hand, hasn't he? He uncovered the treason of Baelish, and then secured a match for his second son, which now puts his blood on the Iron Throne," and indeed, Stark had played the game well, but she wondered if it really was Stark playing this game, or was it someone else?
Someone well-versed in these games, like that fat lord of White Harbor, and House Manderly was originally a House of the Reach, and had run to the North seeking salvation years ago.
She had heard that he was very fat and loud, but he was also one of the richer lords of the land, and had been the first lord from the North to get a seat on the council in decades.
"He has played the game well, no doubt. But..." she agreed with Garlan in that.
And there was another person who was rumored to be the hidden hand behind this newfound political prowess of Eddard Stark, and that one was far more interesting, for she had heard whispers that the Stark's second son was one of his father's most trusted advisors.
A scary possibility, given that the boy had been in the capital for years, yet he had hidden himself in the shadows and struck as soon as he had gotten the opportunity. The boy had managed to avoid his granddaughter in Riverrun, though if the words of his sisters were anything to go by, Cregan Stark had the mind of a Maester and the bravery of a warrior.
But it would not be the first time that a sister had exaggerated their brother's virtues.
"...he has not yet played against me," she whispered back as Garlan was silenced at her words.
"That he has not," Garlan agreed, and soon enough she would meet Eddard Stark and see for herself just who was pulling the strings of their innocent Hand, or had the man simply fooled the entire realm for years.
0000
ROBB STARK
The men from the North had been rather discontent with how the war had ended. They had ridden forth from their lands in search of glory and battle. They had left their homes, their wives, and their children to fight in the war and protect their home, yet the war had ended before the grey-beards had fought even a single battle.
Renly's armies had laid down their arms hours before the battle, and though there had been quite a few feasts and celebrations, many of the men remained vexed for not having been involved in a single battle.
It was why that there were whispers amongst the men to leave for Vale, to support Lord Yohan Royce and exact revenge on Lysa Tully, the wretched woman who had slain her own mother.
Robb desired nothing more than to cut her head himself. Still, with his father busy in the capital he was the one who had to lead the men, who had to keep the North safe and secure and if the writings from the Wall, and his brother's words were anything to go by there would be quite a few wars to fight in the future.
The Lord Commander of the Night's Watch was negotiating with the Free Folk on his father's direction, and for quite a few moons now, shipments of that strange black stone, had been coming for the Wall.
It was shaped into weapons, and he had heard how some of it was even being given to the Free Folks. Neither his father, nor Cregan had told him what it was, or what purpose it served, but he had an inkling that it was somehow connected to the talks with the Free Folk, who had gathered quite an enormous host—one that was hundred thousand strong, all under the command of one man.
His father sought peace, despite some opposition from the Lords bordering the Wall. But, he had persisted and talks had been underway for many a moon now, but there was an understanding in the North that the talks would end in failure and that a day would soon come when they would need to march against the Wildlings once more.
But before they could kill those lawless bastards from beyond the wall, they needed to beat back the damned bastards of Iron Islands. With most of the North's military might having come to Riverrun for the war, the wretched Ironborn had thought that they could come to their land, destroy and loot their villages, and enslave their women and children.
Those curs had thought that they could test the might of the North, and had attacked Seaguard Point and the Bear Islands thinking them to be without any defence, but even before the war had begun his father had written to the lords of these places to send but only a quarter of their men, leaving the rest to protect the North against the Ironborn raiders.
He had thought it foolish then, for they had Theon, son of Balon Greyjoy and the heir to the Seastone Chair. He had grown up beside him, and Robb thought of him as a brother and could not think that the Iron Islands would attack the North and put the life of their future Lord at risk.
But he had been wrong. He had been very wrong.
Theon had run away from the capital, and that was just the start of his betrayal.
"That bastard," he cursed as they rode towards the North, and the excitement and the joy from the victory had all but vanished from the men behind him, all of whom were raging at the audacity of those Ironborn who had thought to attack their lands.
"I never thought that Theon would betray us like that," he whispered, as his fists balled up, scrunching up the map in his hands.
"I don't think any of us imagined that," and unlike before, Robb did not ride alone this time. No, he rode with his own blood.
And the capital had changed Jon, who had become a lord himself, just like Cregan. While before, he would try and vanish into the crowd, now he rode beside him as a brother, and a loyal bannerman.
