Chapter 16 - A Young Warg's Game of Thrones (Patreon)

I hope everyone had a good Mother's Day!

Chapter 16 

Robert hated attending small council meetings, but given the important nature of selecting a Hand, he attended this one. Sweat already gathered around his body and his silks clung to him with a sticky sensation.

Gods, did they build this room to be as uncomfortable as possible? There’s not even a bit of a draft to stir this thick air.

“This shouldn’t take much time,” Robert said curtly. If nothing else, this would stop Cersei’s constant nattering about selecting Jaime or Pycelle’s lengthy explanations on why Tywin was fit to resume the post he had so ably served in the past. “I intend to make Bronze Yohn Royce the new Hand of the King.”

Renly gave a shrug. Littlefinger leaned in a bit with interest. Varys nodded sagely.

“A fine choice, Your Grace,” Barristan said, pleased.

Yohn Royce was the Lord of Runestone and was still at court. One of the most important lords within the Vale of Arryn, he was among the small handful of men that were even taller than Robert. While he rarely reached the finals of tournaments, he was often near the final rounds and was a doughty knight despite his advanced years.

“I, ahem, have nothing against Lord Royce, but would it not be perhaps, wiser, ahem, if we picked a man with experience as Hand? The realm yearns for stability,” Pycelle implored. The old man’s heavy chain of office rustled as he adjusted himself. Robert scowled at the Grand Maester, and wondered just how much longer the frail old man would be around, almost wishing for it to happen soon, just so he wouldn’t have to deal with the halting speech.

“Tywin Lannister has already been considered and rejected by our king,” Littlefinger said casually, “you’re a braver man than I, Grand Maester.” The master of coin’s eyes slid away from the old man and to Robert. “Your Grace, Lord Royce is a fine choice, my only fear is that he may be as stubbornly honorable as Lord Stark. No little birds have reported any success as of yet, unless our master of whisperers has been keeping things from us.” 

“I assure you,” Varys replied a tad sharply, “the moment I have the news it will be presented to the small council and to His Grace.” 

“I’ll speak with Yohn. He’ll understand the necessity – he’s not as frozen as Ned.”

“Shall we have another tourney?” Renly asked.

“Perhaps it would be best to delay the new Hand’s celebrations, since the knights and lords would only now be arriving home in some cases,” Varys proposed. “We can host one within the year and I am certain Lord Royce will not take issue with it. He will be honored just for the appointment.” 

“We will have one,” Robert said, “I don’t care when. Since none have given me cause to not appoint him, I will speak with him about it. Is there any other pressing business you wish to put before your king, or can I go drink and fuck a whore?” 

Seeing no urgent matters, Robert left. No sooner had he gotten into the hall, and the blessed flow of air, did Varys follow him. The man, if he could still be called that, was light on his feet. He was useful though, if it were not for the master of whisperers he would not know about the Targaryen threat at the door. One of the better decisions he had made was allowing the eunuch to remain on the small council after the Mad King had been overthrown. 

“Your Grace, one other suggestion. I understand Sansa Stark is to go hawking with Lady Margaery? My little birds tell me the two are very excited. Only,” he paused, voice going lower, “other birds whisper that outlaws have grown bold now that there is no Hand. Out of an abundance of caution, why not send Ser Barristan and some additional guards under his authority. While the danger is limited, one cannot be too careful. With your responsibility for Lady Sansa, it would be wise.”

“Outlaws? I’ll do more than just send a guard. I want the damn Kingswood swept clear of the filth! Find some knights and let them fly the King’s banner. For the trip, yes send Ser Barristan and a score of the guards of the Red Keep.”

“Far be it from me to strip your guard and your most earnest knight at the same time. I’d think Ser Barristan leading twenty of the City Watch with Ser Jacelyn at their head should be sufficient. With your permission, I will inform the two immediately.”

Robert waved him off. No doubt the careful eunuch was being cautious, but in this instance, he appreciated it. Robert would make Royce his Hand and then he would find something to distract himself. Perhaps a hunt was in order to clear his mind.

