Chapter Text
Being the Grand Maester was an enviable position, sure, but right now he would have swapped his links with any other low-ranking acolyte if it meant avoiding the Lord Hand. Being held under the withering glare of Lord Tywin Lannister was not something you could get used to, especially if you were bringing him news which would displease him.
Alas, it would have to be him. The third in a series of Dark Words from the Dark Wings in the last three days.
The first one perhaps had been anticipated by Lord Tywin. From the looks he gave; it sure seemed certain that there were contingency plans in place. Still, it hurt the morale of their soldiers that Harrenhal is lost to the Starks. Vargo Hoat had betrayed them and killed Ser Amory. The token army stationed there was mostly slaughtered during the night. A few were able to escape in the chaos to report things. It changed things in the Riverlands, but it was still something that they could recover from.
However, the very next day, the most devastating news of the campaign arrived. It was the first time he had seen the lord of Casterly Rock lose composure. The letter had merely started a fire, but then Varys had added Wildfire to it.
At first, it only seemed one of their most important leverages was lost. Arya Stark was found in Harrenhal by Lord Robett Glover and Robb Stark had separated from the march into Westerlands with a token force to reunite with his sister.
But then, everything spiralled out of control. In all probability it was impossible, but the rumours had spoken of that beastly Direwolf of Robb Stark sniffing out Ser Jamie. He was recaptured while Stark was on his way to Harrenhal. The letter from Lord Bolton had ended there, stating that he had no intentions of betraying the trust of his liege lord.
Then Varys jumped into the conversation out of nowhere with uncertain rumours that could not be told apart between a lie and truth. But the word had spread that Ser Jamie was executed for the murder attempt on Bran Stark. While others say that his hands were cut off as punishment. The ridiculous rumours also spoke that Ser Jamie had confessed to it.
Whatever had happened in reality, the end result was the same. The foolishness of Lady Catelyn Stark has been rectified and the entire realm now knows that they never had Arya Stark to begin with.
Today the letter had arrived with the crack of the dawn with the news of a disaster in the Riverland campaigns. The Mountain is dead, apparently of an infection that had slowly weakened him. They had not heard any words till the morning because he had forbidden correspondence of his sickness. The rest of the small army with him was caught in an ambush by the Riverlords after their leadership broke down.
This would be a mighty boon to the rebels. Gregor Clegane was a beast of a man, good for the more distasteful works that would turn the stomach of the more honourable lords. Now that they were gone and Ser Stafford Lannister’s forces were smashed, there was nothing preventing the Northern forces from being let loose on the Westerlands. Ser Daven was mounting a defence, but with poor coherence, there was no guarantee of success.
Pycelle walked to the Maegor’s Holdfast he pulled his robe closer; the winds were much colder and fiercer than yesterday. “It feels like there would be a big storm soon. The skies have already darkened with black clouds, and it was sunny early morning.” He muttered to himself and pulled his grey robe closer.
He fidgeted at the door to the Hand’s Office. The guard had gone inside to announce his arrival. He returned and told him to wait until the previous occupant was done. A moment later he shifted to move inside as someone walked out of the chamber. It was Lord Tyrion leaving with a dark angry look on his face. His face already marred by the terrible scars, with mismatched eyes, made him look more monstrous in the dark afternoon light.
He entered the chamber steeling himself to be on the receiving end of the famous glare that cowed everyone. He entered the chamber to see Lord Tywin sealing a parchment with his signet ring. He took notice of him. “What is it this time? Has Dorne joined the fray now? Or has Robb Stark won another victory?” The curt voice didn’t ease his nerves. He stayed still thinking about how to break the news.
“Well out with it! I don’t have all day!” Lord Tywin’s sudden curt remark caught him off guard. Best to tell it directly and get this business over with.
“Yes…yes, my lord”, he stammered as he opened the letter and moved towards him “A letter arrived from the Crag this morning, my lord. Their outriders found Ser Gregor Clegane dead, from an infection wound, it seems.”
He remained silent as the Lord Hand read the entire message. He read the whole thing and then simply put it on his table. His hand moved to the parchment he had sealed when Pycelle had entered. “Send this to Casterly Rock. And call the Small Council, we begin in an hour.” The words were said in a calm manner, void of emotions. But he knew the undertone in them. Lord Tywin is livid; he had learned how to read his emotions a long time ago. They cannot keep up with the war if such misfortunes continue.
Lord Rodrick Harlaw stood on the tallest of the ten towers overseeing his men secure their ships. This Storm had gathered faster than he had ever seen and gathered fast winds in a matter of hours. The skies had suddenly darkened around midday. Yet the sea had remained calm all these hours. Then the fast winds had suddenly taken to the skies, rolling waves pushing the longships back into the land.