His new sigil, hung right behind him, the three-headed direwolf reminded him of the banner of House Targaryen with its three dragon heads, even though it was shaped differently than that.
And he still could not believe that their father had chosen to elevate Jon to a full-fledged Stark and had granted him lands of his own. The Starks had not had a new cadet branch in decades, and the last House to branch out of the Starks were the Karstarks of Karhold.
But now they had a new one, and though Jon was conflicted about the name, he already knew of his seat, and a mighty seat it was.
"Cregan did," he whispered back, and he was not the only one.
"So did Father, it was why he warned Lord Flint and Lord Dustin about a possible invasion," and it was that warning that had saved hundreds of lives, as the two lords were about to respond quickly and push back against the Ironborn scum rather effectively, forcing them to disperse all over the land.
"Well, they are both different," Jon answered, looking forward as they rode at the head of their armies, and it was reassuring having Jon beside him, and it irked him that there was a time that he had thought that Theon would be the one standing beside him in case of war.
How naive had he been?
"That they are," and their father was old and had all the wisdom that came with age, and Cregan. Well, their brother had always been an enigma, and that held true even to this day.
"What is that?" Jon asked, pointing towards the map in his hand.
"It's map," he said passing it along to Jon, who took it and began to examine it for himself.
"What are these crosses?" he asked, and they were just one more strange thing about his brother.
"These are the Ironborn hideouts," and his answer made Jon's head snap towards him, and his reaction was the same as his own when Cregan had told him about them.
"What, but how can you know that?"
"I don't," he answered, truthfully.
"Cregan was the one who made them," and he had made them after with a trembling and scarred hand, after spending an entire night in the Godswood.
"Cregan?" Jon whispered, and Robb could only sigh.
"Yes, though he suspects that they will continue to move, but their location gives me quite a good idea about their intentions," and this was not the first time that Ironborn raiders had landed on their shores, but unlike before, Theon knew the North and its lands.
He knew the strengths and the weaknesses and was leading the raid himself. That traitorous bastard!
"The Moat," Jon realised, and he nodded.
"Theon intends to control the Moat, to cut us off from the North," but ruined as it was, the Moat was still a castle, and with the warning already sent to the castle, and House Manderly sending its men to reinforce it, the castle would not fall so easily to Theon's schemes.
"But how the hell did Cregan know where the Ironborn were hiding?" Jon asked, and he had the same question. Unlike before, he had chosen to speak his mind as he asked Cregan about how he knew this.
Robb glanced around him and looked to their squires as he ordered.
"Leave us," he commanded, and the three boys all pulled back at his words, leaving him alone with Jon. They pushed ahead a bit, as their direwolves prowled beside them, as if sensing his intentions to have a private conversation with his brother.
And the secrecy was a necessity, for if Cregan was right, and he was learning that his brother usually was, then the red comet lighting up the sky held quite a meaning for their House.
"Did Cregan ever mention anything to you about warging?" he asked, and Jon frowned, shaking his head.
"No," he has not.
"Well, he has to me, and he thinks that the all those tales and stories that the Old Nan used to tell us about green-seers and skin-changers, they are more than just stories," and he had wondered much about his erratic dreams, and how he felt himself turning into a direwolf in those dreams.
"According to Cregan, they were not just tales..."
0000
Miles across, outside the gates of Qarth, behind the massive Khalasaar, the architects of this entire campaign stood just behind the Khaleesi, and the Mother of Dragons, Daenerys Stormborn Targaryen.
"I had thought that they were just rumors, tales of a bygone era," whispered the fat lord, as he looked towards the little girl playing with her three little dragons.
"Well, not anymore," whispered the Spider, and this new change meant that they had to rethink their plans.
"So, have you given any thought to my suggestion?" he questioned, as Illyrio turned towards him and nodded.
"I have and I agree, establishing contact between her and that child earlier now would be good for him. It will add to his legitimacy and claim," and that was a wise decision.
"But still, she is the Khaleesi, married to one of the greatest khals ever seen. How will we get her away from here so that she may join up with 'him'?" asked Illyrio, and that was troubling, but he had spent years weaving a web in far more hostile conditions than this.
"Well, we will just have to find a way..."
0000
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