***

It was getting to be quite ridiculous. It seemed like everyone was falling over themselves to find me a husband. I didn’t want one! While my sex drive was somewhat muted at the moment, I did find the soft curves of the coldly elegant Cersei or the warm Margaery more to my liking than masculine traits. I wasn’t sure what biology had in store for me, but I did have some mental hangups about the idea of enjoying the more traditional experiences of marriage. My self-view was a complicated one, but ultimately the most important issue was survival and not allowing Being X to defeat me again.

I don’t see the need to marry, especially now. But it is maddening that Baelish, Robert, Margaery, and others seem to all be offering their help to accomplish something I don’t even want!

Hopefully, my father would stay true to his current stance that no arrangements need to be made until years later. That would suit me best and then I could make more informed choices. I still thought remaining single may be best, but there were other options I could pursue. The way Ser Loras was eying Jory and Alyn told me where his interests lay. A so-called ‘Lavender Marriage’ would be tolerable. As would a marriage to someone who could no longer perform in the bedchambers.

Primarily, my issue was the loss of autonomy. My parents, and I’m sure Robb as well when the time came, would no doubt give me latitude that I could enjoy.

The hawking trip was a nice way to stretch my legs. The sheer number of guards seemed quite the bit of overkill, but the king wanted to make sure as my altor wanted to see me protected. Having Ser Barristan Selmy personally escort me along with twenty of the City Watch was something Margaery’s cousins had gushed over. 

Combine that with a dozen outriders and several knights who were with Ser Loras, we were quite protected. Jory had taken the time to ride alongside Ser Barristan and talk with the old, but surprisingly hale Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.

We were on the outskirts of the Kingswood; the trees were sparse and there were several open clearings that were ideal for this sort of excursion. A small pavilion with cushions and wine were available for the ladies who did not have falcons themselves.

“You’ll see, it’s quite exhilarating once you can see what these birds can do,” Margaery said in a bright voice.

Margaery’s peregrine perched on her fist, hooded and still. She stroked its chest feathers lightly. Ravens were not nearly as powerful, but I wasn’t sure how many creatures I could ‘bond’ with effectively. With three already under my belt, it felt like I was sometimes stretched with my awareness. It was difficult to truly examine and understand from a numerical perspective, but my close connection with my three seemed to have ever so slightly wavered and waned when I tried to bond with another cat.

Is it because it is the same type of animal? Or am I at my limit? Or perhaps there is a trick to it that I have not discovered. It could even just be like a muscle that with time and use I will grow more proficient.

“The key is trust and timing. Do you see the jesses and the bells? They are useful for keeping track while they are in flight.”

“What are we hunting today?”

“It depends on what the huntsmen find. Crows, doves, or pigeons are typical. Depending on the bird they can also hunt for duck, rabbits, and all sorts of things.”

As if to answer her question a brief signal whistle was flared and several crows rose up from near the trees. Margaery smiled faintly at that and slipped the hood free. The peregrine’s head jerked upward at once, dark eyes sharp and alert. For a heartbeat the bird remained perfectly still upon her fist, feathers rustling softly in the breeze. Then the bells chimed as the bird launched skyward.

The bird flew in a swift circle gaining altitude and then struck down with rather astonishing speed. I wondered how much damage it could do if it kamikazed into a person’s face. It would likely cause some sort of backlash if I was in something else’s skin when it died. I could feel pain within an animal’s skin, but perhaps it would be best to experience it under a controlled circumstance instead of it happening for the first time in a dangerous situation.

The crow gave only the briefest of a strangled cry before it went limp and feathers exploded. The two birds tumbled for a brief moment before the peregrine righted itself. It was over fairly quickly, and Margaery’s bird returned and landed gracefully on the leather glove. It was dyed green with splashes of golden color in the approximation of flowers. The effort to have made patterns out of dyed leather was impressive on its own.