He considered himself lucky having delayed setting sail to the North directly immediately. Yet, so many others had already sailed yesterday night at the King’s orders. They would be caught in the storm. The other ironborn called him ‘the reader’, a mockery of long hours in the library. But he knew his seas just fine, far better than those superstitious bastards who couldn’t even read the maps properly to sail. Any ships setting sail in these conditions would not survive, especially the rocky shores of the Western North. He regretted not stopping his niece Asha sooner. It was far too late. If she is really, really lucky she might just survive.
The Gods were angry at their actions, he could tell without any of those damned preachers. The Damphair Greyjoy would curse the Storm God, and the superstitious men would fear to set sail again against the North, at least the few that remained. And yet again Balon Greyjoy would lament his failure. But It would not quell his ambition.
A loud roar alerted him to the wave. Hearing it first before seeing it. A ship much farther from the shore, snapping like twigs beneath feet. The biggest wave he had ever seen, heading towards them from the north. Once it hits the coast, even the remaining ships would not survive. It seems the Gods are not angry at them, they are wroth. All his men were rushing away from the shore, to enter the castle. The town could not be saved. The waves will wash them away, at least he can save his men. He ran down shouting for all the gates to be opened.
A week had gone by in King’s Landing since the accursed letter written by Robb Stark had reached them with an envoy. She had fumed like a caged lioness on hearing those words, ready to kill that idiot Stark girl for this atrocity. But her father, her own father had the audacity to stop her when his own son was the one who was killed by the barbarians on trumped-up charges.
The envoy had fearfully spoken of the execution of her dear Jamie, her other half for pushing that boy out of the tower and killing some northern boys. She ordered his tongue cut out for this. How could anyone possibly know of that incident only known to the two of them, she didn’t know. The faithless heathens must have invented the cause to justify murdering her twin.
The raging storms had slowly started to weaken three days back. At least the storm would have allowed the lords of Westerlands to prepare for proper defences against the Northern army. It gave them precious time to regroup and make plans regarding the war while the invading army would have been browbeaten in the forests and open fields. But they were out of any information from the Westerlands or the Riverlands. The terrible weather impeded the arrival of all ravens.
The first reports from all over Westeros of the terrible storm had arrived today. It seemed that it had enveloped the continent. Worst of all, the Royal fleet at the harbour seemed to have suffered terribly losing a third of their ships. And these were the ones which were in the harbour. It said nothing of those who had set sail the day before the storm. There have been no words from them yet. Most likely they were under the sea.
The Redwyne fleet losing most of their ships seemed to help her situation anyway with the influence of greedy lords from Reach decreasing. Plenty of their grains seem to have been lost to the waves.
Yet, the filthy cretins of the Fleabottom wouldn’t dare to do something so stupid as riot again, with her father in the city. Many of them seem to have died with the poorly made structures anyway. The strong winds and water seemed to have something good for the city at least. It no longer stank of vomit and piss from afar.
She entered the Small Council to see her darling Joffrey in attendance. Her father had called an emergency meeting for the Council, but he was nowhere to be seen. Everyone else was there, the overreaching Tyrells, Tarly and Redwynes, the doddering fools from Crownlands and lords of the Westerlands, even Tyrion was quietly sipping wine in a corner. “There must be something major development in the war. Perhaps some stray arrow had finally hit Robb Stark.” She thought as she took her seat beside Joffrey.
All the smattering of lips died down immediately as her father entered the room, grim-faced as always.
Her father sat at the opposite end of the table. “Grandmaester, please share the correspondence you have received today.”
Pycelle hobbled and removed the parchment with shaking hands. Cersei could tell he was terrified of reading out the news. This couldn’t be good. He began with a stutter, “Ser Tybolt Crakehall has written that a merchant ship escaped from Lannisport a few days back amidst the storm.” She could not believe those words, that was incredulous, why would a high lord be reporting on a lowly merchant? Why would even anyone need to escape from Lannisport? Unless that merchant was a thief, then he should be stripped of all his belongings and hung in public.
“Why would he travel during the biggest storm of the year? What happened at Lannisport?” Lord Tarly asked the question for everyone else.
Pycelle looked like he didn’t want to continue, but one look at her father and he stammered on, “He reports that refugees poured in during the storm and some of the Northern Army entered with them in disguise unnoticed. They started attacking in the night after they opened the gate from inside. He ran for his life and was one of the few who escaped alive.”