“Wasn’t that thrilling, Sansa?” Margaery asked.

“It was a sight to see, to be sure. The bird does all the work, so there seems to be little difference if you hold the glove or one of your huntsman. It is nice to get some fresh air, and seeing well-trained animals strike swiftly and surely is exhilarating. I just do not believe I will have the patience to worry about my own bird.”

Alla, one of Margaery’s cousins, approached with a shy smile.

“’Tis no shame in it, Sansa. I find the birds very fierce and would not like them landing upon my hand either. I shudder to think if it makes some sort of mistake and tries to strike!” 

That wasn’t it, of course, but really I didn’t want to fool with it. Not with the amount of time I spent slipping my skin, reading, watching over Arya while she slipped her skin, and my now busy social calendar.

“Don’t be silly, Alla,” Megga laughed. “Hawking is perfectly safe.”

“Tell that to Margaery’s grandfather!” Elinor said with a smirk.

I tilted my head in curiosity. Margaery gave an exasperated sigh.

“It was a long time ago and I didn’t know the man, but my grandfather died in a hawking accident. He was watching his falcon and accidently rode off a cliff. I’m sure it was quite sad at the time, but ‘tis hard to be upset over something that happened before my time,” Margaery explained.

How the hell does a horse willingly or accidently go off a cliff?

Jory seemed surprised as well, but he held his tongue. I wonder if he was actually killed in some plotting within the Reach, or if all of the information was second-hand and the death of the former Lord Tyrell had some more likely occurrence. Perhaps a simple fall from a horse was magnified into some tall tale as stories sometimes grow into.

The reminder that people did occasionally die to ‘hunting accidents’ made me appreciate the additional guardsmen around us. While clear overkill, one could never be too protected. And since there were more than just Margaery and her ladies, it was probably a good time to network.

I excused myself and walked briefly over to Ser Loras.

“The Reach must have the finest trainers and breeders of beasts. Your sister’s bird was magnificent, and all of King’s Landing is talking about your steed during the joust.”

“My lady,” he bowed his head. “I know little of such things, but am grateful for the leal service those smallfolk provide. Without armor and mount, we knights could not protect the realm as we do.” He smiled, “Or so my brothers tell me.”

“They sound wise to me. Forgive me if I am being too forward, but Margaery has told me of your older brother’s injury. My own brother has suffered a grievous wound to the legs himself, and I wonder if it would be appropriate to ask that he write some words of encouragement to Bran.” 

The tactic I was employing here was creating a reciprocity loop. Benjamin Franklin used this and even created a maxim in his autobiography. ‘He that has once done you a kindness will be more ready to do another, than he whom you yourself have obliged.’ The explanation for it is due to the way many people thought in subconscious patterns. As a student of all things business, this was one of the low-risk ways to strengthen social networks. If the ask was too great, well, I’m just a girl with a big heart, but if Willas Tyrell does follow through so much the better.

Loras seemed surprised, but readily agreed.

I thanked him then meandered back to Margaery, then approached one of the captains of the City Watch. He was tall with salt-and-pepper hair. He had an iron artificial hand attached to the stump of his right hand.

“Thank you for escorting us along with Ser Barristan, Ser Jacelyn. One of my guards who temporarily joined during the influx of people spoke highly of you. He said that you were something of a legend for your actions during the siege of Pyke.”

The man blinked in surprise. “You are too kind, Lady Stark, but I did earn my knighthood there.”

“I only repeat what others have said, ser. Are the City Watch often called to escort folk outside of the gates?”

“Not often, but we are sometimes called upon to hunt criminals. Most of the ‘em aren’t trained riders, so it was difficult finding them on short notice. I would have preferred my own men I am responsible for, but needs must.” 

I made a bit more of small talk before moving on to the others. Margaery commented on my comings and goings.

“Most of my ladies tend to stick beside me, but you seem eager to talk with others. No, no, I take no offense, I was just curious. Most ladies are more… cautious around approaching armed men they aren’t as familiar with.” 

“In truth, I miss my brothers,” I lied. I did miss them, but that wasn’t why I was talking with knights and guard captains. “I also find people fascinating. It is one thing to read about other kingdoms and folk in a book, but to talk with them directly, that is another. And I have little fear with Jory and Visha by my side,” I said with a smile.

“Aye, I can well understand it. I am reunited with my knightly brother here in King’s Landing, but I miss Willas and Garlan already.”

“How long do you intend to stay in King’s Landing?” I asked. I knew that she was trying to replace the queen, but I was curious to know how long she intended to try. If it didn’t work out would she rush home?

“Oh, who can say? With company like yours, I am in no haste to leave.”

She’s good at what she does. I can see why Renly thinks she might be successful in seducing his brother. I’m not a fan of chaotic changes, as they introduce risk, but Margaery as queen does have some benefits since she seems to like me. I can’t tell if that is genuine or not, and if nothing else that tells me Margaery is capable.

***

His brother Jaime had said their sweet sister was wroth once again. Jaime had begun talking about how Cersei misliked the extra honors bestowed upon Sansa now that she was so close to Margaery, before he had cut himself off. Tyrion had pressed, strongly, but Jaime had demurred and said he wasn’t going to make Cersei any angrier.

Cersei must be truly worried.

Tyrion rarely took a seat next to his sister, and Jaime was guarding the king alongside Ser Arys. He would have liked to sit next to Sansa, but she was next to Arya and Alla. Arya looked bored as Alysanne chattered away at her from her other side, while Sansa occasionally interjected or would circumspectly nudge Arya. Tyrion studied the contrast between the two daughters of Eddard Stark.

Arya took after her father in her appearance. Her hair was darker than Sansa’s and her face had the same elongated shape of her sire. While Sansa had blue eyes after their mother, Arya had gray ones after the Starks. It was rather interesting how there seemed to have been very little blending when the Stark and Tully line met in their daughters. He recalled how Robb, the young heir of Winterfell, had his mother’s hair, eyes, and face as well.

Maybe Catelyn gave Eddard horns!

It was a cruel jest that he would never speak aloud. For one, it was unlikely to be true, and for two, it would cause harm to Sansa. Then again, the girl seemed utterly unbothered by the talk of court about her, but still he would not add to it with a jape. Some of the Crownland ladies had been less than kind in how they spoke about Sansa Stark or in the looks they gave her. Tyrion marked who they were.

His ‘lessons’ with her were intriguing. Sansa was like an eager sponge to learn of all the details of the various nobles, important court positions, and his own family. Her curiosity was insatiable, and Tyrion realized her hunger for knowledge was what drove her passion for reading. Tyrion’s own reason was born out of a desire to keep his mind sharp and because you couldn’t just drink and fuck whores all day.

It didn’t matter overmuch to Sansa what he spoke of, as long as it contained new bits of information. He did notice she sometimes redirected the conversation, but they were gentle nudges. She let him tell her tales of Uncle Gerion and his quest to find Brightroar, the fabled Valyrian steel greatsword of House Lannister. Tyrion found himself sharing a bit more than he had intended about the rest of the family. It was hard to hold back sometimes. He was conscious of the fact that unburdening himself on a child about the mistreatment he suffered from Cersei while growing up was unbecoming.

She’s easy to talk to.

Sansa had demurred from further dinners with House Stokeworth, claiming that she had obligated herself to other invitations, which was probably mostly true. Tyrion knew that Sansa kept a busy schedule and that included writing copious amounts of letters back home. He had warned her that by entrusting the information to Grand Maester Pycelle, he would likely read them, but she had just shrugged as if the contents were not important. Still, it was good that his words weren’t being treated as wind. He got the impression that Sansa was rather nonchalant about the threat of Littlefinger, and was simply humoring him. And perhaps she was correct, at least so long as she remained in King’s Landing under Robert’s protection.