‘NO!’, Cersei wanted to throw her wine cup hard at the wall and barely controlled herself due to the larger presence. ‘How dare those filthy barbarians attack her home! And what was the wretched city watch and the Lannets doing?’
She could hear everyone’s head gears turning at the news, yet no one was speaking, no one was willing to take the first word. It has to be her, she has to show everyone the wrath of the lioness. The fury of the Lannister. Everyone would hear her Roar. She would –
“Read the terms Robb Stark has sent, Pycelle.”, her father said before she could speak.
Pycelle began again, “Lord Hand…he…he speaks of the treasonous secession of the North and Riverlands from the seven kingdoms, for the return of Sansa Stark and members of the household who arrived with Lord Stark and a restitution of—”
“She will be DEAD before she reaches that traitor. I will kill that bitch myself.” Her son burst out of his seat and yelled. She wanted to do the same. How dare that traitor scum demand something like this so brazenly. Chaos erupted in the room as Joffrey threw his cup at Pycelle who crumbled under the blow.
“Enough!” The low rumble from her father was enough to quieten everyone present. But she could only see red. “Ser Blount, please follow the King to his room. I am afraid he isn’t feeling quite well.” The command was a straightforward order to send her son away when he had said nothing wrong.
“I will not be sent away like this! I am the king!” Joffrey commanded angrily. She was feeling proud of her son until her father stood up slowly. “Then perhaps the King would like to lead men to Lannisport.”
She realized she had never seen her father so angry before. The vitriol boiling beneath the calm mask of his face. She knew everyone could feel it. Her home, the heart of her home was taken. Her boy was going to reply something, but he must have sensed that something was wrong and quietly left the room.
Her father said nothing more until her Joffrey was out of the room. “If I had wanted squabbling children I would have made these announcements to an orphanage. The war is no longer at a stage where we can just march more men to end affairs. We will parley with the North but before that, we will make the terms more favorable for us.”
Cersei could not believe what she was hearing. This was not her father. He never mellows out to terms like negotiation. He never stops until absolute victory is in his hands. Has old age finally caught up with him? She would have to talk to him after this meeting. A Lannister would never bow to weaker prey like the wolf. He has to see sense…he has to.
Grand Maester Pycelle finally laid down on his feathery bed after applying the bruising cream on his ribs. He was lucky that the chains had taken the worst of the damage from the sword-throw of the boy king. He huffed in annoyance. ‘The brat king had no business being in the small council in the first place. He had only heard about it and decided to show up and then act in such…such childish manner.’
His back finally felt pleasant as he adjusted himself on the bed. He was glad though, that Lord Tywin had forbidden him to speak of the rest of the news to anyone. The entire story of the capture of Lannisport. When attacked from the inside Ser Lannet had requested reinforcements from nearby Casterly Rock to reinforce the city guard. Now only half the initial garrison protected the Rock.
Robb Stark hadn’t just demanded this time. He had sent an ultimatum. The siege of Casterly Rock was already underway, with Lannisport subdued and nearby lords having already surrendered. If a letter acknowledging his demands was not received within two sennights, then he would raze Lannisport to the ground and the fate of Casterly Rock would remain grim, with only a token force left inside to defend against the large army of Northmen and Riverlanders.
For the second time in a sennight, he had witnessed Lord Tywin losing composure and throwing an inkpot at the wall when he delivered the news. It was his legacy and no one just threatened his legacy like that. To think a young boy of barely ten and seven would do so…
He was starting to drift into sleep, and what felt like a pleasant breeze was blowing from the window when a sudden knock on his door abruptly awakened him. He opened it to see one of his acolytes. He was going to shout at him for disturbing him when he took on his expression and his hand. He held a small parchment. “Grand Maester, this arrived just now. From the Twins. You had told me to inform you of such an event.”
He immediately took it from his hands. Perhaps finally he can have some good news to deliver. Has Lord Frey finally agreed to Lord Tywin’s proposal? He opened it and, read it and cursed the Gods. Why had their luck turned so foul of late? The old Lord Walder Frey was dead during the storm and his secret communication with Lord Tywin to change sides was found. It will further drag down the Lannister name.
He could only presume that the infighting would be furious to take the mantle of Lord of Twins. At least the succession troubles would be on Robb Stark’s head. Yet, the word had already spread of the line of communication between them and that would make a lot of the concessions that House Frey had demanded of House Stark invalid. This meant that the position of queen of the North just opened up for anyone looking to join and Lords would join just to see themselves flourish.