I suppose having a wolf larger than myself would provide confidence. A pity Visha was not with her when those bandits accosted her.

The king’s bellowing laughter jarred Tyrion from his thoughts. A few nearby joined in the amusement, though Lord Royce remained somber. As the new Hand of the King, the feast had been held in his honor, yet he did not appear enthralled by the conversation.

A serving girl placed another trencher before Tyrion. The roast duck glistened with honey and crushed almonds, while the rich scent of garlic and thyme rose steaming from the meat and set his mouth to watering. He had scarcely taken his first bite when a cry went up.

“Someone help her! Fetch a maester.”

Tyrion’s eyes instantly went to Sansa, but she was looking toward the king’s table. Cersei was vomiting onto the table and Jaime had rushed to her side. She was shaking near uncontrollably and Tyrion’s eyes then tracked over to Margaery Tyrell.

No, she seems completely surprised as well. Though she might be good at mummery.

An odd chill came over Tyrion. Was his sister really going to die in the middle of the feast hall? He couldn’t even see what was going on. Cries of ‘poison’ could be heard. The king roared over the tumult.

“FETCH PYCELLE, NOW!”

A dozen servants ran swiftly to bring aid and the best thing Tyrion could do was stay out of the way. His sister was taken to a nearby room and Tyrion spotted Sansa and chose to approach her, as much to take his mind off the mixed feelings. Cersei despised him, and he detested her, but he didn’t wish for her death. Worse, however, was the blow that it would be to Jaime. His brother didn’t deserve to feel the anguish of his twin’s death.

“Lady Sansa, are you well? I know this must be shocking.” 

“It is unnerving. Poison is a cruel weapon and it harms far more than just the one that is afflicted. We will all second-guess every morsel we eat for some time. I think her vomiting may be a good sign, and the Grand Maester is the most learned man in the Seven Kingdoms. We should hope for the best, Lord Tyrion.” 

She’s trying to comfort me. But she may also be right.

“Thank you, Sansa. And you, Arya, are you well?”

“The feast was awful. This is why I shouldn’t have to come to them.”

Sansa gave her sister a look.

“Arya, the queen is his sister.”

The younger Stark daughter flushed a bit, “Sorry, my lord. I will say a prayer for her recovery.” 

Tyrion waved aside the apology.

“I took no offense, Lady Arya. I will see if I can get through the press at some point.” 

He arrived in time to see his brother exit, a look of fury on his face.

“Jaime!” Tyrion called.

His brother pushed past several nobles and knights. 

“What is Pycelle saying?” 

“He confirmed it was a poison, but her would-be-killers did not dose it correctly. Too much of it made her bring the poison up before it could take hold. She will live,” Jaime said gratefully, but then in a harder voice. “This is the Tyrells’ doing and I mean to see them pay for it.”

“Brother, wait, don’t do anything rash. You are a member of the Kingsguard – if you do something that will get you clapped in irons; how will you protect Cersei from future attempts?” 

Jaime paused, then growled and whirled around and marched back toward the sickroom. Tyrion wiped his brow. Tyrion knew this could get very bad. He was doubly grateful that he had chosen not to sit next to Cersei. Not only might he have been poisoned, it would have brought suspicion on him. He wasn’t even sure whether Cersei had been the intended target. It may have even been the king or someone else. If he were to poison someone, he’d prefer to work through an intermediary, perhaps a kitchen cook or one of the servants who poured wine or brought out the dishes.

Jaime seemed set on the Tyrells instantly. Is it because Cersei was complaining about them earlier or is it that Cersei’s low cunning saw an opportunity after her brush with death? Why care if it was the Tyrells or not if this might get rid of them.

It was hard for Tyrion to imagine what the king would do in all this. He’d probably have his new Hand conduct the investigation, but what would that uncover? Anyone foolish enough to try poisoning royalty would have taken measures to hide their identity. Surely. Then there was the concern over what his father would do. Tywin Lannister was not a man to let slights go and the Reach bordered the Westerlands.