He wished he could hold off showing this message to Lord Tywin, especially at such a precarious stage. He held the message back to the Acolyte. “Deliver this to Lord Tywin after a few hours. I am too injured to walk around the castle today.” He saw the Acolyte take a gulp and felt a little pity. But right now, he really needed that sleep.
Kevan knew the war was over. The loud bells tolling all around King’s Landing and the scared faces running about the Red Keep. He entered the king’s chambers. From where he could see it, Joffrey appeared to be sleeping peacefully without a care, yet his chest was unmoving. Same as Tywin. As if a wraith had taken their soul in the middle of the night. Cersei was there weeping over her little boy while the Kingsguard looked on dejectedly. They probably couldn’t do a thing.
There would be nothing more to save the seven kingdoms from disintegrating into nothingness now. He was called quietly by his guard from outside the room. There was a messenger and he looked very worried.
“Milord, the Royal fleet has been taken by surprise. The harbour is alight with fire. The attacking ships were hosting the burning Stag.” He said while catching his breath.
He could not possibly deal with this now. How could Stannis possibly know that…Of course that red witch sorceress of his. It was the rumour that she was involved in the shadow monster that killed Renly. “Send a rider immediately to Lord Tarly to turn back the army and return to King’s Landing.” He told his personal guard. It seems sorcery was involved now.
Tywin’s plan was no longer going to work. They had to make concessions to the North if they planned on surviving at all. The army can no longer relieve Casterly Rock of the siege. They would be needed to hold the city. Their assumption that the fleet of Dragonstone also suffering from the storm had been wrong if Stannis was attacking with full force.
He began walking with fast steps. The defence of the city has to be organized. He could not even mourn the passing of his brother in peace. A nagging feeling told him that it would be best to remove Sansa Stark from King’s landing as fast as possible. Without the fear of his brother, the Queen would soon act irrationally. They cannot afford another blunder. They have to stop the war on one front and pay a concession of five hundred thousand golden dragons to preserve Lannisport, then so be it. It wouldn’t make that big of a dent in the Rock’s coffers anyway, it would save them still.
Wynafryd Manderly could see the Northern Army camped around White Harbor from the highest tower of the New Keep. The proud banners of the Direwolf could be seen towering over all others. A few noble houses from the Riverlands were also accompanying their new King and liege. For the first time in history the North’s rule had expanded beyond the Neck, the question remained, for how long?
She had just returned from the small council convened by King Robb Stark in the Merman’s court. It was a small private gathering, only the highest of the Northern Lords in gathering, and quite a few of them were of the mind to seal the North from the neck.
She could not agree to such sentiments, it would mean breaking their vow, the leave part of their kingdom to fend for themselves. And the King agreed, the Starks always kept their word. While difficult to keep an active military in the region and the large tracts of indefensible lands, it could be done.
The Westerlands were gutted and the remaining pittance of a force was trapped in King’s Landing, against Stannis Baratheon. The death of Tywin Lannister had further fractured them. Some of the remaining lords were openly rebelling to gain back their influence cut down by the old lion.
With the child king Tommen Waters on the throne, there wasn’t much inspiration to get. Whoever won, would have to deal with the Westerlands first, before they can think of setting their eyes North.
Then there were the Iron Islands, being occupied and conquered by the Riverland houses. The cards from centuries ago had turned and the raiders were being raided. They could have chosen to prosper by all means of doing nothing in the war and yet they decided to raid the North. God’s wrath can be terrifying and it must have been malevolent, for of the hundreds that had sailed less than ten landed and the token force left by Glovers and Barrowton saw to them. Then the newly risen Lord Emmon Frey had suggested occupying them for their iron mines and the rest of the lords from Riverlands had jumped at the opportunity.
It only remained to be seen, when, not if, Dorne would declare independence from the Iron Throne. They have decided to sit out this war and are full of fresh troops and there have been rumours of talks of independence. It seemed that everything the Targaryens had done over three centuries was being undone in just under two decades of their being overthrown.
Great change was taking place across Westeros and soon she would be at the center of it too. The Starks are all together now and it had reaffirmed the belief that the North would remain safe as long as a Stark is in power. Soon she would be a Stark too. The most critical one after the King.
She sensed a presence behind her and saw the enormous form of Grey Wind at the top of the stairs. He reached her in a second more, snuggling to her as she watched the vast lands from the top of the tower.
Yes, the great politics to maintain power continues in the seven kingdoms. There are already dark tidings heard from the Wall. The Lords will soon move to Winterfell, the heart of the North will beat once again with vibrancy and face the challenges head-on.
But for now, just for a moment, the North was safe, her family was safe and her betrothed was safe. And that was all she needed.